Falling Between
Author: Sara C. Roethle
Date: 2014-08-07 04:00:00+00:00
Description: This is Part One of a serialized Fantasy Romance story with a novelette length (13,000). Madeline would never risk another life by falling in love again, not with what happened last time...at least not until she found some answers. Unfortunately answers sometimes come in rather strange packages, and the knowledge of the Vaettir comes with a steep price. Now she must make a choice between the life she thought she wanted, and a life among others like her. The only catch is that the others like her, including the flirtatious yet dangerous Alaric, expect her to do their dirty work.
Publisher: eBook (Kindle)

Demons & Djinn

Nine Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Novels Featuring Demons, Djinn, and other Bad Boys of the Underworld

Christine Pope

Debra Dunbar

Deanna Chase

Marie Hall

C. Gockel

Sara C. Roethe

Melinda VanLone

Pippa DaCosta

SM Reine

Ron Neito

Contents

Copyright

About Demons & Djinn

Chosen: Book 1 of the Djinn Wars

Three Wishes

Marked by Temptation

Jinni’s Wish

I Bring the Fire (A Loki Story)

Xoe: Vampires and Werewolves and Demons, Oh My! (Book One of the Xoe Meyers Young Adult Fantasy/Horror Series)

Stronger Than Magic

Beyond the Veil: Book #1, the Veil Series

Death’s Hand: The Descent Series, Book One

Learn About More Box Sets and Anthologies

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, whether living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEMONS & DJINN

Copyright © 2015 by the respective authors

Cover art by Rebecca Weaver

Book formatting by Indie Author Services

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems — except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews — without permission in writing from the authors.

About Demons & Djinn

Nine Paranormal Romances and Urban Fantasies featuring Demons, Djinn, and Other Bad Boys of the Underworld.

Immerse yourself in nine enthralling fantasy worlds by NYT and USA Today bestselling authors. Demons, djinn, and bad boys of other worlds ignite this set of action-packed urban fantasy and steamy paranormal romance. Nine heart-stopping stories with fierce and feisty heroines, diabolic intrigue, romance, adventure, danger, and mystery…. Passionate heroes, magic, and mayhem abound!

Chosen

Christine Pope

When a fatal fever nearly wipes out the entire world's population, the survivors of what became known as "the Dying" believe the worst is in the past. Little do they know….

Three Wishes

Debra Dunbar

A malevolent djinn, a cyber-crime, an angel with a mission, and a demon who just wants to have fun. Be careful what you wish for.

Marked by Temptation

Deanna Chase

When sex witch Mati Ballintine meets the sexy Vaughn Paxton, their hot one-night stand changes his life forever and threatens hers.

Jinn's Wish

Marie Hall

Paz and Jinni only wanted one thing in life. To find their soulmate. Too bad they found each other on a doomed flight across the Atlantic. Trapped in magically induced coma, there’s only one way for them to return to the land of the living, and that's to trust in a love that defies all logic and reason before the final grain of sand drops and they lose each other forever.

I Bring the Fire Part One (A Loki Story)

C. Gockel

Amy Lewis is being pursued by a very bad wolf. Can Loki, God of Mischief and Chaos, save her…or even save himself?

Xoe

Sara C. Roethe

Fighting to save her best friend from a psychotic werewolf, Xoe has to make peace with her unique heritage...and resist an alluring vampire.

Stronger Than Magic

Melinda VanLone

Tarian Xannon fights demons like the rest of us. This time, the demon just happens to be real.

Beyond the Veil

Pippa DaCosta

Muse must decide whether to trust a Prince of Hell, or the assassin sent to kill her. Little do they know, she’s more dangerous than both.

Death’s Hand

SM Reine

Elise Kavanagh doesn't want to hunt demons anymore. But when the daughter of a coven member has been possessed, Elise is the only one who can help…and there may be more to this possession than just one witch's life.

Chosen: Book 1 of the Djinn Wars

Christine Pope

When a fatal fever nearly wipes out the entire world's population, the survivors of what became known as "the Dying" believe the worst is in the past. Little do they know…

In the aftermath of the Dying, survivor Jessica Monroe searches for sanctuary in a world unlike any she's ever known before. As fear and isolation envelop her, Jessica encounters the sensitive and helpful Jace, who she believes is another survivor. But Jace has a past and secrets of his own that's he not ready to disclose. Soon she realizes that the destruction of humanity might actually be the first step in a larger, more complicated plan — a plan that may very well involve her. Struggling to discover her role in a terrifying new world where everything has changed, Jessica must decide who she can trust. But is the price for that trust just too high?

Chapter 1

The Dying began on my twenty-fourth birthday. Even now I truly believe that was nothing more than a sad coincidence, but if nothing else, the synchronicity helps me to remember when the end began. September twenty-sixth. There was a certain crispness in the air, a bite after the sun went down that told me fall was on the way, and winter soon to follow. We didn’t get as cold in Albuquerque as they did in Santa Fe, but we could feel the shift in the seasons even so.

I was out with friends doing tequila shots at Zacatecas when the first reports about a strange illness in New York showed up on the evening news. Maybe I caught a glimpse on the TV in the bar, but I don’t think so. To be blunt, I was pretty wasted. Getting plowed like that wasn’t in my usual repertoire, but my friend Tori kept ordering round and after round, and since I wasn’t driving, I didn’t try too hard to stop her. Maybe in the back of my mind I was thinking that this year I was twenty-four, and twenty-five would come sliding along soon enough, and I might as well party with abandon while I still could. Sooner or later I’d have to be a good, responsible adult, but not on my birthday.

The next day was a Saturday. No school or work for me; I was getting my master’s in English, mostly because I couldn’t really figure out what else to do with myself, and staying in college for as long as possible seemed pretty attractive compared to what awaited me in the real world. Since I’d been lucky enough to snag a T.A. position teaching lower-division English classes, I didn’t have to worry about dragging my sorry hung-over ass into work, either. I had until Monday to recover.

Around noon I finally wandered into the kitchen, after taking a shower so long the hot water began to run out. Good thing we had a separate water heater for the little apartment over the garage where I lived, or I probably would have heard about it from my mother. All right, so I was still living at home, but the apartment gave me at least the illusion of independence, if not the real thing. It also allowed me to pay much lower rent than I would have otherwise. My parents didn’t want to charge me anything — well, not my mother, anyway — but I’d insisted. It was a pittance, but it did cover the utilities and helped give them some extra wiggle room.

My mother had the little white TV on the kitchen counter turned on and was frowning as she watched some cable news talking head go on about a new illness that had begun appearing in New York and Los Angeles the day before. Reports were also coming in from up and down both coasts about this unnamed disease, which left its victims hospitalized with extremely high fevers.

“More Ebola?” I asked, blinking against the too-bright light in the kitchen and making a beeline for the fridge, where my mother always kept a pitcher of iced tea, even in the dead of winter.

“No, Jessica,” she said, that little pucker of worry still showing between her brows. “Something else. They don’t know what it is.”

“Mmm.” In that moment, I was far more concerned with getting some caffeine into my bloodstream ASAP than worrying about the disease du jour. Those sorts of things never seemed to affect us here in Albuquerque. I wouldn’t say we were exactly the city that America forgot, but if it weren’t for Breaking Bad, I doubted most people would have spared my hometown a second thought.

From the side-eye my mother was giving me as I downed the iced tea, I guessed that the makeup I’d carefully applied earlier wasn’t doing much to hide the evidence that I’d had, as they say, a gaudy night. But because I hadn’t been driving and was more or less ambulatory this morning, she seemed to be giving me a pass.

“Dad have a shift today?” I inquired, after refilling my glass of iced tea and taking a few more gulps. Since I felt fortified enough to eat at that point, I popped the pitcher of tea back into the fridge and got a package of English muffins out of the breadbox.

“Yes.” She didn’t exactly sigh, but I could tell she wasn’t thrilled, either.

My father was an officer with the Albuquerque police department. Still a beat cop after twenty-five years, too. He never had any interest in riding a desk, liked to be out on the streets. How my mother lived with it, day after day, I didn’t know. My brother and I generally took our father’s occupation in stride, since it had always been a part of our lives. But I knew my father had gone through the academy after he and my mother got married, and so it hadn’t been an irretrievable fact of life when they were starting out as a couple. I know she wished he was more interested in becoming a detective so he wouldn’t be so much in harm’s way every day. That wasn’t my father, though — even at fifty-two, he was lean and fit, and could probably put guys half his age through a wall if necessary.

At the time, the department was chronically short-handed, so my father picked up a lot of extra shifts. My mother never protested, since she knew he was doing it for us, putting more money in the bank, but she couldn’t help worrying. Sometimes I wondered if my father knew exactly how stressed she was every time he left for work. I didn’t think that would’ve stopped him, though, because as much as he loved her, he also loved his job and thought he was doing some genuine good.

“Well, at least it’s a daytime shift,” I told her, then put the two halves of the English muffin I’d just broken apart into the toaster oven.

“I know.” The worry line was still there, and it seemed to deepen as she returned her attention to the TV. The talking heads had been replaced by a doctor, a woman in her late forties who probably would have been pretty if she hadn’t look so tired.

“The illness manifests as a very high fever, spiking as high as 106 degrees. We’re having difficulty controlling the fever, even with analgesics and ice packs.” She paused, pushing a strand of dishwater-blonde hair back behind her ear. Obviously, she hadn’t bothered to primp before going to make her statement in front of the cameras. “No other symptoms have been observed at this point. If you or someone in your family comes down with a fever above 103, please call your doctor or go to the local emergency room.”

The camera cut to the reporter interviewing the doctor. “Dr. Leviton, any word on where this illness has come from? Is it connected to the doctors returning from West Africa?”

“No,” Dr. Leviton replied at once, looking almost annoyed. “None of the victims brought in to Mount Sinai or any of the other hospitals in the city appear to have any connection. Most of them haven’t even left New York during the past few months. Of those who have traveled, they’ve returned home from destinations as diverse as Tahiti, Paris, and Australia. Again, there doesn’t seem to be any connection.”

At that moment, a nurse came up and whispered in the doctor’s ear. Her expression shifted from annoyance to outright worry before she said quickly, “I’m sorry — a patient needs me. That’s all I can tell you right now.” And she turned away from the cameras and began hurrying down the hallway almost at a run, the nurse right behind her.

The camera panned back to the reporter, who was wearing what he probably thought was a look of measured concern…but to me, he just looked scared. I wonder what the nurse had said to the doctor.

Whatever it had been, the reporter didn’t mention it. He only said, “That’s the latest from Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City. Again, as Dr. Leviton stated, seek medical assistance immediately if you have a fever in excess of — ”

My mother turned off the TV. I arched an eyebrow at her, and she shook her head. “It’s always something,” she said. “I shouldn’t even have turned it on, I suppose, but I was hoping to catch some weather.”

“You’re not worried?”

“No.” She had her own glass of iced tea sitting on the counter, and she sipped from it as she watched me take the English muffin from the toaster oven and start spreading some butter on it. “Cable news always needs something to feed the monster. And unexplained diseases are a great way to keep people watching for updates.”

That was something I loved about my mother — she wasn’t afraid to call a spade a spade. Critical thinking was very important to her, which made sense, since she taught advanced composition and AP English at the same high school I’d attended. She made my father look like a starry-eyed dreamer.

“True,” I said, munching away at my English muffin. My abused stomach was all too glad of the carbs, which should help to soak up the remnants of the tequila I’d downed the night before. Good thing I only indulged like that every once in a great while. Most of the time I was more a mixed-drink kind of girl.

“They’ll play it up, and then it’ll quietly disappear, just like everything else they try to make a big deal of.” My mother finished the last of her tea and set the glass down on the counter. “Anyway, I’m about to go to the store. Anything you need?”

Mouth full of English muffin, I shook my head.

“Make sure you wipe down the counter when you’re done,” she admonished me, then picked up her purse and went out, apparently not concerned at all by what we’d just watched.

If only she’d been right. But it turned out that the worry of the doctor — and the scared-looking reporter — was not misplaced.

The next morning, the news was full of reports of people getting sick up and down both coasts, and cases had been reported in the Midwest as well…Chicago…Detroit…St. Louis. And the disease, whatever it was, hadn’t confined itself to the borders of the U.S. People were sick in London and Munich and Moscow and Singapore. Hospitals were filling up.

My father sat in his wing chair in the family room and watched the news with narrowed eyes. My mother seemed to be doing her best to ignore the television, and was instead trying to worm the latest details about his football practice schedule out of my brother Devin, who was far more interested in texting with his girlfriend than watching TV or explaining why he would have practice four days this week but five the next. A senior in high school, he was hoping his record as running back for the school’s team might help him to eke out a scholarship or two when he went to college next year. We were doing okay, but college was expensive — as I knew only too well, with loans piling up every semester, loans I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to pay back. Supposedly having a master’s would put me on a higher rung of the salary ladder when I did have to go out into the real world, but jobs were scarcer than the college counselors wanted us poor schmucks stuck in loan limbo to believe.

“Have you seen any sick people yet?” I asked my father. I was sitting at the game table in the corner of the family room, attempting to give my paper on gender representation in gothic novels a final read-through in hard copy to catch any typos. Unfortunately, my brain was jittering this way and that, worried about the reports on the news, praying they were exaggerating and fearing they were not. I couldn’t even say why I was so worried, since most of the time I ignored these sorts of reports, knowing the diseases they discussed rarely touched us here in our little corner of the Southwest. Something about the speed with which this one had spread bothered me, though. It bothered me a lot.

My father pointed the remote at the TV and turned down the volume, then shook his head. “Not with this thing. I’ve seen meth heads puking in back alleys and heroin addicts with the shakes because they couldn’t get a fix, but this one? I don’t think it’s here.”

The word “yet” hung in the air, unspoken, but no less ominous for that. More and more people were getting sick, and the first deaths had been reported on the East Coast. Not a lot, not yet, but although the news was trying to sugarcoat things, rumors had already begun to swirl across the Internet that no one who contracted this new disease survived. Which was crazy. Even Ebola — hell, even pneumonic plague, which had an insane mortality rate when not treated — wasn’t one-hundred-percent fatal. That just wasn’t possible.

“Maybe it won’t,” I said, although I knew even as I said them that the words were mere wishful thinking. “Maybe it’ll just…blow around us, or burn out before it gets here.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. His eyes wouldn’t meet mine, though, and I knew what he must be thinking.

I knew, because it was the same thing I was thinking. This wasn’t a matter of if, but rather when.

On Monday when I arrived at school, I noticed the parking lot was noticeably less full than a university lot had any right to be this close to the beginning of the semester. And as I got out of my car and locked it, I saw that at least half the students walking around on campus wore surgical masks, the white disposable kind the news reports showed people in China wearing on days when the smog was particularly bad.

Apparently, I hadn’t gotten the memo. Nothing I could do about it now…except hope that a lot of the students in the Writing 1A class I was teaching that semester had decided to bail completely.

Most of them had, except for a couple of the over-achievers. Well, at least the kind of over-achievers I’d get in a Writing 1A class, which wasn’t exactly packed full with people who’d gotten 5s on their AP English exams.

I scanned the empty seats and tried not to frown, reminding myself that I’d get my T.A. stipend no matter how many butts were in those chairs on a particular day. “Okay,” I said, surprised at the slight tremor in my voice, “on Friday we were just starting to get into the difference between a topic sentence and a thesis statement….”

Taylor Ortiz, who was sitting in the front row, blinked at me in apparent incomprehension. For the first time, I noticed the beads of sweat standing out on her forehead, the way she seemed to be swaying in her seat. Beneath her warm-toned skin, she looked dead pale.

“Taylor, are you all right?” I asked.

She blinked again. “Um….”

Next to her, Troy Lenz lurched to his feet. “Holy shit! She’s got it!”

“Troy — ” I began, maybe meaning to reprimand him for swearing in class, possibly intending to tell him to sit down, but I was fairly certain neither of those admonishments would have had any effect. All around the class, those few students who’d been brave enough to show up shot straight out of their seats, looking at Taylor as if she’d just started vomiting pea soup or something. Never mind that vomiting was not one of the symptoms of “the Heat” — the street nickname given to the disease because of the extreme fevers it caused.

“Oh, God, get away from her,” a girl in the back of the class said, and before I could even open my mouth to speak again, they were all bolting for the door, a couple of them even overturning their desks in their haste.

A few seconds later, I was alone in the classroom with Taylor, who continued to look around blankly, seeming unaware that she’d managed to clear the space in about five seconds flat.

A cowardly part of me wanted to take off as well, but I told myself I couldn’t do that — I was the teacher (okay, the T.A.), and I had some sort of responsibility to make sure she was all right. Besides, if she really did have the Heat, then I’d already been exposed, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it now.

I approached her and put a hand on her forehead. Jesus Christ. She felt as if she was on fire from within. No wonder she was having a hard time focusing on anything. She was so hot that her brain must be cooking right inside her skull.

The university hospital was all the way across campus. I was stronger than I looked, thanks to a childhood spent hiking and walking and going to the shooting range with my father, but I knew there was no way I could get Taylor all that distance by myself.

Shaking, I went to my desk and pulled my purse out of the drawer where I always stowed it. My fingers trembled as well while I got out my phone. Thank God it wasn’t too much work to dial 911.

It rang…and rang…and rang. Panic started to set in. I could feel my heart beginning to pound and my own nervous sweats starting, although I didn’t think I was running a fever. Not yet, anyway.

Then, at last: “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

I cleared my throat. “Hi, my name is Jessica Monroe, and I’m in Building 81 on the UNM campus. One of my students is very sick and unable to walk. I’m pretty sure she needs to go to the hospital.”

“Symptoms?”

“A very high fever.”

I could have sworn I heard a muttered “shit” at the other end of the line, followed by a long pause. “Ms. Monroe, we are experiencing longer-than-normal response times for ambulances due to heavy volume. We will get someone out to you, but it may be a while.”

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what that meant. Maybe it was lagging behind, but the Heat had finally come to Albuquerque.

I sat with Taylor, since I didn’t know what else to do. She held on to the edge of her desk as if it was the only thing keeping her anchored to reality, her head first lolling this way and then that, her glassy dark eyes staring off into the distance, as if fixed on some object only she could see. It was frightening enough just being close to someone who was that sick, but even more frightening was how detached from reality she seemed to be. We Monroes were a healthy lot, and so I didn’t have a lot of experience being around sick people. Devin got a horrible stomach flu one year, and we had colds and coughs from time to time, but nothing like this.

Sweat was dripping down Taylor’s forehead and staining the tight T-shirt she wore. More rivulets of perspiration ran down into her cleavage, but I doubted anyone would have found the sight particularly sexy. For myself, I could only think of the millions of microbes she must be spreading in every direction each time she shifted in her seat. One time she shook like a dog, and little droplets of sweat sprayed everywhere, a few hitting me right in the face.

It took every ounce of willpower I had not to swear out loud. Belatedly, I realized that I had a partially drunk bottle of water in my purse. I doubted that would do much to help her, but at least it was something. And I had a feeling she was far past worrying about any germs I might have left behind on the bottle.

“Taylor?” I asked. No recognition in those strained dark eyes, which were still staring out at something only visible to her. “How about some water?”

She blinked. Maybe it was the only way she could answer, or maybe it was simply an involuntary reflex. Either way, it gave me an excuse to get up from the desk next to hers, to go to my purse and fetch the bottle of water. As I approached her, I could almost feel the heat emanating from her, impossibly, inhumanly warm.

What must her temperature be? I had no way of knowing, but I wondered how anyone could stay alive and conscious — even the fragile consciousness she was clinging to right now — while suffering such a high fever.

“Taylor, here’s the water.” She didn’t seem capable of taking the bottle herself, so I held it to her lips. For a second she didn’t move, only let the opening rest against her mouth, and then some lizard-brain function must have kicked in, because she latched onto it and drank greedily while I tilted the rest of the bottle’s contents into her mouth. Within a few seconds, all the water was gone.

“That’s all,” I told her, but she didn’t seem to understand, even lifting one hand to grab at the bottle when I began to pull it away. “Just rest, Taylor. Please. The ambulance will be here soon.”

That, of course, was a lie. I had no idea what “longer-than-normal response times” might mean, since I’d never called an ambulance for anyone in my life. My father might know, but even if I could get a hold of him, which I doubted, he’d probably read me the riot act for not getting out of there the second Taylor started to display symptoms. Or maybe not. He was pretty big on the whole “serve and protect” mentality.

Right now, though, I had a feeling I was on my own.

I pulled my cell phone out of my jeans pocket where I’d stowed it and looked at the time. Fifteen minutes since I’d called 911. It felt roughly ten times that. A quarter-hour response time wasn’t great, but it also didn’t feel too outside what might be considered normal. I might be waiting much, much longer than this. Biting my lip, I went to my contacts list and pushed the button for campus security, since I figured they might be faster than the paramedics, but the line was busy. I ended the call and tried again. Still nothing. Damn it.

As if finally registering that there was no more water, Taylor slumped back in her seat, head tilting to one side. Her body was twitching feebly. Some kind of convulsion? Again, my lack of experience with any kind of serious illness stymied me. Maybe it would be better for her to lie down, but the linoleum floor had to be far less comfortable than the chair. Since it had been a warm day, nearly eighty degrees, she didn’t have a sweater or jacket that I could lay her on, and I hadn’t brought one with me, either.

Never before in my life had I felt so useless, standing there and watching as the sweat rolled off her and she continued to jerk helplessly, like her body was being controlled by some unseen puppeteer. I went to the browser on my phone, thinking that maybe I could click over to WebMD or something and see if there was anything else I could do to help her, but no matter how many times I backed out of the browser app and tried to refresh it, I couldn’t get the damn thing to connect. It wasn’t the first time my phone had acted up like this, but in general I had good connectivity here at school. I had a feeling the phone wasn’t the real problem.

But no, I didn’t want to think about that. I didn’t want to think about what might be going on outside the door to my classroom, what might be happening to my parents or my brother.

No, I thought fiercely. They’re fine. They have to be.

Just when I was about to give up and dial 911 again, the door burst inward, and two men carrying a stretcher entered the classroom. Thank God you’re here died on my lips, because they weren’t wearing the usual dark jackets and pants of EMTs, but full head-to-toe yellow biohazard suits, the kind of gear I’d seen on TV on doctors and nurses treating people with Ebola.

They went straight to Taylor, extricated her from her desk, and laid her down on the stretcher. Once they were done with that and she was strapped in, one of them turned toward me.

“Name?”

I guessed they were asking about Taylor, not me. “Taylor Ortiz,” I told him. “That’s her purse right there on the floor. It should have her I.D. in it.”

The EMT grabbed her purse by the strap and lifted it from the floor, then extracted her wallet from within. He opened it, glanced at her driver’s license, and then nodded and dropped the wallet back in her purse. “You?”

“Me?” I blinked at him, then responded, “Jessica Monroe. I’m the T.A.”

“How are you feeling?”

Scared. “Fine. That is, I don’t feel like I’m running a fever or anything.” Did that even matter? I hadn’t heard what the incubation period was for the Heat, but I assumed it didn’t have instantaneous onset. No disease did…or did it?

“Go straight home,” the EMT said. “No contact with anyone else. If you start to exhibit symptoms, don’t call your doctor. Go straight to the hospital.”

“But….” The word trailed off as I attempted to gather my thoughts. Something about this didn’t feel right. No, wait, scratch that — nothing about it felt right. I’d been exposed to someone who obviously had the Heat. Shouldn’t they be quarantining me or something?

The EMT’s hooded head tilted to one side as he waited for me to spit it out.

I said, “If she’s sick, haven’t I been infected, too? Don’t I, I don’t know, have to be isolated or something?”

“We don’t have the facilities for that. Best thing to do is go home and stay away from other people. If you do get sick, get to the hospital. That’s all I can tell you.”

Then he nodded at his compatriot, and they both crouched down and lifted the stretcher, hauling Taylor out of the room. It was only after the door had shut behind them that I realized they’d left her purse behind, as if who she was didn’t matter.

My phone went off then, and I looked down at the text that had just appeared on my home screen. Due to health emergency, all classes are suspended indefinitely. We ask that all students go to their residences immediately and remain there until further notice.

So the university’s student alert system had finally kicked in.

Too bad that it was already too late.

Chapter 2

The campus was mostly deserted when I emerged from the classroom at a little before noon and locked the door behind me. In a way that was good, as at least I didn’t have to play dodge ’em with anyone who looked infected. But there was still a long line of cars waiting to get out of the parking lot, and I sat there, worry mounting as the minutes ticked past.

What did it feel like when the Heat came over you? A sudden spike in temperature? Or was it a slow, gradual burn, until you, like a lobster in a pot, ended up boiling in your own juices?

I didn’t know. And all this had happened so quickly that there hadn’t been much detail on the news, either. Or maybe they’d repressed what they did know, lest they throw everyone into a panic.

At last I was able to pull out on Central, then headed west. Did I dare take the freeway to get home? All around me, the streets were choked, full of people obviously trying to get to their own homes, so I had a feeling the freeway was a very bad idea. Instead, I ended up zigzagging my way out of the downtown area, finally making it over to 12th so I could head north. A few more zigzags, and then I was back in a residential section, although still a few miles from home. There was less traffic here, although I noticed more cars on the streets than there normally would have been in the middle of the day when everyone should have been at work.

A sigh of relief escaped my lips as I pulled up in front of the house and I saw my mother’s Escape parked in the driveway. No sign of Dad’s Grand Cherokee, or the police cruiser he sometimes brought home. But at least my mother was here.

I scrambled out of the car, then hurried down the driveway to let myself in the back door. We almost never came and went through the front, mostly because my mother was unnecessarily fussy about the Berber carpet in the living room. Better to track dirt through the kitchen, which had abused linoleum she’d been wanting to get rid of for years.

“Mom?” I called out as I came in through the service porch, then on into the kitchen.

“Jess?” she called back. I heard feet approaching from the hallway that ran down the middle of the house. When she came around the corner, I saw that her face was dead white. She let out a little choked sob when she saw me. “Oh, thank God.”

At any other time her reaction might have startled me, but not now. Not after what had just happened to Taylor Ortiz. “I’m fine,” I said. “Only — ”

Her brows drew together. “Only?”

“A girl in my class — she had it. The EMTs came and got her, but they sent me home. It’s probably better if you don’t come too close.”

“Oh, God,” she said, this time invoking the name in horror rather than in relief. She appeared to gather herself, voice strained as she went on, “How do you feel?”

I paused to take stock. “Okay, actually,” I told her. It was true, too. Yes, I was a little shaken after being that close to someone that sick, and then having to fight my way home through hordes of panicky motorists, but otherwise, I felt fine. No fever. No chills. No sweats.

Despite what I’d just told her about staying away, she took a step closer. Motherly instinct, I supposed. She had to reassure herself that I was all right and not merely take my word for it. But because she was a smart woman, she only came close enough to see for herself that I wasn’t flushed or feverish or sweaty.

After a long pause, she nodded. “I keep flipping through the stations, trying to see if someone is giving out any concrete information. What the incubation period is. How infectious the disease is. The — the mortality rate.” She pulled in a breath. “And there’s nothing, except that the situation is being handled and that people should stay home whenever possible. What kind of a policy is that?”

I didn’t know. I would have assumed that in most cases of infection, the CDC would have send out teams to quarantine people and triage those affected, would do everything possible to keep the disease from spreading any further. Or at least, that was what I’d observed on TV when the news covered outbreaks of bird flu or whatever. But I’d seen no real government presence on my way home today, no squads of experts in biohazard gear, no blacked-out SUVs speeding down the street, no…nothing. It was as if this thing was spreading so quickly the government couldn’t begin to contain it.

That thought was too frightening, though, and I quickly pushed it away. Instead, I asked, “Dad? Devin?”

She glanced away from me, her mouth tight. “I can’t reach your father. I sent a text to Devin, telling him to come home, but he hasn’t answered me. I called the school and got a recording that classes had been canceled and everyone sent home. So my best guess is he’s taking the opportunity to have a little unsupervised time with Lori.”

Lori was his girlfriend. The two had been joined at the hip since spring break last year, and I had a feeling my mother’s guess was all too correct. “Did you try calling her house?”

“Of course I did. No answer. And I don’t have her cell number — Devin would never give it to me. At the time, I didn’t think it was worth nagging him about it. Now….”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” I said quickly. No point in having my mother worry any more than absolutely necessary. “If they’re at Lori’s house, then at least they’re inside and away from other people.”

“True, but….”

I knew she would fret about this until Devin appeared, whenever that was. In that moment, fury flashed through me, that he would be so selfish as to go off and bang his girlfriend or whatever while the rest of us were worried sick about him. Uttering such a thing out loud would just set my mother off that much more, though, so I only said, “Why don’t you have some tea while you’re waiting? I need to go up to my apartment and wash my hands and get straightened up, but I’ll be right back down.”

Her eyes were far away, but she nodded. “That sounds like a good idea.”

I sent her what I hoped was an encouraging smile, then went out the back door and down the driveway to the detached garage. The apartment built over it was small, just a little over four hundred square feet, so there was a tiny living room, a spot under one window for a table and two chairs, a kitchenette, and then the bedroom and bath, which was so small I could reach out from the shower stall and open the door if I had to. But at least it was mine, and it felt good to escape there, to hurry up the stairs and run to the bathroom so I could turn on the water as hot as I could stand it, then let it run over my hands as I scrubbed them again and again with antibacterial soap.

As if that would make a difference. It was better than nothing, though, and I couldn’t think of what else to do. My eyes stared back at me from within the mirror, wide and dark, shadowed with worry. I was pale, but I didn’t look sick.

After blotting my hands on a towel, I reached up and felt my forehead. It didn’t seem overly warm, but I’d always heard you couldn’t really detect your own temperature by doing that. So I opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out the digital thermometer I kept there. After cleaning it off with some rubbing alcohol, I popped it in my mouth and waited.

The seconds went by with agonizing slowness. I wandered out to the living room and sat down on the futon, wondering whether I should turn on my TV, see if I could find anything worth watching. But then, if my mother had been unable to, what made me think I would have any better luck?

Instead, I stared out the window at the tree outside, a honey locust, its leaves just beginning to turn yellow. It was warm during the day, but the nights were already cold. The tree knew its time was coming.

Did I?

The thermometer beeped, indicating it was done measuring my temperature, and I pulled it out of my mouth. For the longest moment, I only held it, scared to look at what the readout might say. Finally, I forced myself to glance down.

97.6.

My breath whooshed out of me, and I dropped the thermometer on top of the coffee table. No temperature at all. On the low side, actually.

But what did that mean? Once you were infected, how long did it take for your fever to start building?

I didn’t know. All I did know was that I wasn’t sick. Not yet, anyway. And I’d left my mother alone long enough. Even if I couldn’t sit next to her, I would be close enough so we could talk, and that would help to keep her from worrying until Devin came home. Which he would, eventually, after he’d gotten his rocks off. I loved my little brother, but sometimes he wasn’t the most considerate of other people’s feelings. Well, other people who weren’t his girlfriend, that is.

After closing the door to my apartment but not locking it, I went back into the main house, past the washer and dryer and the overflow pantry where my mother put all the big containers of items from Costco, the sort of stuff that was “such a good deal she couldn’t pass it up.” What in the world we were going to do with that much tomato sauce or rolled oats, I had no idea.

She must have turned the television on, because I could hear it blathering away as I approached. “…everyone is encouraged to stay inside and away from people with obvious signs of infection. If a fever presents, take analgesics such as aspirin or ibuprofen. Ice packs are also effective. If the fever rises to above 103 degrees Fahrenheit, go to your nearest emergency room….”

I stopped dead at the entrance to the kitchen. Not because I didn’t want to get any closer to my mother, but because I knew it really didn’t matter whether I was infected or not.

Her body was sprawled on the kitchen floor, limp, one of her low-heeled pumps hanging half off her foot. Panic flashed through me, so quick and sudden that I could actually feel my knees beginning to buckle. I grabbed on to the doorframe for support, telling myself I didn’t have time to lose it right now. After swallowing a huge gulp of air, I said, “Mom?”

No reply, but then I heard her breathing, rapid and shallow, like our old dog Sadie after a particularly strenuous walk. We’d lost Sadie last winter.

Stupid of me to be thinking of that now.

I went into the kitchen and knelt down next to my mother, reaching out to touch her shoulder. The skin under the silk blouse she’d worn to work was almost scorching, or at least it felt that way to my shaky fingers. “Mom?”

The faintest of groans. It wasn’t much, but it was a sign that she could still hear me, hadn’t yet retreated so far that she couldn’t even react to outside stimuli.

Obviously, I couldn’t leave her here. My parents’ bedroom was upstairs, and I quailed at the thought of trying to move her all the way up the flight of stairs that led to the second story. Maybe I could just lay her down on the couch in the family room? At least until my father got home, and then the two of us could get her properly in bed. Even then I knew calling an ambulance was pointless. I couldn’t count on anyone to come, so I figured the best thing to do was to get her as comfortable as possible.

I took her by the shoulders, and, as gently as I could, rolled her over so she was facing upward. She whimpered during this procedure, sounding so unlike herself that I felt a frightened little sob escape my throat. Luckily, she was far enough gone that she couldn’t really hear me.

Telling myself that this was the best thing to do, that I couldn’t leave her on the floor, I half-carried, half-dragged her into the family room and then somehow manhandled her up onto the couch. The scary thing was that she didn’t even protest, didn’t try to push back against me or do anything, really. It was like moving a rag doll around — a 130-pound rag doll, anyway.

But at last she was safely on the couch. I took the throw that always lay folded over one arm and spread it out across her. Another one of those little whimpers, as if she thought that would make her too hot, but knew she had to have some sort of covering. Then she subsided, eyes shut tight, chest rising and falling far too rapidly.

All of the first aid supplies were in the medicine cabinet in the upstairs bathroom, the one Devin and I used to share before I moved into the apartment over the garage. After taking another look at my mother and deciding she should be okay for a minute or so, I hurried up the stairs, moving as quickly as I could without actually running. When I got to the bathroom, I opened the cabinet, took out the jumbo container of Kirkland ibuprofen, and shook a couple into my hand. I also took out the thermometer. Yes, it was obvious my mother had a high fever…but how high? Past the magic number of 103?

I had to hope not.

I dashed back down the stairs. She hadn’t moved, although I noticed she’d pushed the throw off her chest, down to her waist. Her blouse and skirt were getting wrinkled, but I couldn’t do much about that. Another thing my father would have to help me with when he got home.

If he got home.

Don’t go there, I told myself. He’ll be here. He will.

I just didn’t know what he’d find when he eventually did make it home.

The pills were cool in my palm. I realized then that I’d forgotten to get any water for my mother to take them with, so I went into the kitchen, filled a glass halfway, and went back out to the family room. She hadn’t moved, was lying there twitching and shaking the way Taylor Ortiz had.

“Mom,” I said softly. She didn’t seem to acknowledge me, so I didn’t know if she’d really heard me or not. Maybe my saying her name was to reassure myself as much as it was to let her know I was there. “Here’s some water, and some pills for your fever.”

I slipped my arm under her shoulders and lifted her a few inches, just enough so I could bring the water to her lips. Like Taylor, she drank greedily, gulping so much that I had to pull the glass away so there would be enough left for her to take the pills.

“Okay, first one,” I told her, slipping one of the ibuprofen capsules between her lips. It just sort of sat there on her tongue, so I poured more water into her mouth. Her swallow reflex cut in, and she downed the pill without too much trouble. The second one was a little more difficult, but she did finally take it.

After that procedure, I realized I should’ve taken her temperature first, that the water might make the reading inaccurate. Since there wasn’t anything I could do about it at the moment, I sat down in one of the armchairs, figuring if I waited a few minutes, it would probably be safe to try the thermometer.

Waiting was bad, though. If all I was doing was sitting there and watching my mother shake and shiver on the couch, then I had plenty of time to think…and thinking was the last thing I wanted to do. My thoughts chased one another around and around, worrying at each other, fretting, biting. What if my father never came home? What if Devin had fallen sick at Lori’s? What if they were both sick?

And above all, Why isn’t anyone helping us?

I could feel myself starting to shake, but I didn’t think it was from a fever. No, I guessed it was just good old-fashioned fear with an extra helping of uncertainty. Clenching my hands together, I willed them to stop trembling. My mother was probably too out of it to really notice, but I didn’t want my fingers shaking when I finally did take her temperature.

Since I couldn’t think of anything else to do, I picked up the remote for the TV and switched it on, quickly lowering the volume so it wouldn’t disturb my mother. As I flipped from channel to channel, I didn’t see anything that was remotely reassuring. More talking heads, discussing self-quarantine procedures and dispensing advice how you shouldn’t go out or come into contact with anyone if you had any symptoms, and if you did come down with a fever, to make sure you wore a mask or tied some kind of barrier over your nose and mouth when it came time to go to the emergency room. And all of them looked pale and strained, and were giving the side-eye to one another when they thought the others weren’t looking, as if trying to detect signs that one of their fellow newscasters might be starting to show symptoms. On one channel, I caught a pretty young woman who didn’t look much older than I sending furtive glances somewhere off-camera, as if at someone who was standing by and monitoring what they were all saying. That couldn’t be good.

With all the people being sent to emergency rooms, hospitals had to be overwhelmed. I wondered how many people were sick, and how many were like me, exposed but still asymptomatic. Maybe fifty-fifty? I couldn’t even begin to guess. All I did know was that I didn’t see how hospitals could even begin to keep up.

Annoyed that all the stations were repeating the same useless information, I turned off the television and picked up the thermometer. My mother really didn’t want to take it, but after a bit of wrestling, I got it shoved between her lips and more or less under her tongue. Her skin felt clammy and hot at the same time, which I doubted was a good sign. Maybe two ibuprofen weren’t enough. Maybe I should have given her three, or even four.

Or maybe I could have poured the whole damn bottle down her throat, and it still wouldn’t have done a bit of good.

Clenching my jaw, I sat and looked out the window at the trees moving in the gentle September breeze, at the sparrow who landed on one branch and cocked his head in my direction, almost as if he could see me sitting inside, watching him. The window in the family room faced out onto the side yard and the fence that separated us from the Montoyas next door. I didn’t see any movement over there, which most days wouldn’t have been that unusual. It was the middle of the day; both the Montoyas worked full-time, and their kids were in grade school. But the schools were closed, and it seemed as if most places of business were shutting up and sending their employees home as well.

Were they home, but ill? Or well enough, but hiding, not wanting to take the risk of being exposed? I didn’t know, and I had my hands full here. If my father came home, I’d probably go over and check on them, but until then….

The thermometer beeped at me, and I gently drew it from my mother’s mouth and looked at the readout. Then I squeezed my eyes shut, certain they had to be reading it wrong, that they were tricking me in some way.

I opened them again.

106.8.

Was that possible?

I supposed it had to be, since that was what the thermometer was saying. I also had a feeling that two ibuprofen might not be cutting it here. Okay, on the news they were saying to apply cool cloths, so that seemed to be the next step. Well, right after I called 911. Maybe that wouldn’t do any good, but right then I was so scared by my mother’s temperature that I had to at least try to get help.

After I set the thermometer back down on the coffee table, I got up and went to the kitchen, where my parents still had an old-fashioned corded phone mounted on the wall. Devin and I had both laughed at it, but my father had given us the evil eye and said that land lines were way more reliable than cell phones, and that one day we might be very glad of that old push-button phone.

I lifted the receiver from its cradle, but when I put it to my ear, all I heard was a fast busy signal, the kind you get when the phone service is out. Scowling, I jiggled the hook, then listened again. Still nothing. So much for good old-fashioned technology.

My cell phone was upstairs in my apartment, still in my purse where I’d dropped it on the floor by the door. I really didn’t want to leave my mother alone, but I needed to see if the cell network was functioning any better than the land one.

After peeking into the family room and reassuring myself that she was resting as well as she could be, all things considered, I let myself out and climbed the steps to my apartment two at a time. Since I hadn’t locked the door, it only took a few seconds for me to get in, pull the phone out of my purse, and dial 911.

“We’re sorry — all circuits are currently busy. Please try again later.”

The computer-generated voice sounded positively snotty. Somehow I resisted the urge to fling my cell phone against the wall, since I knew that wouldn’t do any good. Instead, I stuffed it into the pocket of my jeans and hurried back to the house. I sure would try again later, but in the meantime, I had to do what I could to take care of my mother.

Her condition didn’t seem to have worsened during the couple of minutes I was gone. That was something. I got a few dish towels out of the drawer and dampened them with cold water, then went into the family room and laid them across her forehead. Some of the moisture dripped on her gray silk blouse, leaving damp blotches. I hoped they wouldn’t leave stains.

Seriously, you’re worrying about a couple of stains at a time like this?

I supposed I was fixating on that, just because it was easier to worry about something like ruining my mother’s clothes rather than the big-picture stuff, like how none of the phones were working. Yes, I’d heard how that could happen after some kind of disaster, but Albuquerque wasn’t really prone to disasters, whether natural or man-made.

The back door slammed, and my mother started, then began twitching and shaking again. Damn. And I’d just gotten her to a place where she seemed to be more or less resting comfortably. But maybe that slamming door meant my father had come home.

I readjusted the damp towel on my mother’s forehead, then got up and went into the kitchen. Devin was getting a glass out of the cupboard as I entered. He looked fine — no flushed cheeks, no sheen of sweat — and in that moment I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to hug him in relief or punch him in the arm for making us worry like that about him.

“Where the hell have you been?” I demanded.

“Lori’s,” he replied, going to the refrigerator and getting some ice and water out of the door.

“Well, you scared the crap out of Mom. She couldn’t get a hold of you — ”

He shrugged. “I sent a text. Maybe it didn’t go through. Anyway, they sent us home, and Lori couldn’t get in touch with either of her parents, so she was freaking out. So I stayed with her.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling some of my righteous indignation begin to seep away. Lori was an only child, and a little coddled, so I could see why she’d be more than ordinarily upset at not being able to contact her parents. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, her mom finally got a text through and said she was on her way home, so I thought I’d better get over here.” His gaze sharpened on me, and I wondered what he saw. Lord knows, I was starting to feel kind of overloaded. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but Mom isn’t,” I replied bluntly. Maybe too bluntly, because he almost dropped the glass he was holding.

“She’s — she’s not sick, is she?”

“Yes. She just got the fever about a half hour ago.”

Beneath his end-of-summer tan, my brother’s face drained of all color. “She can’t be sick!”

Right then he didn’t look like the big, broad-shouldered running back, but a scared kid. I wanted to go hug him, but lately he’d been scorning such sisterly displays of emotion, so I wasn’t sure how he would react. Instead, I kept my voice calm as I told him, “She had a high fever, but I got her to take some ibuprofen, and she’s resting now with some cold cloths on her head. So far, so good.”

That sounded very reasonable, very steady. Never mind that I didn’t really believe it. If this disease really was at all survivable, that information would’ve been all over the news by now. The complete radio silence on the actual facts of the disease told me that it was beyond dire…it was catastrophic.

My words didn’t seem to reassure Devin. He gave me a stricken look and then went into the family room, where he stopped a few feet away from the couch and stared down at our mother. She seemed to be sleeping, but something seemed off about her face, as if her cheeks and eye sockets had begun to look sunken, far too shadowed.

No, that couldn’t be right. It had to be a trick of the lighting in the room; I’d pulled the drapes almost closed so the afternoon light that was beginning to slant into the space wouldn’t disturb her. Just some sort of strange optical illusion.

Only I feared that wasn’t it at all.

Devin appeared to be of the same mind. He stood there, hands hanging helplessly at his sides, as he stared down at her. Finally, he whispered, “She’s going to die, isn’t she?”

In that moment, I was furious with him for giving voice to that thought, as if by saying it out loud he could somehow cause it to happen. “No, she’s not,” I shot back, my voice shaking.

“She is,” he insisted, and right then I was glad that she was more or less comatose. At least that way she couldn’t possibly hear what we were saying. “When I was over at Lori’s house, we were on the computer, trying to get more information. A lot of the sites we went to were down, but we found one with this guy on video saying that everyone who catches it dies, and that the government is shutting down anyone who tries to spread the truth.”

I recalled that one blonde newscaster, and the way her gaze kept flickering nervously to something — or someone — off-screen. FBI…or CIA…or NSA…agents, standing there and watching to make sure the reporters all said the same thing?

At any other time, that would have felt like rank paranoia. Now, though….

“That’s crazy,” I said, although I didn’t sound all that convinced, even to myself. “No disease is one hundred percent fatal.”

“That we know of,” Devin shot back. Then his face twisted as he looked back down at our mother, at her strangely waxy and sunken features. “Is there anything else we can do? Like, I don’t know, ice packs or something?”

“Maybe,” I said. It was worth a try. Covering her in ice packs would complete the ruin of her outfit, but I doubted that mattered much at the moment.

Glad to have something to do, Devin and I went to the kitchen and got out some big gallon-sized plastic storage bags and started filling them with ice. That seriously depleted our current ice supply, but I knew the ice-maker would start chugging away in an attempt to make up the deficit.

“How are you feeling?” I asked as we zipped up the last bag.

“Fine,” he said. “I mean, I feel…weird…but I don’t feel sick.”

That about sized it up. Weird, but not sick. The world was tilting beneath us, but neither of us knew what to do about it.

I set the bags I carried down on the coffee table, not worried about whether the cold and the moisture would mar the wooden surface. Such concerns seemed miles away from where we were right now. “I want to check her temperature again first,” I told Devin, picking up the thermometer and slipping it into our mother’s mouth. She squirmed a bit, but I held firm, and she subsided. We waited as the seconds went by, and when the thermometer beeped, I was pulling it out before it was even done.

When I looked at the readout, I couldn’t believe what it said.

“One hundred and seven point two,” I read as my stomach began to knot. So much for the ibuprofen and the cold towels.

Devin’s dark eyes were practically round, they widened so much. “That’s not possible…is it?”

“Well, it’s possible to have a fever that high,” I replied, then stopped there. It wouldn’t do much good to point out that such an unnaturally high fever could result in brain and organ damage…and that there wasn’t a damn thing we could do to stop it, apparently. I drew in a breath and added, “Let’s get the ice on her. Obviously, the cold compresses weren’t enough.”

He nodded, and I picked up the bags full of ice I’d placed on the coffee table. I wasn’t even sure of the best positioning of the ice packs, but I figured she’d need one on her head, and some up against her sides, maybe on her chest….

The bag in my left hand went on her forehead, and the one in my right down on her chest. She winced, although her eyes didn’t open. The bag I’d put on her chest shifted slightly, and I repositioned it. “Give me yours,” I told Devin, guessing that he wouldn’t feel very comfortable about setting bags full of ice on his mother’s body. From the alacrity with which he handed them off, I had a feeling my guess was correct. I placed those two on either side of her waist, trying to position them in such a way that they’d get maximum contact with her torso. It was the core that needed to get cooled down. Or at least, I thought that was how it worked.

She didn’t like it, I could tell — she kept shifting slightly, trying to get away from the cold, but she was so weak that her movements were ineffectual. Still, if she moved around much more than that, I’d have to find some way to secure the ice packs in place. There had to be some rope or twine or something like that in the garage.

I wondered if I should send Devin out to fetch it. He was staring down at our mother, glassy-eyed, as if not quite able to take in what was happening to her.

Then I saw the way he swayed on his feet, and a wave of cold that had nothing to do with the ice packs I’d just handled washed over me.

“Devin?” I asked, and it seemed it took him far longer than it should for him to glance over at me.

His pupils appeared to have dilated until they were so large that the black almost swallowed up the warm brown of his irises. “Huh?”

“How do you feel?” I enunciated the words carefully so there would be no chance for him to misunderstand.

“Um…weird.”

I went to him and put my hand on his forehead. He didn’t flinch away, which told me something was very wrong. Actually, the clammy heat against my palm told me everything I needed to know.

When I spoke, the words sounded as if they were coming from very far away, as if someone other than myself was saying them. “Devin, why don’t you go upstairs and get into bed? I’ll bet you’re tired.”

“Yeah, I am kind of tired,” he mumbled, then turned with excruciating slowness and began moving toward the hallway and the staircase that led to the second floor. I prayed he’d be able to get there under his own power. My mother had been difficult enough to move. I knew there was no way I’d be able to haul 170 pounds of running back up those stairs.

But somehow he did it, putting one foot hesitatingly after the other, until at last he reached the upstairs hall and stumbled into his room. I followed, giving him his space, and when he collapsed onto his bed, legs hanging off the side, I wanted to let out a sigh of relief…but I didn’t.

How could I, when I knew my brother had just been handed a death sentence?

Chapter 3

I did go in, and untie his shoes and pull them off. Then I waited as he wriggled under the covers.

“Get some rest, Devin,” I told him, and he gave me a bleary nod.

“’Kay.”

Maybe he slept after that, or just plain passed out. Part of me was thinking I should go downstairs and fetch the big bottle of ibuprofen, but what was the point? I’d given some to my mother, and it hadn’t made a whit of a difference. In fact, she’d only gotten worse.

I couldn’t linger here, anyway — I had to go check on her. Devin seemed more or less quiescent for the moment, so it seemed safe to go back downstairs.

She hadn’t moved much. The ice packs were more or less in place, except for the one on her forehead, which had slid to one side. I put it back in the proper position, feeling as I did so how quickly the ice had melted, how half the bag was now just cold water. Was that even possible?

Then again, I didn’t have much experience with how quickly a 107-degree fever could melt ice. If her temperature was even still 107. It might have gone up again.

Toward the front of the house, the door slammed, and I jumped. Then joy rushed through me as I realized who it must be. Thank God.

I ran out of the family room and into the hallway, saw my father coming toward me. The relief that spread over his face as he caught sight of me standing there, apparently safe and well, made me feel all warm and happy inside…for about a second. Then I thought of my mother, lying on the couch, silk shirt stained beyond recognition, eyes seeming to sink deeper and deeper into her head with every passing minute, of Devin passed out upstairs, the fever beginning to consume him as well, and not a damn thing I could do about it.

Something in my expression must have changed, because my father stopped dead and asked, “Your mother?”

“She’s in the family room. She — ” And that’s all I got out, because out of nowhere I began to sob noisily, the preternatural calm I’d been able to maintain all day deserting me now that my father was here and I didn’t have to be the strong one anymore.

He came to me and held me for a moment, letting me cry. No words of reassurance, though; I had a feeling he’d seen enough today to know there was nothing remotely reassuring about our situation. Then he said, “I need to see her,” and let go of me.

I didn’t protest. I was his daughter, but she was his wife.

When I paused in the doorway to the family room, I could see my father standing a few feet away from the couch, his head bowed. His hands hung at his sides, clenched into fists.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I gave her some ibuprofen, but that didn’t seem to work. Then I thought maybe the ice — ” I let the words break off there. Nothing was working, and now Devin was sick, too, and right then I didn’t have the ability to pile more bad news on my father. Not with that non-expression on his face, the one I’d seen a few times when he was desperately attempting to keep the world from knowing how badly he really was hurting.

He didn’t move. At first I wasn’t sure he was going to answer me, but then he said, “It’ll slow it down, but it won’t stop it.”

His tone was so final that I couldn’t help asking, “How do you know?”

Another one of those short, painful silences. “Because I’ve been out in it all day. Seeing people collapse in the street. Taking others to the hospital in my cruiser because the ambulances were either busy or already out of commission, their drivers just as incapacitated as everyone else. Even Josh — ” His voice didn’t exactly break, but from the way he stopped himself, I got the impression it was about to.

Josh was my father’s partner. They’d been partners since, well, ever since I could remember. For my father to have seen the man he regarded as a brother come down with this terrible thing…. “I’m sorry, Dad,” I said, although I knew the words were completely inadequate.

“I tried to take him to the hospital. He wouldn’t go. Said he was going to die with dignity in his own house.” Again I heard the faintest waver at the edges of my father’s voice before he got control of himself again. “I had to carry him inside. He was already burning up. And after that, I couldn’t — I didn’t see the point in staying on assignment any longer. Half the force was already sick with this thing and the rest about to come down with it. I knew I had to come home. Home,” he repeated, staring down at my mother’s limp form.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. Just words, but they did something to fill up the silence. “She seemed okay when I got here. But then….” I bit my lip, knowing I had to tell him about Devin. God, I didn’t want to, though.

“Then?” he echoed.

“She collapsed. I brought her in here because I couldn’t get her upstairs. And Devin….”

“He’s sick, too.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. But he’s up in his room. He’s sleeping.”

“Then he’s lucky.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what that meant. “So…what do we do now?”

“I’ll take your mother up to our bed.” For the first time, he shifted so he could look back at me. “How do you feel, Jess?”

“Fine,” I said, the automatic response. Then I shook my head, because I knew that was a lie, and I didn’t want to lie to my father. “No, I feel terrible. But I’m not sick.”

“I understand. I feel the same way.” He turned toward my mother again, gently lifted the ice packs — which were now mostly water — from her, then slid his arms under her so he could pick her up. Her arms and legs dangled, as limp as if they’d become somehow boneless, but she didn’t move, didn’t even make a whimper of protest. Was that a good sign, or a sign that she was slipping farther and farther away from us?

I crossed my arms and tried to suppress the shiver that went through me. From my father’s expression, I could tell he wanted to be alone to lay her down in the bed they shared, to be with her now even though it was probably too late. I understood that, and yet I still wanted to run up the stairs and be with him, to not feel so alone.

As I stood there, letting my father trudge up the stairs and forcing myself to stay where I was, to give him his privacy, I heard something. The word was only a whisper at the edges of my mind, and yet it seemed to resonate along every nerve ending.

Beloved….

Going rigid, I held myself stock still, wondering where on earth that had come from. At first I thought it might have been my father, speaking to my mother, but I’d never heard him call her “beloved.” “Sweetheart,” yes, and “darling” — but never “baby,” since she always said using that epithet only infantilized women. Such a firebrand, my mother.

Although maybe that was the wrong word to be using right now.

Anyway, their bedroom was at the end of the upstairs hall, too far away for me to have heard him unless he’d all but shouted the word. At any rate, it hadn’t sounded like my father’s voice. It was somewhat deep like his, but more rounded around the edges, with the faintest hint of an accent I couldn’t even begin to identify.

“Who’s there?” I whispered, feeling like an idiot even as the words left my lips.

No reply, of course. I was only imagining things. No one had ever called me “beloved.” Hell, only one person had ever even told me he loved me. Colin, the boyfriend of my junior and senior years of college. It had taken me a while to realize his “love” wasn’t the kind I wanted — he said those things to keep me placated, to keep me from noticing that he was banging at least two other girls on the side.

I’d gone to the clinic right after I dumped him and had myself tested for every disease it was possible to be tested for, and I was fine, but that experience had scarred me. I hadn’t gotten past a second date ever since. Third dates were when things could start to get serious, when you might end up in the sack together. So I always made sure to end relationships before they got to that stage. No opportunities for anyone to be calling me “beloved,” that was for sure.

And then I decided that the stress of the day had gotten to me, and I was hearing things. Or were auditory hallucinations another byproduct of a high fever? I didn’t know for sure; apparently, I hadn’t spent enough time hanging out on WebMD.

Even though I knew it wouldn’t tell me anything concrete, I couldn’t help putting my hand up to my forehead. No discernible change in temperature that I could tell, which meant I wasn’t running a fever. No tingles or chills or any of the other telltales of my internal temperature being anything other than what it should be.

I decided that standing there and trying to determine whether I was sick or crazy wasn’t helping anyone, so I went upstairs to check on Devin. The door to my parents’ room was closed, and I knew better than to knock. My father would come out when he was ready. I couldn’t begin to imagine what he’d seen today, and I knew he needed this time alone with his wife. It wasn’t a question of if, but when; the human body just couldn’t survive at temperatures like that. She should be in a hospital getting IV drips and ice baths and Lord knows what else. An economy-sized bottle of ibuprofen and some half-assed bags of ice from the freezer weren’t going to cut it.

Tears began to prick at my eyes, and I blinked them away. I’d already cried once today, and I knew I’d probably have plenty more reasons to weep by the time this was all over. Or maybe by then I’d be sick, too, and I wouldn’t know what was happening to me. That was one blessed thing about this entire nightmare — once people got hit by that fever, it scrambled their brains so much they didn’t seem to be aware of what was happening to them. Thank God for small mercies.

I opened Devin’s door a crack and saw that he had fallen into the fitful phase of the disease — twitching and jerking, his forehead sheened with sweat. Even though I knew it probably wouldn’t do any good, I went to the upstairs bathroom and shook three capsules of ibuprofen out of the big bottle in the cabinet there, then pulled a little paper cup from the dispenser and filled it with water.

Just as I was approaching his bed, Devin’s leg jerked out and hit my arm, causing the water to splash all down my front, soaking the knit top I wore. I muttered a curse, but he didn’t even seem to realize what he’d done, and that was how I knew he must be completely out of it. At any other time, he would’ve burst out laughing at managing to kick water all over me.

Pulling in a breath, I did an about-face and went back to the bathroom, plucked a towel off the rack, and did the best I could to blot the worst of the moisture from my shirt. Then I refilled the paper cup and went back to my brother’s bedroom, approaching with care from the side so he wouldn’t catch me unawares again.

That kick seemed to have consumed the last of his strength, because he was lying on his back, one arm flopped over the side of the bed. I went to him and murmured, “Here’s some medicine for you, Dev.”

The water first, since that had worked well with both Taylor and my mother. He drank, and didn’t protest when I dropped a pill on his tongue and made him swallow, then gave him some more water. I repeated the process two more times, giving him one last sip to empty the cup, my arm under his head to steady him. He did drink, then collapsed against the pillow when he was done.

Was any of that going to do him any good? Or was I just doing something…anything…to make myself feel less helpless?

Probably the latter, although I wasn’t quite ready to admit it to myself.

Since Devin seemed to be sleeping again, I decided I could leave him for a bit. Pulling out the chair and sitting next to him felt a little too much like keeping watch over someone’s deathbed, and I wasn’t ready to do that yet. Also, I’d just realized I was thirsty, too — I hadn’t had anything to drink since I’d come home several hours earlier.

So I slipped out of my brother’s room and went back down the stairs. The door to my parents’ room was still shut, and I felt a completely unworthy stab of irritation. Yes, it must be terrible for my father, but I doubted my mother even knew he was there, whereas I needed him, needed someone to talk to. But I knew I would never disturb him, so I kept going to the kitchen. Once there, I pulled a glass from the cupboard and held it up to the ice dispenser. A few cubes half-heartedly spilled out, and I guessed it was working overtime to replenish what I’d already used in my futile attempt to reduce my mother’s fever.

I sat down on one of the stools at the breakfast bar and stared out the window, not really focusing on anything. Since our house was on a corner, the view included the low juniper hedges planted against the fence, and a fairly unobstructed glimpse of the street beyond. As I watched, a silver car wove its way down the street, listlessly drifting from one side of the narrow residential lane to the other, actually hitting one curb before correcting and moving toward the one opposite, like the world’s biggest and slowest pinball. It finally came to rest halfway up on the sidewalk on the corner across from our property, almost touching the smooth green lawn Mr. D’Ambrosio took such pride in, when most everyone else in the neighborhood had long since given up on grass and had switched over to cactus- and evergreen-studded drought-tolerant landscaping.

No one came out of the D’Ambrosio house to check on the driver, which told me Mr. and Mrs. D’Ambrosio must be as incapacitated as whoever had been driving that Camry. In that moment, I was just glad the driver had only been going twenty miles an hour at the most. Anything else, and they could have caused a lot more damage.

Footsteps coming down the hall made me turn, and I saw my father approaching. His eyes looked red, but otherwise his face was still and calm, as if he’d made his peace with whatever was happening to my mother, to Devin…to the world.

The words made their way to my lips before I even realized I was saying them. “Is she…?”

“No.” His gaze shifted to the glass of water sitting on the counter in front of me, and he gave a faint nod. He went and got his own glass from the cupboard, and got some water as well, although I noticed he didn’t bother with the ice. Afterward, he sat down next to me on one of the barstools and added, “Not yet, anyway.”

“How…how long?”

“I don’t know.” He drank some water, and I decided I should as well, although it seemed to get jammed halfway down my throat, lodging there as if it was a solid object instead of liquid. “It…varies, from what I’ve seen and heard.”

I didn’t know why, but for some reason that bothered me almost as much as anything else that had happened so far. If a disease was going to be this evil, it should at least be predictable.

The question had been torturing me all afternoon, and now I finally had someone I could ask it of. “Dad…why isn’t anyone helping? Why are we being left to deal with this alone?”

A long pause, during which he stared down at his glass of water without meeting my eyes. When he did look up, I almost wished I hadn’t been watching him, waiting for his response. Never in my life had I seen such an expression of despair on my father’s face. Despair…and fury.

“Because there’s no one to help, Jess. What’s happening here in Albuquerque — it’s happening everywhere. New York. Los Angeles. Washington, D.C. and London and Moscow and — everywhere.” His hands, his big, strong, capable hands, now somehow looked limp and broken as they rested on the counter. “There’s no answer at the CDC. Tried calling in the National Guard for help, and nothing. The only good thing about the whole situation is that people are getting sick so quickly, they don’t have time to get into trouble. The fever makes them incapable of violence, of looting. Most collapse where they stand. That’s why I said that Devin was lucky — you got him into bed, and he’s sleeping. The fever doesn’t have him hallucinating and having convulsions or seizures, like I saw happen with some people today.”

“So…that’s it?” I whispered. “We all just sit back and wait to die?”

He scrubbed his hand over his face and glanced away from me. “I don’t know. There’s no way to treat this thing. Either you get it, or you don’t. Or rather, I have yet to see anyone who hasn’t caught it, but…you’re not sick.”

“Yet,” I said flatly, then drank some water.

“Usually, you’d be sick by now, since you’ve been around infected people.”

“You’re not sick, either,” I pointed out, and he gave a grim nod.

“I keep expecting to be, but….” Deliberately, he picked up his glass and drained the water. “I don’t know. It’s possible we could have a hereditary immunity. I just don’t know.” His fingers tightened on the glass, and for a second I thought he was going to pick it up and hurl it at the wall, do something to express the frustrated anger I saw in his eyes. Instead, he let go of it and pushed it away. “The problem is, I don’t know anything.”

Neither did I, except that I didn’t feel sick, and my father didn’t appear to have any symptoms, either. Maybe there really was something to that notion of hereditary immunity. In looks and build, I favored my mother, with my almost-black hair and dark eyes, traits she claimed came from a great-great-grandmother who was full-blood Ute, while Devin and my father were more alike, hair still dark but not as inky as mine, their eyes a lighter, warmer brown. So why my father and I were the ones with no symptoms, I couldn’t begin to guess. Obviously, appearance didn’t have much to do with this particular quirk of heredity.

“I don’t know anything, either,” I said. “But I guess I’ll start with checking on Devin.”

“And I’ll look in on your mother.” My father got up from his stool, and I followed suit.

Once I was upstairs, I could tell there hadn’t been any real change with my brother. He didn’t even seem to have moved, but still lay there with one arm flopped over the side of his bed, eyes tightly shut. In fact, he was so still that I went over and laid two fingers against his throat, worried that I wouldn’t feel a pulse. It was there, but thready and fast, which couldn’t be a good sign. His hair, cropped short for football season, was damp with sweat.

Something about that thought, the realization that he should be off at football practice right now instead of lying here, fighting a disease so mysterious and strange that it didn’t even have a formal name, made the anger rise up in me again. This shouldn’t be happening. He should be with his teammates, getting sweaty because his coach had made him do a hundred push-ups for being a smart-ass yet again. And an hour from now, we should all be sitting down at the dinner table together, something families hardly ever did anymore, but which my mother insisted on. I’d been skipping those meals on Tuesdays and Thursdays, since I had to teach a six o’clock class, but I tried to make it when I could.

None of that was happening, though. And it wasn’t happening for Devin’s girlfriend Lori, or my own friends Elena and Tori and Brittany, or — or anyone. All across the city…the country…the world…people were suffering and dying, and no one could stop it.

That realization made the enormity of the whole situation come crashing down on me. I let out a choked little sob and fled my brother’s room, running down the stairs to the family room so I could turn on the TV, could reassure myself with the sound of someone else’s voice, even if the newscasters were following the commands of people who might already be dead. I had to know a world still existed out there beyond my house, even if it was a world swiftly falling apart.

But when I picked up the remote and turned on the television, nothing came on to reassure me. Some stations blank, others showing a “please stand by” message, others with a test pattern of colored bars. My heart rate sped up as I moved from channel to channel, thinking that there had to be at least one still broadcasting, one that hadn’t been abandoned.

AMC seemed to be showing a rerun of The Walking Dead, which had to be someone’s idea of a sick joke, as I didn’t think that show ever ran before nine o’clock at night due to its content. And that wasn’t even the worst. Farther up the band, on a channel I didn’t recognize, the screen was black, with words in stark white emblazoned across it:

And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, and, lo, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood….

I wasn’t much of a Bible reader, but even I recognized the quote from Revelations.

Making a disgusted sound, I clicked off the TV, then turned when I heard my father come to the door and lean against the frame, his shoulders slumped.

“It is the end of the world,” he said softly.

That couldn’t be my father — my hard-nosed, practical father, the one who made sure I knew how to shoot, how to catch a fish and clean it, how to change the oil in my car and swap out a flat tire. Nothing ever fazed him. But now some underlying steel seemed to have given way, his firm jaw somehow loose, his eyes blurred with sorrow.

“Dad?” I said uncertainly.

“She’s gone,” he told me, voice flat. “While we were down in the kitchen.”

The words didn’t seem to make any sense. Or rather, my mind refused to make sense of them, because if I understood those words, I’d know in that moment my mother was dead, and I just couldn’t face that. Not yet.

For the longest moment, I didn’t say anything, only stared up at him as I turned the remote I held over and over in my hand, its familiar rectangular shape suddenly alien, cold and hard. Not wanting to hold it any longer, I set it down on the coffee table.

“No,” I said at last.

“Yes,” he said softly. “It doesn’t look like she suffered. At least, not like some that I’ve seen. You’d almost think she was asleep.”

“Maybe she is asleep,” I protested. “Maybe you just thought — just thought she was — ” I couldn’t say the word. Not in connection with my mother. If I said it, then it would be true, and I couldn’t bear that.

He didn’t bother to contradict me, only watched me. Something of the no-nonsense father I was used to was clear in those eyes. They said, I don’t want to believe it, either. But that doesn’t make it less true.

That hard knot was back in my throat. My eyes burned. For some reason, though, the tears wouldn’t fall. They just remained where they were, burning like acid.

Finally, I asked, “What should we do? Should we — ” I couldn’t even finish the question. This would have been bad enough under normal circumstances, but at least then there was a routine to follow. You called the doctor. The doctor called the ambulance, and then eventually someone got in touch with the funeral home. That was how it worked when Grandmother Ivy — my mom’s mother — had passed.

Now, though…now you couldn’t even get a call through. And if by some miracle you did, it wouldn’t matter, because there wouldn’t be anyone on the other end to answer it.

My father wouldn’t meet my eyes. “We don’t need to do anything,” he said, that scary monotone back in his voice. “It’ll take care of itself.”

And something in the way he said those words made me too frightened to ask what in the world he meant.

Chapter 4

He went into the kitchen after that. I didn’t follow, but instead just stood there in the family room, my entire body feeling as if it had been encased in ice. One thought kept hammering away in my head, over and over again.

She’s dead. She’s dead. Your mother is dead.

I wished I could cry.

From the kitchen, I heard the clunk of ice dropping from the dispenser, the sound of liquid pouring, although not from the refrigerator door. I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly what it was.

My father was not, unlike a lot of cops, a heavy drinker. He and my mother would have a glass of wine with dinner sometimes, and I’d seen him drink champagne at weddings and have a beer after a morning of washing both his and Mom’s cars, but that was about it. But there was a bottle of Scotch he kept high up on a shelf, a bottle that rarely made an appearance. One time when his partner Josh was shot in the leg while breaking up a domestic dispute. Or the time my mother found a lump in her breast and had to go in for a biopsy. It turned out to be nothing, a benign cyst, but we’d all been fearing the worst.

And now the worst had happened, although in a manner none of us could have imagined, and he was sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, drinking Scotch on the rocks.

And I was too scared and shocked to even give him shit about it. If he wanted to seek comfort in a glass of Scotch rather than in me, there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

Still with that horrible lump lodged firmly in my throat, I went back to the staircase and slowly went up it, each step more and more difficult, as if I were in some horrible alternate dimension that kept strengthening the gravity pulling at me with every movement. Finally, though, I made it up to the landing, then went to Devin’s room.

He had shifted and was now lying on his side, half his covers thrown off. They’d probably felt far too hot, but I knew he had to stay warm. I crossed the room and grasped the sheet and blanket, hesitating as my hand paused on the comforter. Maybe that really was a bit too much, since it had been a mild, warm day, and his room wasn’t anywhere close to cold yet. I could always put the comforter over him later.

As I began to settle the sheet over his shoulders, though, something felt wrong. At first I couldn’t quite figure it out, and then, even as I realized what the problem was, my mind didn’t want to acknowledge it. Not this. Not so soon after — well, after.

The last time I’d been this close to him, heat had fairly radiated from his flesh. Now, though, he felt cool, and when I reached down to touch his hand, his fingers were like ice, and somehow already stiff, although logically I knew it was far too early for rigor mortis to have set in.

Then again, what was logical about any of this?

I recoiled, letting go of my dead brother’s hand, and backed away from the bed. As my father had told me about my mother’s passing, Devin didn’t look dead, just asleep. For whatever reason, his face didn’t have that sunken look about it that my mother had worn. Maybe his fever hadn’t burned as hot?

Not that it mattered, because he was gone, too.

A frightened little sob tore its way out of my throat, and I continued to back away, creeping out into the hallway and shutting the door behind me. I knew I should go downstairs and tell my father what had happened, but for some reason my feet took me in the opposite direction, toward my parents’ bedroom. Before I even knew what I was doing, my hand seemed to have reached out of its own accord and was turning the knob. I’d just seen death. I needed to see my mother’s, too, so it would be just as real. Maybe then my brain would be shocked out of its current numb state.

The sun was beginning to set, but my parents’ bedroom had a window in the western wall, so a warm, mellow light was flooding the space. It was certainly bright enough for me to see where my mother’s body should be lying, propped up against the pillows on her side of the bed.

Only…she wasn’t there.

My first thought was that my father must have moved her, but why in the world would he have done that? Besides, there wasn’t anyplace he really could have moved her, not unless he put her in the bathtub for some reason.

On second thought, that notion wasn’t so strange. He could’ve put her in an ice-cold bath in an attempt to bring her temperature down.

I rushed into the en suite bathroom, but the tub was empty. As I stared down at it, I realized that was a ridiculous notion. Even if my father had put her in the bath, I would have heard the water running, and I’d heard no such thing.

Thoughts racing, first rejecting one idea, and then another, I returned to the bedroom. From this angle, I could now see a pile of fine gray dust marring the surface of the blue and tan striped comforter, the one my father had permitted in the room only because “it wasn’t too girly.”

Dust? My mother would never allow dust to collect on the furniture, let alone a pile like that right on the bed.

Cold coiled in the pit of my stomach as I stared down at the strange little pile. On a dare from Devin, I’d once peeked inside the urn containing my grandmother’s ashes…and they had been almost the exact color and consistency as the ashes now sitting on my parents’ bed.

No, that was impossible.

Then my father’s words came back to me: It’ll take care of itself.

Was this what he’d meant? That somehow after she passed, my mother would simply crumble into a pile of dust?

No, I refused to believe that. There had to be an explanation. Otherwise….

Otherwise, this whole situation had moved from the unexplainable and tragic to the positively Biblical. Whoever heard of bodies turning themselves to ash, unless it was by some strange otherworldly force?

“You see,” my father said. He must have come upstairs while I was standing there, staring down at my mother in shock. His speech sounded a little slurred, but at least he hadn’t brought the glass of Scotch up with him.

“What — what happened?”

“It’s what happens to all of them,” he replied. “Usually within an hour of death.” Rubbing at his brow, he added, “Very clean, when you think about it. Much better than having all those bodies lying around, don’t you think?”

I stared at him in horror. “That’s Mom lying there!”

“No,” he corrected me. “That’s what used to be your mother. The part of her that was really her — that’s gone. To a better place, I have to hope, but after everything I’ve seen today, I’m beginning to have my doubts.”

His voice was sad, but resigned. And as I looked at him, I noticed the way he wasn’t completely steady on his feet, the glisten of sweat on his forehead from the last rays of sun coming in through the window. Maybe my mind had registered them earlier, but had dismissed them as effects of the alcohol. Now, though….

No. Even as my mind recoiled from the thought, I found myself asking, “Dad, are you sick?”

He gave me a sad smile. “I think I am. Finally caught up with me, I suppose.” His gaze moved to the bed. “I should probably lie down, but….”

“Go to the guest room,” I said. It used to be my room, but my parents had refitted it as a spare bedroom just the past year.

“I don’t think so,” he replied. “I want to die in here, next to where she slept.”

“But — ” I didn’t have the strength to mention the ashes, all that remained of my mother, but from the way my father was staring at them, he knew all too well what I was thinking.

“Get her vase,” he told me. “The Waterford one I bought her for her fiftieth birthday. She’d like that, I think.” He reached out and grasped the doorframe, as if that was the only thing holding him up right then.

I wanted to protest, but I knew that wouldn’t do any good. Besides, I didn’t know how much time I had until he fell over right there in the doorway. My mother’s collapse had been sudden and shocking, and Devin’s not much better. So I nodded and pushed past him to run down the stairs and go into the living room, where the vase in question stood on one of the end tables.

After grabbing it, I hurried back up to my parents’ bedroom, where my father — through sheer force of will, probably — was still hanging on to the doorframe. I showed him the vase but didn’t stop, instead going to the bed and grasping the comforter, then tilting it so the gray dust would tip into the crystal container. During this operation, I didn’t dare breathe, but the dust was surprisingly heavy and didn’t puff up into the air the way I feared it might. Instead, it slipped down into the vase, filling it approximately halfway. Not letting myself think about what it held, I took it over to the dresser and set it down.

Since there was no way I would put that comforter back where it had come from, I folded it in on itself to trap any remaining dust, and set it on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Okay,” I said, my voice shaking.

My father didn’t seem to notice the tremor in that one little word, but only pushed himself off from the doorframe and then staggered over to the bed. After pausing to kick off his shoes and remove his belt, complete with holsters and badge, he fell down onto the mattress. That seemed to have taken the last of his strength, because his head fell back against the pillow at once, and his eyes shut. Incongruously, I noted how heavy and thick his lashes were, lying against his flushed cheeks.

“Dad?”

He lifted one hand. “Just tired. I took some ibuprofen on the way up. Not going to do any good, but I didn’t want you to have to get it for me.”

My heart was breaking. I could feel it…literally feel it. One piece torn away for my mother, the next for Devin. And when my father went, did that mean my heart would finally shatter once and for all, gone to dust like everyone else in the world?

Cramming my fist into my mouth to push back another one of those ragged sobs, I went out to the hallway and staggered over to the carved wooden balustrade on the landing. I wrapped my fingers around the rail and hung on as if for my life. No fever scorched its way through me, but I felt as weak as though my temperature was 110 degrees.

Beloved, it will all be over soon.

That voice again. It had to be a hallucination, some strange coping mechanism my brain had cooked up, but still I found myself replying out loud.

“Does that mean I’m sick and will soon be dead along with everyone else?”

No. That is not your fate.

“What is my fate?”

Silence. Apparently my subconscious or whatever it was that had created the soft, reassuring baritone didn’t quite have the balls to tell me what my future held. Not that you needed to be a fortune-teller for that. Raging fever, and a pile of dust somewhere. Should I go out on the family room couch, or hike my way back up to my apartment when the time came? That seemed like a lot of unnecessary effort. After all, no one was using the spare bedroom.

I went into the bathroom to get a drink of water and saw the big bottle of ibuprofen sitting on the counter, the cap still off, as if my father hadn’t possessed the strength or will to put it back on again. Fingers shaking, I picked it up and twisted it onto the bottle, then put the ibuprofen back in the medicine cabinet. I didn’t want to leave a messy house behind.

Messy for whom, I didn’t know. From what my father had said, it didn’t sound as if anyone was getting out of this alive.

The thermometer was lying on the top rack in the medicine cabinet. I already knew I wasn’t sick, but I needed the external reminder. I took it out, opened the bottle of rubbing alcohol, and wiped down one end of the thermometer. Then I stuck it in my mouth and waited.

98.1. Up a little from the last time, but still below normal.

I rinsed it off and put it away. Then, moving so slowly I felt as if I were dragging my feet through mud, I went back to my parents’ bedroom, half expecting to see a pile of dust there. To my surprise, my father’s eyes opened when I came into the room. They were bright with fever and had those telltale dark circles beneath them, but they seemed lucid enough. Maybe he wasn’t as far gone as he had thought.

“Dad, I could try some ice — ”

A very small shake of his head. “No. Once you have it, you’re done.” His eyes shut, and I could see how his big frame was wracked with shivers, even though he’d pulled the blanket up to his chin. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” I repeated, wondering what he had to be sorry for. “None of this is your fault.”

“No — not that.” He shifted under the covers, then opened his eyes again. “Sorry that we’ll all be gone, and you’ll still be here.”

Something in his words chilled me. In that moment, I could see how dying along with everyone else might be preferable to being left in a world with no one to talk to, no one to even know I’d somehow managed to survive. Voice brittle, I replied, “Oh, I’m sure I’m not long for this world, either.”

“Fever?”

“No.”

He closed his eyes. It seemed as if he didn’t have the strength to keep them open and focused on me for more than a few seconds at a time. “You’re immune, Jess. Don’t know how…or why….”

That is not your fate. Despite the stuffiness of the room, I shivered as I thought of those words, spoken gently by someone who wasn’t there.

“Write down what’s happened. Maybe…there’ll be someone left to tell.”

I nodded, then realized he couldn’t see me. “I will.”

“Might as well put that English degree to some use.”

Oh, Dad. Even at the end, he had to make a joke. “All the commas will be in the right place. I promise.”

No reply. He could have simply fallen asleep, but I didn’t think so. Unlike my mother and Devin, he’d pushed all the way to the end, burned the candle until no more wick was left.

Somehow I put one foot in front of the other, walking slowly until I reached his side of the bed. A finger against his throat, telling me that he had gone, had left this world and was with Mom and Devin. I had to believe that. I’d break apart otherwise.

Since his eyes were closed, I didn’t bother to pull the sheet up over his face. Soon it wouldn’t matter anyway. He’d be a pile of dust, as no doubt my brother was by now as well.

I didn’t recall going downstairs, but the next thing I did remember, I was standing in the kitchen, staring down at my father’s half-drunk glass of Scotch. The ice had mostly melted, shifting the color to a pale gold. Without thinking, I lifted the glass and brought it to my lips, poured the liquid within down my throat. It burned, but not as much as I had thought it would.

What did it matter that my father had drunk from that same glass? According to him, I was immune. The thing that had killed him couldn’t touch me.

At last I could feel tears pricking at my eyes, stinging like acid, but I knew I couldn’t let them fall. If I did, I knew they would never stop. What was that old song, about some girl’s tears drowning the world? That would be me, if I wept now. Then again, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Maybe a river, an ocean of tears, would wash away all this death, all the dust of people’s lives left behind.

Maybe. In the meantime, I had something I needed to do.

My parents had always loved the big oak tree in the backyard. In the summer, they hung a hammock there, and had a pair of Adirondack chairs they would drag out underneath it so they could sit in the shade and drink iced tea and plan the yearly family vacation, or maybe just a long weekend, so we could do something fun like go hiking up around Angel Fire or visit the museums in Santa Fe, or take the long trip down to Carlsbad Caverns.

All those things we’d done together as a family. Well, I’d make sure my family was together in the end, even if I couldn’t be with them. It was the only way I could think of to say goodbye.

My father kept all the gardening tools in a shed next to the garage, since the garage itself was full of camping equipment and tools and the usual crap any family of four tends to accumulate over the years. I went to the shed and got out the shovel, then headed back to the oak tree, staking out the spot where those Adirondack chairs usually sat.

It wouldn’t have to be a very deep hole. After all, I was only burying dust, not bodies. The ground was not as hard as I’d feared, mostly because my father had given the old oak one of its bimonthly soakings with the hose only this past weekend. I dug and dug, dirt flying out around me, only stopping when it looked like I was about to hit a big tree root. The hole was far larger than it needed to be, but better that than the opposite.

I leaned the shovel against the shed, then went into the kitchen to wash my hands. After that, I got a clean glass from the cupboard and filled it with water, then drank slowly, deliberately. I knew what was waiting for me upstairs.

There was enough room left in my mother’s Waterford vase for the dust my father left behind, so I poured it in on top of my mother’s remains. Going back to Devin’s room seemed far more difficult, for some reason; maybe it was that I hadn’t really been able to say goodbye to him. At least my father and I had shared those last few words.

The sight of the dust didn’t shock me anymore, but it was still awful enough to know that my brother had been lying in the same spot only an hour earlier. His MVP trophy from the previous football season seemed about the right size, so I did the same thing I had with my parents’ remains, using the bedclothes as a funnel to pour the dust into the receptacle I’d selected. That dust was a dark, cloudy gray, fine as silt, and seemed oddly liquid as I tipped it into the trophy.

I took Devin downstairs first, carefully setting the trophy down on the breakfast bar before returning to the second story to retrieve the Waterford vase. They went into the ground in reverse order, my parents’ dust poured into the hole first, followed by Devin’s. Grimly, I retrieved the shovel and began piling the dirt back on top of the dust, holding my breath in case any should plume up during the process. At last, though, the hole was more or less filled. I dragged the shovel back and forth, smoothing the surface, attempting to make it as level as possible.

Now was the time to say a few words, but nothing seemed to come to mind. I couldn’t even remember the Lord’s Prayer, or more than the first few words of the Twenty-third Psalm.

“The Lord is my shepherd,” I began, then shook my head. What came next? The lines were all jumbled together in my head, nonsense syllables that sounded like something straight out of “Jabberwocky.” And what did it matter, anyway? We weren’t a religious family; we went to Christmas Eve services some years and some years not, maybe Easter. I’d gone to Sunday school when I was really little, but my parents hadn’t even bothered with that when Devin came along.

For the longest time I stood there under the oak, the sun disappearing altogether, deep dusk falling upon the yard. Then I moved, and the motion-sensor light mounted to the side of the garage flashed on.

“I love you all,” I said finally, then set the Waterford vase and the football trophy on top of their grave.

After that, I went back inside and shut the door behind me. It seemed to echo in the unnatural stillness of the house, and I realized it was hardly ever this quiet — someone always had the TV on in the background, or there was music playing, or somebody talking on the phone. Now the quiet pounded against my eardrums, and I realized how big a three-bedroom, two-thousand-square-foot house could feel when you were the only one in it.

The only one in the world….

The thought whispered through my mind, and I did my best to ignore it. Surely if I were immune, and not just having extremely delayed-onset symptoms for some reason, that meant other people had to be immune, too. How many? I couldn’t begin to guess. I didn’t know the mortality rate of the disease. Even if 99.9% of the population was dead, that would leave around a thousand people still alive in the greater Albuquerque area, if I was doing my mental math correctly.

I turned on the overhead lights in the kitchen, then went through the house, turning on all the lamps. Maybe that wasn’t the smartest thing to do — maybe advertising my presence would do more harm than good. But I couldn’t sit there in the dark, not after everything I’d been through that day. Besides, when I peeked out through the curtains, I saw mine wasn’t the only house on the street that was all lit up. Most likely the others just had their lights on because no one was around to turn them off, but it did make mine seem less conspicuous.

“Are you there?” I asked of the darkness. Even a voice that was only a product of my imagination was better than this deep, deep silence, the kind of quiet you should never hear if you lived in a big city.

No reply, of course. My gaze shifted to the remote control, still lying where I’d last dropped it on the coffee table. I didn’t want to turn on the television, not after what I’d seen the last time around. Would it all be static by now, or would that one station still be showing blaring red text with more quotes from Revelations?

I was too much of a coward to pick up the remote and find out.

But there was still the stereo, and all the CDs my parents wouldn’t get rid of, despite Devin and me telling them all that plastic just took up space and that they should just rip all their music off those CDs and then play it through Apple TV or something. And now I had to be grateful for their stubbornness, because that meant I could get up and choose something to blot out the silence. My father liked country, but old country, like Hank Williams and Willie Nelson and Patsy Cline, and my mother preferred classical. That sounded better to me right then, so I found her favorite, Rachmaninoff’s Second Piano Concerto, and put that on.

It actually was better, with the sound of an orchestra and Vladimir Ashkenazy on the piano drowning out that awful stillness. Or at least it was better until I realized that no one would ever play that piece live again, that there would be no more symphony orchestras or Arcade Fire concerts or anything, ever again.

“Oh, God,” I gasped, pushing myself up from the couch and running into the kitchen, where I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water in my face. As if that could begin to help. It was all too big to comprehend, so awful and enormous that I could literally feel the horror of it beginning to sink in, like some noxious chemical seeping into my skin.

And then it was as though strong, invisible arms wrapped around me, bringing with them a soothing warmth. Unseen lips brushed against my hair, and I heard the voice again.

Be strong, my love. Be strong for just a while longer.

Just as suddenly, the presence was gone. I held on to the tile of the kitchen counter, feeling the cool surface beneath my fingertips. In that moment, I truly wondered if I’d lost my mind.

What other explanation could there be?

Chapter 5

More because I knew I should eat something than because I had any appetite at all, I gathered myself enough to put a few slices of wheat bread in the toaster. Once they were done, I buttered them and set them on a plate, then headed back out to the living room, where Rachmaninoff still played to the empty space. Just as I was setting my plate down on the coffee table, the lights flickered and went out, and the CD slurred to a halt. Silence reigned once more.

Heart slamming painfully in my chest, I waited a second, then another. Surely this had to be just a glitch. In a second or two, the power would come back on.

But it didn’t. How could the power plants run, with no one left to manage them?

The blackness was absolute. From my camping days, I knew how dark, how very dark, our desert skies could be. This seemed worse, though, because this wasn’t the expected dark of a night out under the stars. I was in the heart of Albuquerque, New Mexico. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Luckily, my mother loved candles, and so there were already a pair of pillars in wrought-iron sconces on the mantel, and another pillar candle sitting on a metal leaf-shaped dish on an end table. She kept a long-handled lighter in one of the coffee table’s drawers, so I reached in and fumbled around for a few seconds before locating it. As soon as I pulled it out of the drawer, I pressed the button to activate the flame. That pushed back on the darkness a little, and it got that much better when I lit the candle on the table next to me. Then I had enough illumination that I could get up and light the candles on the mantel.

From there I went into the kitchen and found the sugar cookie–scented jar candle sitting on the breakfast bar, and lit that as well. Upstairs — well, I’d worry about that later. At least now I wasn’t blundering around in total darkness…and the candle flames weren’t bright enough that they would be seen through the drapes and blinds, all of which I quickly closed.

All the same, I knew there was one thing I really needed to do.

On the ground floor was a study that my parents shared, although in reality it was mostly my mother’s space, housing her desk and computer and several shelves full of books. On the opposite wall, though, was my father’s gun safe.

I knew the combination. He’d trusted me with that, just as he trusted me to be responsible when we went shooting and to clean the guns I used and follow all the safety rules he’d taught me. I wasn’t sure if Devin had known the combination, although I somehow doubted it; my father hadn’t given me that information until I turned twenty-one. And even though I might be the only person left alive in Albuquerque, no way was I sitting alone in this house without some means to protect myself.

The lock turned easily, of course. My father took as good care of the safe as he did the guns inside. There were a lot, too — in addition to his service Glock, he owned an AR-15 rifle, two shotguns, a small .22-caliber hunting rifle, a Ruger, a Beretta, and my favorite, the Smith & Wesson .357. Sort of an old-fashioned gun, but my accuracy had always been good with it. Besides, with a revolver, you didn’t have to worry about the gun jamming.

I set the candle I’d brought with me down on my mother’s desk, then opened the safe. Hanging from one of the sleeves on the door was the .357, and on the shelf directly opposite the gun, boxes of spare ammo. My father wasn’t exactly what you’d call a survivalist type, but he did believe in maintaining his supplies. If necessary, I could waste a lot of bad guys before I ran out. Not that there were probably any bad guys left. This was more for my own peace of mind than anything else.

After lifting the S&W from where it rested, I pushed the latch forward to release the barrel, then moved the latch outward. As I’d suspected, the chambers were empty — my father didn’t believe in leaving loaded handguns lying around, even in the safe. One by one, I dropped the bullets into the chambers, then closed the gun back up.

Habit made me shut the door to the gun safe as well, and make sure the lock was fully engaged. Maybe I was the only person left alive in Albuquerque…and maybe not. No matter what the reality of the situation might turn out to be, I didn’t think it was a very good idea to leave a fully stocked gun safe accessible to just anyone.

Picking up the candle with my free hand, I went back out to the living room. My toast was stone cold by then, but I made myself eat it, and then drank some more water. I set the gun down on the coffee table, within easy reach should I need it.

And then I leaned against the back of the couch and shut my eyes, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do next. My entire family was gone — I had two grandparents still living, but I had no reason to believe they hadn’t suffered the same fate as my parents and brother. Three cousins and an aunt and uncle, all on my mother’s side; my father was an only child. Could this strange immunity that seemed to be protecting me have somehow sheltered any of them? Uncle Jeremy and Aunt Susan also lived here in Albuquerque, so it wouldn’t be that hard to try checking on them tomorrow, after the sun came up. No way was I venturing outside in the dark.

Maybe it wasn’t the best idea — a fool’s errand, as my father might have said. But it was the only thing I could think of to try. There were my friends, too…Tori and Brittany and Elena. I had no reason to believe they hadn’t suffered the same fate as everyone else, but again, I would never forgive myself if I didn’t try to find out what had happened to them.

There is no point. They’re all gone.

“Oh, really?” I snapped into the candlelit darkness. “How are you so sure of that?”

Because they weren’t immune.

“But I am.”

Yes.

“Why?”

No answer — not that I’d really expected one. It seemed as soon as I asked the hard questions, the voice quickly decamped. Only my subconscious, trying to convince me not to put myself in harm’s way? I wouldn’t be surprised. Nevertheless, I knew what I had to do the next day.

The next day, a bright sun rose on an empty world. I couldn’t bring myself to sleep upstairs, not even in the untouched guest bedroom. Too much death up there, too many reminders of everything I’d lost. Instead, I’d fetched some spare blankets from the linen closet and spread them over me so I could sleep on the living room couch. That, more than anything else, was a sure sign of the apocalypse, since my mother would never have allowed her new sofa to be sullied by someone sleeping on it when she was alive. But the living room faced out on the street, and I reasoned I’d better be able to listen for any signs of life or activity on the road by sleeping there, rather than back in the family room, which was toward the rear of the house.

I got up off the couch, rubbed the kink in my neck, then cautiously pushed the curtains aside so I could get a glimpse of what was going on in the neighborhood. Not much; the sprinklers were on at the D’Ambrosios’ house on the corner opposite ours, but I knew that didn’t mean anything, since they were on an automatic timer. As I watched, they seemed to shut themselves off, the bright green grass of the yard glinting in the morning sun. Otherwise, everything was completely still.

No, scratch that — I saw the Munozes’ shepherd mix nosing around in the grass in front of their house across the street. She was a wily critter and got out at least once a week, but now I guessed it was because she was hungry. Luckily, she was a sweet dog and knew me. The power was out, and we had some leftovers in the fridge that might as well get eaten before they spoiled.

I let the curtain drop and went to open the front door. The morning air was cool, but carried with it the smell of smoke. Something in the city was burning. Here, though, we seemed to be safe enough, at least for the moment. I’d worry about the fire later.

Crouching down slightly, I called out, “Dutchie! Dutchie!” Hector Munoz had been a professor of Spanish literature at UNM, and I think Dutchie’s original name had been Dulcinea. The Munozes’ little girl, Jaclyn, couldn’t pronounce the name, though, and so Dulcinea had sort of degenerated into “Dutchie.” A sharp, knifing pain went through me, though, as I thought of little Jaclyn and her big brown eyes and her endlessly asking “Why?”

I had a feeling she wouldn’t be asking any more questions.

The dog lifted her head and looked over at me, one ear cocked slightly. No one was completely sure of Dutchie’s heritage. Best guess was part German shepherd, part border collie, and part Lord knows what, but she was a beautiful dog, with a silky black and tan coat, and one blue eye and one brown eye. The blue eye seemed to focus on me particularly.

She gave a little shake and then trotted obediently over to me, pushing her head against my knee and giving the faintest of whines. Poor thing had to be hungry.

“You want some breakfast?” I asked her, and both her ears went up. Just like our old dog Sadie, who’d passed last winter. Debates had still been raging at my house as to when would be a good time to get another dog…not that it mattered now.

But Sadie had had an extensive vocabulary when it came to anything food-related, and it seemed as if Dutchie was the same way. She padded after me as I tucked the revolver into my waistband, then went into the kitchen, got a bowl from one of the cupboards, and poured her some water.

At least, that was what I intended to do. When I turned the tap, however, nothing happened. A few drops sputtered from the faucet, but that was it. So the water was gone, too.

That fluttery feeling of panic returned, and I forced it down. When we were at home, we got our water from the dispenser in the refrigerator door, but we always kept a couple pallets of bottled water in the pantry for road trips or even just running around town. I wasn’t going to die of thirst anytime soon.

I fetched one of the water bottles and poured its contents into the bowl. Dutchie began slurping it up greedily, so while she was occupied, I got out a plate and then retrieved one of the covered storage bowls in the fridge, the one with the leftover roasted chicken from the weekend. Taking out one of the chicken legs and shredding it onto the plate relaxed me a little, made me focus on something other than the dry tap. If I attempted to turn on one of the burners on the stove, would it light? Or was the gas out, too?

Most likely. Which meant there would be no heat. Yesterday had been warmer than normal, but I’d heard that temperatures were supposed to start dipping toward the end of the week. Conditions might become downright uncomfortable.

Oh, like they’re so wonderful right now, my brain mocked me as I bent down to give Dutchie the plate of chicken. She immediately abandoned the water and wolfed down the bits of chicken leg, then looked up at me with pleading eyes when she was done.

“There’s no more, you little pig,” I said with some affection, reaching to scratch her behind the ears. Her fur was soft and silky, and infinitely reassuring. Somehow everything didn’t seem quite so bad if I could have Dutchie with me.

She whined, and I remembered we still had some dog treats up on the highest shelf in the pantry, left over after Sadie died. I got out the step stool, then climbed up and retrieved them. Dutchie watched the entire procedure, tail wagging, and I gave her one of the biscuits.

“Better?” I asked.

No reply, of course, but I figured the way she was hunkered down on the kitchen rug, munching on the biscuit, tail wagging, told me everything I needed to know.

All right. So I had some companionship. Now I had to take care of myself. My appetite was still nowhere in evidence, but I helped myself to some of the leftover chicken as well, then had a piece of bread and butter, washed down with water from another bottle I took from the pallet. Obviously, a shower was out of the question, but I took some of the water and splashed it on my face. It helped a little.

Carrying the half-full bottle of water, I went out the back door, Dutchie following me, and headed up to my apartment. Everything looked so normal there, so unchanged, and I realized I hadn’t been there since my parents — since Devin — well, since. It was no sanctuary, though, no place where I could hide from what had happened.

That wasn’t my reason for being here, though. I set the gun down on the coffee table, got out of my clothes from the day before and stuffed them into the hamper, and then pulled on fresh jeans and socks, and a waffle-weave henley shirt I wore sometimes when I went hiking. My hiking boots were tucked into the far corner of the closet, and I got them out as well and laced them on. I had no idea what I might encounter today, so it seemed smart to be wearing comfortable, serviceable clothes, the kinds of things that wouldn’t get in my way.

Speaking of which —

I headed into the bathroom, brushed my hair, and pulled it back with an elastic band. Afterward, I brushed my teeth, being as sparing with the bottled water as I could. No point in wearing any makeup, but I put on some colored lip balm because the weather was dry, and they felt parched.

During all this, Dutchie sat in the middle of my tiny living room and watched me. After I had extracted my wallet from my purse and slipped it into my pocket, then tucked the S&W back into my waistband, I paused and asked her, “Am I crazy for doing this?”

She cocked her head to one side, mismatched eyes shining. Apparently, she didn’t have an opinion on my preparations, but was probably hoping for another dog biscuit when we got back to the kitchen.

“Okay,” I told her. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Tail wagging, she ran out the door as soon as I opened it, then practically galloped down the stairs. From what I could tell, she wasn’t exactly pining for her former masters. Or maybe she was just so happy to see someone — anyone — that she was willing to be their new best friend, no matter what.

Once we were back in the kitchen, I gave her another dog biscuit, then hesitated at the key rack by the back door. If I was really going to venture out into deserted Albuquerque, I didn’t think my little Honda was the best choice in vehicles. My mother’s Escape had all-wheel drive, but I knew my father’s Grand Cherokee was the sturdiest car we owned.

My hand shook as I took the key with its leather fob from the rack. My father loved that SUV — washed it every week, changed the oil regularly, conditioned the leather seats, the whole thing. He’d never let me or Devin drive it, and even my mother was only allowed behind the wheel if her own car was in the shop for something. But my father was far past caring about the Cherokee, and I knew it was my best bet for getting where I needed to go.

There is no point, the voice in my head said sadly.

“There is a point,” I retorted. “I need to know if they’re alive or dead.”

You already know the answer to that.

“No, I don’t. Not for sure.”

Your heart does.

I didn’t want to believe him. In fact, I refused to believe him. Voice tight, I asked, “All right — where do you think I should go?”

The answer was immediate. North.

“North?” I repeated in some incredulity. “You do know that winter is coming, right? If I have to get out of Albuquerque, it would make a lot more sense to go south, to Alamogordo or Las Cruces.” Or Roswell, I added mentally. Maybe I can go there and stick my thumb out, see if the aliens might give me a ride right out of here.

North. The voice sounded implacable.

“Well, I’ll take that under advisement,” I said lightly. “For now, though, I have some friends and family to check on.”

It is a mistake.

“Then it’ll be my mistake. Come on, Dutchie.”

Had I already descended to arguing with the voices in my head? It sure looked that way.

The dog trotted after me as I went out the back door and over to the driveway. Good thing I’d decided on the Cherokee, as it was blocking my mother’s car anyway. I went around to the passenger side and opened the door. Dutchie didn’t even need an invitation — she jumped right inside, eyes shining, ears up. Her claws slipped a little on the leather seat, and I winced. I had to hope that my father really had gone on to a better place, one where he couldn’t see his prized SUV getting scratches on the seats and, no doubt, dog hair everywhere.

I walked slowly around the back of the vehicle, watching, listening. Since the D’Ambrosios’ sprinklers had shut off — or, more likely, run out of water — besides the cawing of a few crows as they circled overhead, the neighborhood was completely still. Again, that silence made the skin on the back of my neck prickle, and I hastened to the driver-side door, then got in.

The sound of the engine turning over seemed ear-piercingly loud after all that quiet. At the same time, the radio turned on in a burst of static, and I quickly shut it off, knowing that there wouldn’t be anything useful on the radio, any more than there had been on the television. My father had probably been scanning the bands as he came home, looking for a report that would tell him what was going on. Something. Anything.

I paused to slide the gun out of my waistband and into the glove compartment before backing the Cherokee out into the street. On the seat beside me, Dutchie had her head up and was sniffing the air, even though the windows were all the way up. I rolled down the one next to her so she could stick her nose out, then slowed before we’d gone even halfway down the block. I knew what I would find, but I had to check.

The front door to the Munozes’ house was locked, but when I went around back, I discovered that the side door which led to their service porch was halfway open. The reason why presented itself soon enough — there was a pile of gray dust just inside, right in front of the dryer. I had a feeling, though, that whoever had gone out there had been looking for more ice, as the Munozes had an upright freezer tucked into one corner, away from the other appliances.

Grimacing, I stepped over the little pile of dust, glad that I’d left Dutchie inside the car. “Professor Munoz?” I called out. “Jaclyn? Maria?”

No answer, of course. In the living room, I saw the reason why — a pile of dust on the sofa, a smaller one next to it. I couldn’t know for sure whether it was Maria Munoz or her husband who had expired in the laundry room, or who had been sitting on the couch next to their daughter. I supposed it really didn’t matter. They were gone. No wonder Dutchie had started wandering the neighborhood, looking for someone to take care of her.

When I got back inside the Cherokee, I leaned over and gave the dog a fierce hug. “I’m here, Dutchie,” I said. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She licked my cheek and let out a whine, but a questioning one, as if asking whether I was okay.

No, I really was not okay, but I couldn’t let myself start to lose it now. I straightened, gave her ears a quick scratch, and then started up the SUV, moving down the street so I could get out onto Rio Grand Boulevard and head over to my friend Elena’s house, as she was the one who lived closest to me. After that it would be Tori’s, and then my Aunt Susan and Uncle Jeremy’s house. And after that….

Well, I’d see how much more I could take after that.

It was slower going than I’d expected, mainly because a lot more abandoned cars choked the streets than I’d thought there would be. In my mind, I’d imagined more people would have made it home before they expired, but that didn’t seem to be the case. I had to weave in and out of the stopped vehicles, several times being forced up on the curb to make my way around the blockage. And everything so silent, so still, save for the ceaseless cawing of crows overhead.

No carrion for you to eat, you bastards, I thought as I eased the Cherokee off yet another curb.

And in a way, I had to be thankful for that. The Heat might not have killed me to start, but if there had been millions of corpses left behind once the disease had done its work, typhoid fever or cholera surely would have finished the job.

I turned into the residential section where Elena lived, glad to see there were fewer vehicles blocking the streets here. But still I saw no sign of life anywhere, not one person stepping out of a house to flag me down, to let me know at least one other soul had survived the plague that had swept over the world.

Unlike my house, which always had a full driveway and my car parked at the curb, Elena’s looked pristine. Then again, her family had more money — her father was a lawyer — and their house had a three-car garage. It wasn’t unusual to see no real evidence of anyone being home.

I stopped the Cherokee, then reached into the glove compartment and retrieved the revolver. Dutchie looked at me, wide-eyed, as if wondering what in the world I needed with a gun.

“Good question, Dutchie,” I said, but I tucked it into my jeans anyway. “You stay here.”

She wagged her tail and didn’t try to get out of the car as I exited the vehicle. That was one damn good dog.

After looking around quickly and not seeing anyone, I went up to the front door of Elena’s house. Ringing the doorbell was no use, since the power was out all over town. Instead, I knocked, then waited.

No answer, but I hadn’t really been expecting one. I put my hand on the latch, and, to my surprise, the door swung inward. It seemed logical enough that the last person to come home had been so ill they hadn’t bothered to lock the door behind them, but it unnerved me nonetheless. Swallowing hard, I made myself enter the house.

It was a big Santa Fe–style faux adobe, with tile floors and wood-beamed ceilings. My footsteps echoed through the two-story foyer as I moved toward the center of the building. Something sweet and smoky tickled at my nose. Incense. Elena’s mother was a devout Catholic. Maybe she’d burned the incense as she prayed to God to save her, save her family.

Unfortunately, God didn’t seem to be listening lately.

The house had built-in art niches, one of which held a shrine to the Madonna. I saw a pile of gray dust immediately in front of it and knew it must be Gabriella Cruz. Limbs trembling, I made myself walk past it, go through the rest of the ground floor: the great room with the kitchen and family room combined, the formal dining room, the living room. No sign of Elena or her father. Which didn’t mean all that much. There was still the upstairs.

Pulse pounding painfully in my throat, I mounted the steps. The house had four bedrooms, one of which was an office. In there I found another pile of gray dust, which I guessed must be Eduardo Cruz, Elena’s father.

Her bedroom was on the opposite side of the upstairs hallway, two doors down. Truth be told, I’d always envied her that room, with its own bathroom and the little sitting area off the balcony. It felt like a room for a princess, compared to the boxy twelve-by-twelve space that had been mine all through childhood and high school. No wonder Elena had never been too worried about moving out. “I’ll go from here to my husband’s house,” she used to say with a laugh, and the rest of us had pretty much believed her. No one could really imagine Elena trying to scrape by in a tiny one-bedroom apartment, just for a spurious sense of independence.

And it was on the wrought-iron bed, with its filmy topping of mosquito net and matching white embroidered comforter, that I found the third pile of gray dust. For the longest moment, I just stood there, staring down at it, remembering my friend’s quick, flashing smile, the annoying way she absolutely could not get through a movie without offering her own running commentary on it. How she’d quietly slipped a wad of money into my hand one day during our senior year so I could get the prom dress I really wanted and not the bargain gown my mother was pushing me into, because “in five years you’re just not going to care what you wore.”

But I still did care…although mainly because of what Elena had done to help me out, and not the dress itself.

You see? the voice said, its tone quiet and sad. There’s no point in you doing this. You can’t save them. They’re already gone. Mourn them if you must, but your path lies northward.

I wished then that the voice were real, that it was attached to a real body, so I could grab it by the shoulders and shake it for being so thoughtless. “That’s not the point,” I said, my own voice trembling. “I need to know…and I need to say goodbye.”

It remained silent then…wisely so. I reached out and touched the twisted wrought iron of one of the bedposts, and whispered, “Sleep well.” Then I turned away and walked down the hall, descended the steps, and went out the front door, shutting it quietly behind me.

Dutchie’s tail thumped happily as I got back in the Cherokee, but I didn’t say anything, only reached out to pet her, to feel her silky fur beneath my cold, cold fingers. For a long moment, I just sat there, the key still in my hand, the gun digging uncomfortably into my waistband. Finally, I reached back and pulled it out, returning it to the glove compartment.

Uncle Jeremy and Aunt Susan next. Could I do it? Could I go to the house where I’d spent Thanksgiving and Christmas — Susan was my mother’s sister, and they traded holidays so no one family would have to do all the work — and walk in to see my uncle and aunt reduced to dust, and my cousins as well? Well, two of them, anyway. My cousin Shane was in college in California, at Stanford, to be exact, and so he wouldn’t be around. He would have died far away from his family.

If he died, I reminded myself fiercely. He could be immune, too. You don’t know.

No, I didn’t know. I just wasn’t sure how I would ever find out.

Even so, I put the key in the ignition, then turned it, pointing the vehicle north and east, toward Sandia Heights. It was a longer jog than the one from my house to Elena’s, but up here the streets didn’t feel quite as crammed with abandoned vehicles. There was plenty of evidence of unexpected death — cars crashed into walls, into trees, into one another. And as I gained some height, I could now see that the smoke I had smelled earlier seemed to be coming from the city center. Downtown itself, maybe, or the university. I couldn’t tell for sure from this distance, and it didn’t really matter. That was miles from where I was now, miles from my house. It might spread that far, but I had a feeling I’d be long gone by then.

As I drove along Academy Road, I passed a PetSmart and saw the strangest sight. All kinds of dogs were converging on the store, and right out in front I saw several of them tearing into big bags of dog food, then beginning to feast. More dogs came to join them, but there was no fighting over the food. In fact, I even saw a big pit bull mix move to one side to let a fluffy little dog — a Maltese, I guessed — come in next to him and start eating.

“What the — ” I said aloud, and Dutchie swiveled her head in my direction.

The animals will be taken care of, the voice told me.

I’d been so caught up in my own losses, and so relieved to have Dutchie by my side, that I hadn’t even stopped to think what would happen to all those thousands of ownerless pets left with no resources, no one to watch over them.

“They’ll be taken care of?” I demanded. “By whom?”

They will not suffer. They are innocents.

This whole situation was getting stranger by the minute. The way all the bodies of the dead had dissolved into dust seemed to tell me something greater than a single rampaging strain of microbe was at work here, and now, seeing the way the animals were all cooperating, hearing the voice reassure me they would be fine — well, I didn’t know what to think.

“Is this a judgment?” I asked. “Some sort of punishment?”

Silence.

“Who’s doing the punishing?” I demanded, voice shaking. “And why wasn’t I punished along with everyone else?”

Again no answer.

I drove on, knowing I would receive no reply to my questions.

Chapter 6

My aunt and uncle’s house looked intact, Uncle Jeremy’s Beemer in the driveway, a little garden flag with an autumn leaf design flapping in the breeze as I got out of the Cherokee. The rest of the neighborhood looked similarly peaceful, but I knew better than to trust that outward appearance of tranquility. I knew what it hid.

Unlike Elena’s house, the front door here was locked. I wished I could take that as a sign to turn around and go, but that would be the cowardly way out. Instead, I headed toward the back, to the entrance that opened on the patio. Their backyard wasn’t landscaped with grass and trees like ours, but was completely paved over except for some plantings along the edges, with a pergola to protect the area to one side where they had the patio furniture and the barbecue. My hiking boots seemed overly loud as I walked across the flagstones and tested the back door.

Locked. I knocked, then waited. Nothing.

I knocked again, calling out, half in a whisper, “Uncle Jeremy? Aunt Susan?”

No reply, but, to be fair, I wasn’t sure if I’d been loud enough for anyone to really hear me inside. Maybe I’d kept my voice down because I wanted an excuse not to know.

I tried peeking inside, but the blinds were closed almost all the way, and so I couldn’t really see anything. The planter next to me was bordered with large rocks; I wondered if I should pick one up and smash a window in. Even if by some miracle someone was alive inside, I didn’t think they’d get too angry about me breaking a window to check on them. At least, I hoped they wouldn’t.

Bending down, I wrapped my fingers around one of the rocks. At the same time, the voice thundered in my head, Behind you!

I whirled, rock still in one hand. Standing a few paces away was probably the last person I’d expected to see — Chris Bowman, who lived next door to my aunt and uncle, and who I had always found extremely creepy. He was a few years older than I but still lived at home, and more than once I’d heard my aunt say “what a shame” it was that his parents had to deal with him, but I never was able to find out exactly what she meant by that. I’d always assumed Chris maybe had a substance abuse problem, or possibly mental health issues. Frankly, I didn’t want to get close enough to him to find out, as it seemed that every time my family came to visit, he’d have some excuse to be outside, watering the flower border or getting the mail — anything so he could stand there and watch me with his pale eyes until I disappeared inside my aunt and uncle’s house.

Back then, his behavior hadn’t worried me too much, because I knew if he actually tried anything, my father would have made sure it never happened again. But now, with the whole world dead except for me and Albuquerque’s biggest creep?

My fingers tightened around the rock I held, but I kept it behind me and hoped he hadn’t noticed as I picked it up. Hard to say, because I hadn’t even heard him approach. He was wearing his typical costume of baggy jeans and an oversized T-shirt — this one emblazoned with a Captain America shield — and his high-topped Converse apparently hadn’t made any sound as he crossed the flagstones of the patio.

“Chris?” I finally managed, because one of us had to say something, and it seemed he was content to just stand there and stare at me with those weird pale blue eyes of his.

Finally, his mouth curved in a smile. His teeth were slightly yellowish, as was his skin and hair. Everything about him seemed vaguely yellow, except his eyes. “You’re immune,” he said, and made the oddest sound, like a choked little giggle.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. “Maybe,” I replied. “Or maybe I just haven’t gotten sick yet.”

“No, you’re immune.” His pale gaze raked me up and down, and I tensed. The clothes I wore were anything but revealing, and yet the way he was looking at me made me feel as if I wasn’t wearing anything at all…that he’d spent way too much time imagining what I looked like naked. “Just like me.”

I wanted to retort, I am nothing like you, but something held me back. Yes, I had that rock in my hand. Belatedly, I realized that was all I had, since in my haste to get out of the car and up to my aunt and uncle’s front door, I’d left the gun in the glove compartment of the Cherokee. Shit.

“This is perfect,” he went on, his tone almost dreamy. “Everyone gone except you and me. Just the way I always wanted it.”

Jesus Christ. I could feel the sharp edges of the rock biting into my fingers and palm. If I threw it, would it be enough to knock him out, or at least put him off balance enough for me to bolt to the car? I had no idea. Normally, I’d say I was pretty strong…but was I strong enough?

“Um, Chris,” I said, figuring that ignoring his comment seemed safest in that moment, “what about your parents? Your neighbors on the other side?”

An expression of annoyance crossed his lumpy features. “I told you. They’re all gone. Everyone on the whole street. I checked.” A pause, and then he added, “Your aunt and uncle, too, and your cousins. I went in and looked, then locked the door when I came back out. I figured no one else would be going in there.” The annoyed look morphed into one of sly knowing. “So you won’t need that rock to break in. Why don’t you give it to me?”

I didn’t reply. He frowned, taking a step toward me, eyes fixed on my face, greedy, hungry. A pale pink tongue darted out to moisten his lips, and I felt my stomach heave.

Now, Jessica!

Without stopping to think, I whipped my arm around and hurled the rock at Chris’s head with all the strength I possessed. It hit him square in the temple, and he let out a shocked cry, eyes wide and disbelieving, then backed away from me as blood began to pour through the fingers he put up against the wound.

That was the only opening I would get, I knew. I tore out of there, bolting as if someone had just shot off a starter pistol at a track meet. Behind me, I could hear Chris cursing, calling me a bitch and worse — but he was also coming after me. And though he was soft-looking and most likely out of shape, he was also almost a foot taller than I, which meant his legs could cover the ground a lot more quickly.

If I looked back, I’d be lost. I could only continue to pound my way toward the Cherokee, one hand scrabbling in my pants pocket for the key as I ran. My fingers closed around the fob, and I hit the “unlock” button while I was still a good twenty feet away. The lights flashed, and from the passenger seat I could hear Dutchie bark — not a friendly bark of greeting, but a sharp, strained one, as if warning me.

A cold, clammy hand caught hold of my bicep and spun me around. Chris’s washed-out blue eyes, even more blindingly pale now that they were circled by bright red blood flowing down from the gash in his head, bored into me.

“You’re going to regret that.”

“Chris, please — ” I thought I’d been scared before, watching my family die, wondering when the fever would rise up to consume me as well, but that was an entirely different species of fear from what I was experiencing now. This was far more personal, in a way, because I knew all too well what Chris Bowman wanted from me.

“Shut up.” His fingers tightened on my arm, and he began to pull me toward him. Overcome by panic, I struggled against him, tasting the sourness of bile in my mouth, knowing if he touched me in a way that was any more intimate than this, I would be sick. I drove my knee upward the way my father had taught me, and I hoped I could catch Chris in the groin, but he seemed to guess what I had planned and kicked out at me, catching me in the shin and sending me flying to the ground, where I hit the sidewalk with a jolt, pain lancing up through my wrists as I jammed down into them with almost all my weight.

Tears of pain and fury leaped to my eyes, but I couldn’t lose it now. I started to crawl toward the SUV, only to feel Chris’s hands on me again, this time around my waist. I kicked back at him, but he let go of me with one hand so he could catch my ankle and flip me over.

Then he was looming over me, his horrific bloodstained face getting closer and closer. I knew what he was going to do, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop him — he was bigger and stronger, and just plain crazy, and I now had at least one, if not two, sprained wrists.

And then…then it was as if a pair of invisible hands caught hold of him, pulling him away from me, flinging him backward as if he weighed nothing, was only a child’s toy someone had left out on the lawn. He hit the trunk of the palm tree in my aunt and uncle’s yard with a sickening crunch, then slid down, his head hanging at a strange angle. Was his neck broken? No way was I going to get close enough to find out.

I didn’t even realize I was saying the words out loud until I heard them coming from my mouth. “What the — ”

The voice sounded stern and sad. Do you see now why I did not want you to come here?

“Point taken,” I panted, and got shakily to my feet. Both my wrists were aching, and I hoped I’d be able to get the Cherokee home. Not that I had much choice. It was the only safe haven I knew.

Wincing, I dug the key out of my pocket and climbed into the SUV, trying to maneuver with my elbows so I wouldn’t have to bend my wrists any more than was strictly necessary. Dutchie whined and tried to lick my face.

“I’m okay, sweetie,” I told her, more for her sake than because I really believed what I was saying.

Trying to put on the seatbelt would have been excruciating. Besides, with all the wrecks littering the roads, I wouldn’t be driving much above twenty-five miles an hour anyway. Somehow I managed to get the car started, then bit my lip in pain as I put the Cherokee in gear. At least I’d been parked at the curb and not in the driveway, so I didn’t have to worry about backing out or anything.

The throbbing ache in my wrists prevented me from thinking about anything except getting back to the house. I drove slowly, grinding my teeth whenever I had to maneuver around abandoned cars by going up on the curb. Every jolt and jounce felt magnified a hundredfold.

Finally, though, I made it back to my street and eased the car into the driveway, then turned off the engine. I knew there was no way I could reach across and open the passenger door from the inside, so I slid out and went around the front of the SUV. Dutchie bounded out the second she was free to do so, and I retrieved the gun from the glove compartment before shutting the door behind her and clicking the lock button on the remote.

Limping, since I’d realized in that moment just how much my right knee hurt as well, I went in through the back door and locked it behind me. Then I headed to the front of the house to test the lock there as well. All was as it should be, but I couldn’t stop shaking.

Dutchie sat in the living room and watched as I secured the house. Then she tilted her head toward the clock over the fireplace, as if to say, It’s lunchtime, you know.

Despite everything, I couldn’t help giving a rusty chuckle. “Soon, Dutchie. I need to take care of me first.”

We had a very well-stocked first aid kit in one of the cupboards in the service porch. It hurt just to reach up and get it down, but I made myself do it. First I attended to the superficial scratches on the palms of my hands, gritting my teeth as I swabbed them with alcohol pads, and then I wrapped both wrists with Ace bandages. They still ached, but not as badly. My knee was banged up, but I hadn’t torn my jeans, so I figured any bruises I’d gotten would heal on their own.

Afterward, I limped into the kitchen and got Dutchie some more chicken. Besides the leftover dog biscuits, there was also a partial bag of dry dog food in the pantry that I could feed her, but I figured I might as well get rid of the perishable stuff first.

Then it was some water for me, and a makeshift sandwich of wheat bread and butter and the last of the strawberry jelly. My hand shook as I lifted the sandwich to my mouth, but I made myself eat anyway. That burst of panic, of terror, had used up a lot of my reserves.

The silence in the house seemed to press on my ears. I noticed the voice had been suspiciously quiet since I’d returned.

Finally, I set down my water bottle and snapped, “All right, you want to tell me what the hell that was all about? How can a pasty creep like Chris Bowman be immune when everyone else is dead?”

No reply at first. Then it was as if someone sighed quietly, far back in my mind. We cannot control who is immune, only what happens to them after they have survived.

“‘We’?” I demanded, figuring I’d ask the most pressing question first. “Who is ‘we’?”

The resulting silence was so drawn out that I was fairly certain I wouldn’t get a reply, that I’d asked exactly the wrong question. Finally, the voice said, That is not important.

“It’s important to me.” I hurt all over, and I was tired of the sense I’d begun to have that something huge was behind all this, something I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to understand. “Who are you?”

This time the answer came back almost at once. I am not at liberty to say.

That answer only made the impotent rage within me burn all the hotter. This last evasion was about all I could take at the moment. “What the hell is this — a White House press conference?”

You are upset. This is understandable. But tell me — have I not done whatever I could to protect you?

I recalled how Chris Bowman had been torn away from me by invisible hands, thrown up against that palm tree as if he weighed nothing, even though he was six feet, two inches of solid pudge. “Was that you?”

My only wish is for your safety. That is why you need to leave this place and go north.

So we were back to that again. I had to admit, after this morning’s events, I was a little more open to the idea of getting the hell out of Albuquerque and not looking back. Part of me — the stubborn part — still wanted to go to Tori’s house, to see for myself what had happened to her and her family. But I also knew I was putting myself at risk every time I set foot out the door. A great deal of the population had vanished during the previous three days, but not all of it…and it was those remnants I had to worry about.

“All right,” I said wearily. “I’ll think about it.”

Maybe I was only talking to myself. Right then, I didn’t want to think too hard about the whole insane situation.

That afternoon I dozed a little, and when I woke up, I actually felt better. My wrists didn’t ache as much, and the abrasions on my hands already looked completely scabbed over. What the hell? Was this part of the “voice” — I didn’t know how else to think of him, or it — watching over me? Did he have some way of making me heal far faster than I normally would?

At any other time, I would have dismissed the notion as crazy, but so many insane things had happened since Monday that I couldn’t reject any of them outright. Maybe my particular immunity brought with it certain other benefits, although I couldn’t begin to think how that worked. I’d always been a healthy person, so I bounced back from bumps and bruises and sprains fairly quickly — but not this quickly.

Putting that conundrum aside to ponder at a later date, I decided to take stock of what I had in the house, and what else I would need in the way of supplies. We had a good deal of camping gear, so I was set when it came to sleeping bags and Coleman lanterns and all that sort of stuff. The first aid kit was stocked well enough for ordinary scrapes and bruises and strains, but I wondered if I should hit up a few of the local pharmacies and get myself antibiotics, some kind of painkillers, cough and cold medicine…a decent supply of my birth control pills. Not that I was expecting to get laid anytime soon — Chris Bowman’s bloodied face flashed into my mind, and I shuddered — but the pills did help to keep my periods manageable. And that was another thing. I’d need sanitary supplies, enough to last me for a while. Making do with rags the way they did in the bad old days was not something I wanted to face quite yet.

Night began to fall again, and I moved around the ground floor, lighting candles. I still didn’t want to go upstairs, for some reason felt safer here on the couch. I fed Dutchie the last of the chicken, and snacked on a couple of granola bars, trying to ignore how much my body ached for something more substantial. I wasn’t quite at the point of being willing to kill for a cheeseburger, but I could see myself heading down that road in a couple of days.

I spoke into the stillness of the house. “So if I’m supposed to head north, where exactly am I going? Santa Fe? Taos? Colorado?”

Go north, and I will guide you where you need to go.

“That’s not an answer.”

It’s all the answer you require.

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

Something that might have been a chuckle. I have been told that on occasion, if not in those precise words.

“But you’re still not going to tell me where I’m going.”

No.

Well, at least he was being honest. I’d begun thinking of the voice as “him,” although it still could have been merely a product of my fevered imagination, of a mind that couldn’t handle all the death and destruction around it, and so had slipped into a nice, cozy form of psychosis.

Maybe so, but that didn’t explain the way Chris Bowman had been torn away from me, as if some invisible giant had grabbed him and thrown him across the yard.

Telekinesis? Some kind of delayed-onset X-Men action?

Okay, now I was beginning to sound ridiculous even to myself.

“All right,” I said. “I’m convinced. Mostly because I’m not sure that creeper doesn’t know where I live…if he’s still alive.” A pause then, while I waited for the voice to break in and tell me that oh, yes, Chris Bowman was dead, and I needn’t worry about him any longer.

But I heard no such thing, just a silence that began to echo in my ears. Great. So apparently Mr. Bowman wasn’t exactly down for the count.

I took in a breath and plunged ahead. “And anyway, staying here is starting to sound less and less attractive. I’ll head out in the morning after I get some more supplies.”

You won’t need them.

This was said flatly, as if he didn’t expect me to contradict him. “Well, sorry, but since you won’t tell me where I’m going or how long the journey is going to take, I need to be prepared. And that means getting a few things. I’ll be careful.”

The way you were careful at your aunt and uncle’s house?

Bristling, I replied, “Okay, I was caught off guard. That’s not going to happen again.”

No reply. I wasn’t sure whether that meant the voice had run out of arguments to give me, or whether it was simply tired of me throwing up roadblocks. I decided to take its silence as tacit agreement with my plan. And really, it shouldn’t be that big a deal. The Walgreens I frequented was less than a mile from my house. I’d pack everything else I needed in advance, then go there on my way out of town. Surely the voice couldn’t have any real problem with that?

It probably could, but unless it woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me everything I was doing wrong, I was going with it.

Falling asleep that night was difficult. The silence rattled me; every creak and sigh of the house contracting as the night air grew colder made me startle, thinking Chris the Creeper had returned to finish what he’d started outside my aunt and uncle’s house. Well, the joke would be on him — I had the revolver right next to me on the coffee table, and had gotten the shotgun from the gun safe and was lying with it propped up against the arm of the sofa near my head. He’d be a red smear on the wall before he had time to blink.

But the guns didn’t reassure me as much as I’d thought they would. Maybe it was more that I’d begun to pick at what the voice had said to me, how he’d said that “we” — meaning him and others like him, I supposed, whatever or whoever they were — hadn’t controlled who lived and who died of the Heat, but that they did have some say in what happened to the survivors. That was a frightening thought. True, everything he’d done so far seemed to have been for my benefit…but why?

I realized he hadn’t called me “beloved” for a while. Was that an oversight, or had all my questions and my ignoring of his advice annoyed him enough that I wasn’t quite so beloved anymore? The thought bothered me a little…but not as much as contemplating what it might mean to be the beloved of some incorporeal being who spoke to me only in my thoughts.

If he was even real. I really could just be imagining the whole thing. After all, there were accounts of mothers going ballistic and lifting trucks off their toddlers or whatever. Wasn’t it possible that I’d been the one to fling Chris Bowman away from me, and my mind had just embellished the event so it seemed as if some kind of supernatural force was involved?

I didn’t know. And the worst part was, I had no one to talk to about my situation, except a disembodied voice that might or might not be merely a figment of my imagination. For most of the day, I’d managed to push to one side the pain of losing my family, my friends, but now as I sat there in the dark, one candle flickering on the coffee table, it all seemed to come back in a rush, like a great, gaping wound in my middle where my heart had been torn out. I was twenty-four years old, but right then all I wanted was my mother. I wanted her to hug me and tell me it was all going to be okay.

And then I felt him there, as I had earlier, like a wash of warmth moving over me, strong arms around me, the touch of an unseen mouth against my tumbled hair. Ah, beloved, you do not believe me now, but it will get better. Sleep now, and leave the pain for another day.

I opened my mouth to speak, but I found I didn’t have the strength to form any words. Instead, darkness washed over me, taking me along with it. In that moment, I knew I lacked the strength to fight the inevitable.

Chapter 7

Dutchie’s growling woke me. I startled awake, sitting bolt upright and blinking against the darkness. Only it wasn’t completely dark, as the pillar candle still burned bravely in its dish on the coffee table. Thank God for that, because the dog was sitting in front of the door, teeth bared in a snarl, a deep, bone-rattling growl rumbling within her throat.

Without thinking, I pushed back the blankets that covered me and grabbed the shotgun. Yes, the .357 had great stopping power, but I knew anything I hit with that shotgun would go down and stay down. Well, except for the parts that got splattered on any nearby walls. And if I did somehow manage to miss, that Remington would make a pretty decent club.

My heart was hammering away in my chest, but I made myself go to the peephole in the front door and attempt to peer out. Fat lot of good that did — the night outside was pitch black, with not a hint of a moon. I couldn’t even see the rose of Sharon bushes on either side of the doorway.

But the whole time Dutchie didn’t stop growling, although as I backed away from the door, shotgun still clenched in my right hand, she moved as well, padding toward the back of the house.

Great. The front door was much bigger and heavier than the back door. Anyone sufficiently motivated could kick in the door off the service porch.

I had a feeling that if he was still ambulatory, Chris Bowman would be feeling really motivated right around now. Maybe I was just being paranoid, since I had no idea how he could have even found me. We weren’t exactly what you could call listed in the phone book; cops tended to be circumspect about that sort of thing. Then again, Chris seemed like the type who might have mastered the finer points of hacking into secure databases, and considering his apparent obsession with me….

Shit.

Dutchie trotted ahead of me. Her ears were up, nose pointed directly toward the service porch at the rear of the kitchen. And that was when I heard it, too — a faint scratching noise coming from the back door. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought it was one of the other neighborhood dogs trying to get in. But after seeing that whole “peaceable kingdom” bit at the PetSmart up in Sandia Heights, I knew Dutchie wouldn’t be growling like that if it was simply another dog on the other side of that door.

I’d already loaded the shotgun before I lay down to sleep, so all I had to do was pump it to bring a shell into the chamber. Even though I could feel my heart still wailing away in my chest, I managed to call out in what sounded like a reasonably steady voice, “Whoever that is, back away. I’m armed, and I will not hesitate to shoot.”

There. My father would’ve been proud, if he’d been around to hear that.

No reply, of course. Dutchie sat down on her haunches, then looked up at me and gave a questioning whine. It seemed obvious she thought she’d done her job in warning me that something was out there, and now it was my turn to do something about it.

Not unreasonable of her, but no way was I going to reach out and open that door. If I had to stay here all night with the shotgun pointed at the back entrance to the house, I would.

That odd scratching noise started up again. I gritted my teeth, wondering if I should send off a warning shot. But all that would do was mess up the back door, and what if that scratching noise was coming from an ambitious rat or something? I’d look like an idiot, and worse, I would’ve completely compromised my home’s security.

I dragged out the step stool and sat down on it, shotgun still pointed toward the back door. Dutchie stayed where she was, although she did send me an inquiring look over one shoulder. I shook my head at her, and she settled down in a sphinx-like position, still at attention, snout in a direct line with the doorknob. In that moment, I wondered whether I should even be trusting Dutchie’s instincts. Obviously, she was a very good dog, but she wasn’t my dog. I didn’t know if she was a great watch dog or the type to go off half-cocked at every random sound. Yes, there was something outside, but it didn’t necessarily have to be anything threatening. For all I knew, it could have been a branch from the willow bush just outside the back stoop scratching on the doorframe or something.

But then the door creaked open, and my breath caught in my throat. Standing there was Chris Bowman, face puffed and bruised, pale eyes glaring at me. Something glinted in one hand, reflecting the faint light from the jar candle I’d left lit in the kitchen.

Lock picks. Son of a bitch. Trust a maladjusted bastard like Chris the Creep to know how to pick locks.

Slowly, I got to my feet, the gun still trained on him. “Get out, Chris.”

His eyes were still fixed on my face, as if he hadn’t even registered the Remington pump-action shotgun in my hands. “No. We’re the only survivors. We’re meant to be together.”

My finger was resting on the trigger. Just the slightest squeeze, and he’d be splatter on the doorframe. Could I kill someone, though, just like that? Before, when I’d thrown the rock at his head, I’d only meant to slow him down, to give myself enough time to get safely away. The shotgun was an entirely different story.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Chris,” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady, just as I willed my hands not to shake as I gripped the shotgun. “The two of us being immune? It’s just an accident of biology. It doesn’t mean anything. So please, go back home.”

For the first time, he glanced away from my eyes, down at the gun I held. A look of almost comical confusion passed over his puffy features. “But I want you.”

My stomach twisted, and right then I was glad I hadn’t eaten anything more than that bread and jelly sandwich a few hours earlier…or whenever it had been. I wasn’t wearing a watch, and of course the digital clocks on the appliances in the kitchen had died along with everything else when the power went out.

“But I don’t want you, Chris,” I said, and right then my voice did contain a betraying tremor that I hated, although I couldn’t do anything about it. “I told you, I don’t want to hurt you. But I will. My dad was a cop, and he taught me how to use this. And I will.”

During this little speech, Chris’s eyes grew narrower and narrower, as if he was finally processing my rejection of him. His lip curled, and he said, “You don’t have the guts,” right before he lunged at me.

Without thinking, I let my finger jerk on the trigger. At the same time, it was as if a powerful hand had grasped the barrel, pointing it away from Chris so all I did was blow a hole in the ceiling, destroying the combination light/fan fixture there and raining drywall everywhere. I blinked, sure the creep was going to come after me, now that I’d missed so heinously, but instead something seemed to grab him by the neck, squeezing so his eyes began to bulge and his feet scrabbled helplessly against the linoleum of the laundry room floor.

A few gurgling moans came from his throat, and then once again he was flung away from me, this time with so much force that he flew across the backyard, hitting the corner of the garage before tumbling in a heap into the irises that still half-heartedly grew there. Shaking, I tightened my hold on the shotgun and started down the back steps toward him, only to hear the voice say,

Stop, Jessica. There is no need.

I paused on the bottom stair. “That — that was you?”

Yes.

“And he’s — ”

Yes. I did what I should have done back at your aunt and uncle’s house.

My breath seemed to go out of me in a whoosh, and I found myself sitting down hard on the step, the concrete cold even through my jeans. Thank God at least I’d gone to bed fully dressed, except for my hiking boots. I looked over at the gun I still held.

“I wouldn’t have missed, would I?”

No. You would have killed him, had I not pushed the gun away. I did not want that on your conscience.

So…a being who would go out of his way to protect me, but didn’t think twice about killing someone else. Not that Chris Bowman was exactly a wonderful specimen of humanity, one worth saving.

“Are you an angel?” I asked abruptly.

Another of those low chuckles. Hardly. But you are safe now, so you should go back inside and try to sleep.

“You seriously expect me to sleep after that?”

Yes. You are safe now. No one else knows of your presence in this house. You can sleep here, and then leave tomorrow morning.

I knew I’d exhausted all my arguments. After pushing myself to my feet, I glanced over toward where Chris Bowman’s body lay, twisted and limp in the ruin of what was once my mother’s prized bed of irises.

I will take care of that. Go to sleep, Jessica.

Bowing my head, I nodded, then went back inside and locked the door. Even though the voice had told me I was safe, I still took the step stool and wedged it up under the knob of the back door. Maybe it was a foolish gesture, but it made me feel a little bit better.

Dutchie looked up at me and wagged her tail, teeth showing in a doggy smile. “Okay,” I said. “You get a treat for the warning.” I got out a dog biscuit and gave it to her before heading back to my makeshift bed on the living room couch, where I leaned the shotgun up against the sofa’s arm once more. Maybe I wouldn’t need it, but I knew I’d sleep better if it was there.

Assuming I slept at all, of course.

I did, finally, and awoke to bright sunshine peeking around the edges of the living room curtains. The clock above the fireplace was battery-operated, and so had no problem telling me that the time was ten minutes until eight.

When I’d laid my head down on the sofa pillow the night before, I had no idea I’d sleep in that much. The confrontation with Chris Bowman must have taken more out of me than I thought. Speaking of which….

After pushing the blankets covering me off to one side, I rose and padded in sock feet to the back door. The step stool was still there, shoved up under the doorknob. I removed it and set it to lean against the wall, then opened the door and looked outside, toward the garage. The bright morning sunlight clearly revealed the clump of smashed iris plants where Chris Bowman had landed the night before, but his body was gone. No blood, no nothing.

If I looked more closely, would there be a pile of ashes half hidden among the blade-like iris leaves? But no, he’d died from severe head trauma, not the Heat. The body had been simply…taken away.

Deciding it was best not to contemplate exactly how that had happened…or what had been done with him…I went back inside and poured Dutchie some fresh water from one of the bottles in the pantry, and gave her a good helping of dry dog food. She wolfed it down, tail wagging the whole time, so obviously she hadn’t been irrevocably scarred by the events of the night before.

I wasn’t sure I could say the same for myself, but I had other things I needed to focus on. The day before, I’d told the voice I would pack up and leave this morning, so that’s what I needed to do — assess what I would take with me, based on how much I could fit into the Cherokee. With the back seats folded down, I really could haul a good deal of gear, so I didn’t think space would be too much of a problem.

More bread and butter for breakfast, supplemented with some dried apricots I found smashed into one corner of the pantry. My mother had been a very organized woman, but Devin was a source of chaos that could defeat even the most orderly person. I started stacking what was salvageable on the breakfast bar: the rest of that bag of apricots, a pile of granola bars, an unopened bag of blue corn chips, the remnants of the dry food and the dog biscuits for Dutchie. That would get us started, and I figured I could always stock up on a few more things in the food section of the Walgreens.

Truly, you do not need that much. The voice sounded almost amused this time.

“Well, until you’re telling me how far I’m driving, I’m going to over-pack,” I said, setting the half-used flat of bottled water next to the dog food.

Jessica, do you not like surprises?

“Not particularly, no.” I surveyed the meager pile and thought I really wasn’t overdoing it by anyone’s standards. True, I could start piling up the economy-sized cans of tomato sauce and beans my mother had bought at Costco, but I could get that stuff anywhere if necessary. It wasn’t as if there was going to be a lot of competition for the enormous stockpiles of canned food left behind by the mostly deceased people of New Mexico.

Well, I think you will like this surprise.

Since that reply just annoyed me — what was I, five? — I made a noncommittal sound in my throat and headed out the back door, up to my apartment. This time, Dutchie didn’t seem too inclined to follow me. I guessed the reason why when I saw her nose around the backyard, then squat to pee. The second movement, so to speak, would probably follow shortly, but I didn’t see any need to hang around for that.

Like an idiot, I’d left the door to my apartment unlocked, but, as far as I could tell, Chris hadn’t made it up here. It was possible that he’d detected the faint glow of the candles from inside the main house and realized that was where I’d bunked down. Just as well, because I didn’t know if I could have brought any of my belongings with me if I’d known he’d pawed through them.

In my closet I had one of those airline-regulation hard-sided suitcases, the kind with wheels, as well as two largish duffle bags. I filled one of the duffle bags with underwear and bras and socks, along with a couple of sleep shirts. The other duffle bag got shoe-carrying duty — which turned out not to be much, since I only packed my trail shoes, a pair of knee-high boots with rubber soles, and one pair of flip-flops. And…well, I didn’t see where I would ever wear them again, but I didn’t want to leave behind my pretty black flats with the scallop detail, or the high-heeled sandals with the jeweled embellishment. Maybe I could just take them out from time to time and fondle them. I loved those sandals.

I filled up the remainder of the duffle bag with my toiletries, although I left behind all the hair-prep tools. What was the point, when there was no more electricity? Maybe if I got really bored I’d invent a solar-powered blow dryer, but in the meantime, that was a whole lot of stuff I didn’t need to drag along.

I took the same no-nonsense approach with my clothes: jeans and T-shirts in both short- and long-sleeved varieties, a flannel shirt I’d inherited from my ex-boyfriend (he was an ass, but that shirt was soooo soft), the all-weather anorak I used when going on hikes. If I really was going north, I’d need some protection, so I added my dark green plaid cashmere scarf and lined leather gloves to the pile, along with the black knitted cap that Elena had once complained made me look like I was about to hold up a liquor store.

Getting it all to fit was a challenge, although leaving out the anorak helped. I could always lay it down in the back of the SUV. When my gaze traveled back to the closet, where all my “fun” clothes still hung, looking a bit forlorn and abandoned, it lingered on the black dress I’d worn out for drinks on my birthday. All right, I knew there was no reason I’d ever need to wear that dress again, but I loved the way it fit, the way it seemed to follow all the curves of my body without clinging too much. But it was made of knit fabric and wouldn’t take up that much room.

Off the hanger, it did roll up into a surprisingly small ball. I tucked the dress into a corner of the suitcase and then zipped the thing closed. A sound outside on the landing made me start, but it was only Dutchie, coming up to investigate what I was doing.

“Just about done,” I told her, lugging the suitcase off the bed and picking up the lighter of the two duffle bags, the one with my underthings in it. I’d come back for the other duffle bag and my coat.

The dog ran ahead of me down the stairs, tail wagging. It seemed she knew what these preparations meant — that I’d be going in the Cherokee soon, and that meant she’d be going along as well.

I set the luggage down by the breakfast bar, then returned to my apartment and gathered up the rest of my things. Sitting on the small side table next to the couch was a wedding photo of my parents, my mother with impossible big ’80s hair but looking beautiful even so, and next to it a snapshot taken last year of the whole family at a football game, Devin wearing his shoulder pads, sweaty and grinning proudly. My heart clenched when I looked at their faces, and yet I knew I couldn’t leave them behind. What if I began to forget what they looked like?

Fighting back tears, I shoved the pictures, frames and all, into my oversized purple purse; I wasn’t sure why I was bringing it, since the backpack I was taking with the rest of the camping equipment was a lot more practical. But that purse seemed to be the last reminder of the “old” me I had — the cell phone, useless now, although a few days earlier I would have said I couldn’t have lasted more than a few hours without it; the tube of lip gloss; my wallet; stubs from movies I’d seen over the last few months; a pen and some tissue, because my mother told me I should always carry a pen and Kleenex.

And my keys. I went out onto the landing, closed the door behind me, and then locked it. I couldn’t really say why, as I doubted any survivors — if there were more besides me and the late Chris Bowman — would bother coming all the way back here to loot the apartment. Our house was one of the more modest ones on the street; there were plenty of better pickings elsewhere.

But that thought only served to depress me, as if the things my parents had worked so hard for had turned out to be worth very little in the end. The first stinging pinpricks of tears told me I’d better abandon that line of thought, as I still had a lot to do.

And maybe, just maybe, I’d feel better once I was gone and away from the place that now only served to remind me of everything I’d lost.

In the end, the Cherokee was full but not filled. I put two bottles of water in the cup holders, patted the passenger seat so Dutchie would know it was time to get in, and shut the door behind her. After that, I climbed in behind the wheel and closed my own door.

All the exertion had made my wrists start to ache again, but only slightly, which just proved some sort of supernatural healing must be going on. Not that I was going to argue. Heading out into the world while even partly incapacitated wasn’t a very good idea.

So…had my unseen guardian speeded up my healing process so my injuries wouldn’t slow down my departure?

I didn’t know how I should feel about that.

No point in brooding over it now, though. I was just glad that I was able to back out of the driveway without my wrists or hands hurting too much. Today, although the sky was mainly blue, I could see clouds beginning to drift in from the northeast. I hoped they didn’t indicate some kind of weather was on the way; bad enough that the voice expected me to head out of town in a direction of his choosing without having to handle driving in heavy rain as well.

He — or it — had been conspicuously silent so far this morning. It could simply be that he had no reason to intervene while I was packing, since I was already doing his bidding by prepping to get out of Albuquerque.

The local Walgreens was around a half mile from my house. Its parking lot backed up to a middle school, and it felt stranger than strange to get out of the SUV and not see a bunch of kids running around on the soccer field and the track. At least it was far enough away that I couldn’t tell if those fields had little piles of gray dust scattered around on them. No, I realized they probably wouldn’t, as the schools had been closed down fairly quickly…not that it had made much of a difference in the end.

As I approached the drugstore, I saw that the front doors had been smashed in. Glass was strewn everywhere. My hackles went up, and I almost reached back and pulled out the Glock, which I’d tucked into my waistband. The whole incident with Chris Bowman had put me more than a little on edge, and I’d decided to drive with the gun on me. The S&W was way too big for that, though, so I’d gone with the Glock. It would still flatten someone, especially if I hit them with multiple rounds.

But as I entered the store, glass crunching under my hiking boots, it seemed the place was deserted enough. Dark, too — I supposed I should have been expecting that, but in my mind’s eye the Walgreens was always brightly lit, blazing with fluorescent illumination. I paused by the checkout counter, which was close enough to the door that I could see what I was doing, and plucked one of the keychain flashlights off the display there. Not as good as my father’s Maglite, which was buried deep in the cargo area of the car, but it would do.

I turned on the flashlight, grabbed a cart, and made my way to the back of the store where the pharmacy was located. All around me, I could see evidence of looting — empty shelves, racks overturned, aisles filled with discarded bags of Doritos, rolls of toilet paper, kids’ toys. My heart sank. If so much had been taken, what would be left for me to collect?

As it turned out, not a heck of a lot.

There were still some generic medications left in the first aid aisle — ibuprofen, allergy remedies, sore throat lozenges. I grabbed boxes haphazardly and threw them into the cart I’d picked up at the front of the store, figuring something was better than nothing. All was chaos behind the pharmacy counter. I didn’t know if all those items had been taken by people who were sick and trying desperately to alleviate their symptoms, or whether any survivors had realized there was a lot of heavy-duty stuff here just ripe for the picking.

Pretty much anything with an opiate in it was gone, I realized as I ran the flashlight’s beam over the shelves. I could forget about easing the pain of armageddon with a little Oxycontin. All of the high-powered stuff was gone, except for one bottle of codeine-laced cough syrup high on a shelf. I took that, figuring it might come in handy.

The antibiotics were also ransacked, although I found a couple of bottles of tetracycline. Old school, but it would still work just fine for an infected wound or a bout of bronchitis. They got added to the growing pile in the cart.

A lot of the medications had names I didn’t even recognize, so I passed all those by. What I really wanted was the birth control pills, and I found those when I went around a corner, on a set of shelves that were a little disorganized but mainly intact. It made sense; most people probably weren’t thinking of family planning when they were being beaten down by the modern-day equivalent of a Biblical plague.

A small sigh of relief escaped my lips when I found the Ortho-Novum, and I gathered up every little packet they had. Enough to last me for a year, from the looks of it. After that, well…I’d worry about that then.

Like you’re really going to be alive a year from now.

I pushed that thought out of my head. Two days ago, I was sure I’d be dead along with everyone else, and yet here I still was. Never say die.

That had been a favorite phrase of my mother’s. How woefully inappropriate.

Mouth tightening, I moved the flashlight I carried over the shelves once more to make sure I wasn’t missing anything. The problem was, I didn’t get sick all that often, and even when I did, regular over-the-counter stuff worked just fine for me. I could be leaving something valuable behind here and wouldn’t even know it.

You can’t take everything, I told myself. Anyway, it was creepy in here, blundering around in the dark with only a single small flashlight to relieve the gloom. Better for me to just cut my losses and get out. It wasn’t as if there wouldn’t be more drugstores between here and…wherever I was going.

That thought reassured me somewhat, so I stepped out from behind the counter and made my way two aisles over, where the feminine products were located. I didn’t pay attention to brand or type, but just tossed boxes of tampons and packages of maxi pads into the cart until I was almost out of room. That should do me for a while, and I still needed to see if anything edible had been left behind.

I began walking toward the far left of the store, where I knew the food was located. Anything in the refrigerated case would be spoiled — and I was glad the doors were all shut, as otherwise the smell probably would have been nasty as hell — but there could still be chips and crackers and cookies, probably some beef jerky and other things of that ilk as well.

Not the healthiest of diets, but sometimes you had to take what you could get.

Figuring I should try to pick up some food for Dutchie as well, I stopped at the aisle where the drugstore usually stocked dog treats and a few brands of dry and canned food — not the stuff I would have chosen to feed her under ideal circumstances, but it would have been better than nothing. However, for some strange reason, those shelves were completely picked over. I even skidded on some scattered pellets of dry food before I regained my balance and glanced down to see that a big bag of Purina had been torn open, its contents scattered across the floor.

Muttering a curse, I left that aisle and went to the snack food section, which was in slightly better shape, and started gathering up what I could. By the time I’d dropped a couple of packets of beef jerky and a box of Ritz crackers on top of the pile in my basket, it was full, and I figured I needed to get going. It was almost noon, according to the watch I’d fished out of my nightstand and strapped on my wrist. A while back I’d almost stopped wearing watches, since I could just look at my phone, but now the watch was the only thing telling me what time it actually was. Yes, I had the clock in the Cherokee, but that only helped when I was driving.

I’d just passed the checkout counter — trying to quash my very real sensation of guilt over walking out with a bunch of stuff I hadn’t paid for — when a shadow filled the doorway. Almost without thinking, I reached back for the Glock tucked into my waistband. Yes, Chris Bowman was still dead and gone, but all sorts of predators could still be out there. Or at least as many as the Heat had allowed to survive.

Then my eyes adjusted, and I saw the shadow was that of a man, probably in his late forties, smiling at me nervously.

“I’m sorry I startled you,” he said, seeming to take note of how I remained rooted in the spot where I’d stopped by the checkout. “It’s just — I haven’t seen anyone else alive for two days. I thought I was the only one.”

“There are a couple of us, I think,” I responded. He looked pretty harmless, with his thinning dark hair and worried eyes, but I was still wary. “I never heard anything about the mortality rate. Everything went so…fast.”

He nodded, his gaze traveling to the cart in front of me and then back up to my face. I stiffened, worried I’d see the same sort of predatory stare that Chris Bowman had given me, but this stranger only seemed relieved that he wasn’t the only living person left in Albuquerque. “It was 99.8 percent. Or at least that was what the reports said.”

“Reports?” I asked. “What reports?”

“Not on the news,” he said. “I worked in the emergency-management bureau downtown. Those were the latest figures we got before everything just…stopped. By then there were only two of us left out of a team of twenty-seven, and Lydia died soon afterward. There was no way to let anyone know…not that there was anyone left to know, I suppose.”

“There were a few of us.” I had to stop then, the enormity of it threatening to overwhelm me. With a mortality rate like that, it meant there were maybe two thousand people left in Albuquerque. That sounded like a lot, until you realized there used to be almost a million people living in and around the city center. “But you’re right — I suppose it wouldn’t have made much of a difference. It’s not as if we could have stopped it.”

“No,” he agreed, his features drooping even more.

“So….” I went on, not sure where I was supposed to go from here. It was pretty clear that the voice meant for me to leave Albuquerque alone, but now that I’d met a survivor, could I simply leave him behind? He appeared to be harmless. “Do you live around here?”

The man gave a vague gesture over his shoulder, toward the west. “Off Chavez Road.”

That wasn’t too far from where we stood. No wonder he’d come foraging over here. “Your first time out and around…after?”

A nod. “I didn’t know if it would be safe, but I started to run out of things, and this was the closest store….”

“There’s plenty left,” I assured him. “The looters kind of tore the place up, but they didn’t steal all the Doritos. I’d probably go to a grocery store if you really want something decent to eat, though.”

“That was my plan after this, but I could walk here, so I figured I’d come here first.” For the first time his eyes took on a certain glint, one I wasn’t sure I liked. “That your Cherokee out there?”

There wasn’t any point in denying it. For all I knew, he’d seen me pull up and get out of the SUV. “Yes.”

“Leaving town?”

A flicker of unease went over me. “I was thinking about it,” I hedged.

To my surprise, he didn’t seem that put off by my reply. “That might be a good idea. It might be safer where there aren’t as many survivors. People are going to get desperate.”

They already have, I thought, recalling the way Chris Bowman had broken into my house. Then again, that was a special case of one highly obsessed nut job. The survivors in Albuquerque would probably be a lot more interested in getting supplies than getting into my pants.

“So what are you going to do?” I asked, trying to shift the conversation away from me and my plans.

“I’m not sure. I figured food was the first step. After that?” He shrugged, then offered me a faint smile. “Right now, it’s just kind of good to hear another voice.”

I almost agreed with him, except I had been hearing a man’s voice in my head for the past few days. So what if the jury was still out as to whether that voice was real or not?

“Well, I don’t want to leave my dog sitting in the car too long,” I said, since it seemed to me that the man wouldn’t mind standing here and chatting all day, if it meant he didn’t have to be by himself.

He looked startled by the non sequitur, but then nodded. “Oh, of course. It is starting to warm up. You have a good day.” The way he said it made it sound as if he wasn’t sure such a thing was possible anymore.

Since there wasn’t much else I could do, I smiled slightly, then moved toward the exit. For a second or two, I was worried he might put out an arm to stop me, but he only stepped out of the way and headed into the store.

I allowed myself a small sigh of relief before going to the Cherokee and unlocking it, then quickly unloading the loot from my cart into the rear cargo area. From the front seat, Dutchie whined, but I wasn’t sure why. It was a little warm in the car, but nothing too bad — I’d made sure to crack the windows before I locked up the vehicle.

When I turned around, though, I almost dropped the car key. The stranger was standing there, holding a pistol pointed straight at me. His expression was no longer mild, but greedy. Not the kind of greed I’d seen in Chris Bowman, though. This man’s gaze wasn’t fixed on me, but the SUV I’d just closed up.

Without blinking, he said, “Give me the key. Now.”

Chapter 8

At first I could only stand there, gaping at him. From the way he held the gun, a small .22, I could tell he didn’t have much experience. One part of my mind began to coolly calculate whether I was fast enough to get that Glock out of my waistband before he fired on me. My father had taken me to the indoor range many times, and shooting up in the hills around town even more, and he’d made me practice pulling the gun from a holster as well as the waistband of my pants. I knew I had far more experience than the man who faced me. But…was it enough?

Stalling for time, I stammered, “W-what?”

“You heard me.” He waved the pistol in what he probably thought was a threatening manner. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just want the car.”

“But — ” I kept my hands out where he could see them, knowing that he was probably nervous enough just handling the gun that he might do something really stupid if I made any sudden movements. “There are plenty of abandoned vehicles all over the city. You don’t need mine.”

“Yes, I do.” His gaze shifted from the rear door of the Cherokee to my face, and I could see the desperation in his watery brown eyes. “I don’t have to hunt for the key, and it’s a four-wheel drive loaded with supplies. I doubt I’m going to find anything better.”

Well, when he put it that way…. “It needs gas, though. Do you know how to siphon gas?”

His bemused expression told me he didn’t.

“Look,” I went on, knowing there was no way in hell I was going to let him have my dad’s SUV, “it’s been a horrible week. I get that you feel desperate. But you don’t need to do this. There are plenty of alterna — ”

BLAM! The pistol went off — not pointed at me, thank God, but somewhere over my shoulder and just above the roof line of the Cherokee. Even so, I jumped enough that I could feel the backs of my thighs hit the SUV’s rear bumper.

“I’m not negotiating,” he said. The look on his face shifted from confused to crafty. “But maybe you could come along. You say you know how to siphon gas?”

I actually hadn’t said that I did, but the truth was, my father had showed me and Devin once, when Devin ran out of gas while driving Mom’s Escape. It wasn’t that difficult, really, as long as you selected a vehicle without a locking gas cap. In the back of the Cherokee, along with the rest of my supplies, was a long rubber tube I’d brought along for that very purpose. With the power out, it would simply be easier to siphon gas from abandoned vehicles rather than attempt to switch the pumps at a gas station over to manual.

“Maybe I do,” I hedged, my pulse beginning to escalate.

“You seem like you might be…useful,” the man said, and this time his watery gaze remained fixed on my face. It was clear his thoughts were beginning to run in other directions than merely stealing my car.

Dude, I could put you through a wall, I thought, but that inner remark was more bravado than anything else. Yes, he looked like the quintessential wimpy office worker. On the other hand, he’d still managed to sneak up on me, so I wasn’t about to underestimate him.

Since I couldn’t trust myself to speak without giving myself away, I only shrugged. At the same time, I let my hands drop to my sides, my right hand beginning to move slowly backward, toward the reassuring weight of the Glock in my waistband. Thank God the shirt I was wearing hung loosely enough that the man didn’t seem to have noticed he wasn’t the only armed person in this little convo.

He stepped closer. Now I could smell the stink of perspiration and fear on him. Maybe I hadn’t had a decent shower since before the Heat began, either, but at least I’d tried to wash up as best I could, and made sure to put on deodorant before I got dressed each morning. I couldn’t say the same for this useless specimen of humanity.

Were only the weak, the crazy, or the unscrupulous left? And if that was the case, what the hell did that say about me?

I decided I’d think about that later. In the meantime, I had bigger things to worry about. I needed to get away from this guy. Shooting him was not a particularly appealing prospect, but I would if I had to.

No wonder the voice had been urging me to get out of Albuquerque. I wished I hadn’t dragged my feet quite so much about that. If I’d left straight away, as he’d told me to do, I would never have run into Chris Bowman…wouldn’t be standing here now, with this milquetoast former bureaucrat holding his puny .22 on me and thinking he was Dirty Harry.

And where the hell was the voice? He had saved me from Chris the Creep twice, but was conspicuously absent at the moment. Did he think I could handle this guy on my own?

Time to find out, I supposed.

“Oh, I’m very useful,” I snapped, reaching the rest of the way so I could pull the Glock out of the waistband of my Levi’s and point it straight at the stranger’s face.

He blinked and took a step backward. The gun wavered in his hands, and then he tightened his grip. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“Well, I kind of did, since you were holding a gun on me.” Unlike him, I didn’t move, didn’t blink. “By the way, my father was a police officer. He made sure I knew how to shoot this thing. So don’t think for a second that I’m holding this gun up for show, because I’m not. I know what I’m doing. The best thing you can do is back off and go find a car someplace else. There are thousands in the city up for grabs right now.”

No response at first. His mouth opened and closed once, making him look like a fish on a hook. I got the distinct impression he didn’t know what he should do — shoot, or turn tail and flee. That made him all the more dangerous, in my eyes, because I really didn’t know how he was going to react. I doubted he was someone who’d been inclined toward criminal acts in his past life. But he’d been pushed to the limit by all the death he’d seen, and that made him volatile. Unpredictable.

“Please,” I said softly. “Just go.”

The gun shook in his hands. I remained motionless, the Glock still pointed directly at his face, my stance square and solid, just the way my father had taught me. Then I saw him twitch, and thought,

Oh, shit.

A bang, louder than I’d anticipated. Smoke puffed out from the chamber of the .22, and I knew the bullet was going to hit me. How could he miss at such close range?

Time slowed down, or possibly my thought processes sped up. I wasn’t quite sure, but it was almost as if I could see the silvery-gray shape of the bullet speeding toward me. My entire body clenched, waiting for the shock of impact. At the same time, my finger clenched on the trigger of the Glock, and it went off with a much more impressive bang than the one that had issued from the .22. My ears began to ring. That was the first time I’d ever shot a gun without wearing earplugs, and damn, it was louder than I’d expected.

Two things happened then — first, it seemed as if the air in front of me shimmered, and the bullet the stranger had fired at me bounced away as if it had hit a pane of bulletproof glass. He had no such protection, however, and the shot I’d fired hit him in the chest, sending him flying backward, blood beginning to run down the front of the sweat-stained dress shirt he wore.

His head hit the pavement with a sharp crack, and I winced. But even as I did so, I realized I was all right. It should have been me lying there on the ground with dark blood trickling from my chest, but it wasn’t.

Are you ready to leave now? the voice asked. For some reason, he sounded tired. Well, that made two of us.

I finally lowered the gun. “That was you?”

I told you I would protect you.

“Couldn’t you have stopped him before he fired at me?” It seemed the voice was falling down a bit in the omnipotence department.

I cannot see everything. Your fear called me to you, just as it called to me last night when that creature broke into your house. When I saw what was happening, I put up the barrier to keep the bullet from touching you.

Just like that. What kind of powers did the voice control, to be able to construct an invisible shield that would deflect a bullet?

Obviously something far, far beyond anything I’d ever heard of.

But then, I’d already sort of gathered that.

Pulling in a breath, I flipped the Glock’s safety back on, then stuck the gun into my waistband once again. After that, I looked over to where the stranger lay groaning on the asphalt. From the amount of blood that had pooled beneath him, I guessed he didn’t have much longer to live. Should I be feeling guilty for that? I didn’t know. At the moment, all I felt was a sort of bone-deep weariness…and the day wasn’t even half over yet.

I approached him, then crouched down near his head. His eyes flickered open and fixed on me, pleading and scared. “I didn’t want to do that,” I said quietly. “You should have just left me alone. There’s plenty in this city for everyone.”

A strangled sound came from his throat, possibly one of protest. I couldn’t tell for sure, since he was obviously beyond forming actual words.

Although I knew I’d acted in self-defense, hadn’t even squeezed the trigger until he’d shot at me, it was still hard to see him like this, knowing I couldn’t do anything for his pain. “I’m sorry,” I said at last, then straightened up and headed back to the Cherokee. The best thing I could do now was get the hell out of here.

I got in the car, shut the door, and pulled out of the parking space. As I drove away, I didn’t look back.

Head north, the voice said once I was a few blocks from the Walgreens. Get on the freeway.

“Are you kidding?” I asked, hands tight on the steering wheel. Right then, I wasn’t sure whether I had a death grip on the thing because of all the vehicles choking the roads, or because I was still shaking from that confrontation back in the parking lot. Maybe a little bit of both. “The freeway is going to be worse than the surface streets.”

No, it isn’t. Trust me.

Considering he’d just saved me from a speeding bullet, I decided to trust him.

The closest on-ramp was at Paseo del Norte, so I headed in that direction, keeping my speed below twenty-five miles an hour, and sometimes even slower than that, depending on how congested the street around me was. When I got to the on-ramp, I actually had to drive onto the shoulder to get around two vehicles that seemed to have crashed head-on into one another. Now it was impossible to tell whether they’d both been trying to get on the freeway at the same time, or whether the drivers had been so ill that they’d basically plowed into each other at the worst possible spot.

After that, though, the connector was clear enough, and I eased up onto I-25, keeping my speed down. The voice had been right, though — yes, there were still abandoned vehicles here, but they tended to have either crashed into the center divider or drifted over to the shoulder. The middle two lanes were fairly clear, although I still had to slow down from time to time to get around a car or truck that had stopped in the center of the highway.

In fact, the going was easy enough that I thought it safe to risk opening one of the water bottles so I could get a drink. My throat was parched, and I drank half the contents of the bottle without even stopping. In the passenger seat, Dutchie cocked her head and looked at me.

“I’ll take care of you when we stop, girl,” I told her. Along with the camping gear, I’d stowed a set of collapsible dog dishes in the back of the Cherokee, relics of the times when we used to take Sadie on day trips with us. My father never got rid of anything — which was why none of our cars ever actually lived in the garage — and I’d found the dishes when I was scrounging some of the other stuff.

Dutchie wagged her tail, then sort of collapsed onto the seat, curling up in a smaller ball than I would have thought possible. Up until then, she’d been sitting up and looking out the window, but, truth be told, once you were on the freeway, the sights and smells really weren’t that interesting.

“So where are we going?” I asked of the general air around me. Judging by his delayed reaction to the man who’d assaulted me back at Walgreens, the voice wasn’t necessarily around at all times. In this case, since I was asking a direct question, I had to hope he was close enough that he would hear me and respond.

North.

“Besides that,” I snapped, irritated now. I’d done what he asked — Albuquerque was dropping farther and farther behind me, since I’d started out from the more northern end of the city sprawl anyway. At this point, I really couldn’t see the reason behind the continuing games of evasion. “It’s a little early for ski season.”

That is all you need to know for now. I will tell you when it is time to get off the freeway.

I might have growled. But since I knew there was no point in pressing the issue, I took another swig of water and kept my gaze focused on the road. I actually hadn’t been about to run out of gas; the tank was nearly full. I’d just hoped that lying about the gas situation would convince the stranger at Walgreens to choose some other prey. So much for that brilliant idea.

At any rate, I knew I wouldn’t have to stop for gas for some time. Maybe not at all, depending on how far I was going. What I had in the Cherokee right now was probably enough to get me to the Colorado border, although I sincerely hoped I wasn’t going quite that far.

So I continued to drive north on the freeway, pushing my speed closer to forty miles an hour as I left Albuquerque behind, and the vehicles littering the road gradually grew fewer and farther between. Not to say that the highway was completely empty, but it was open enough that I felt safe going a little faster. Wherever I was headed, I wanted to get there as quickly, albeit as safely, as I could.

An hour passed. Dutchie slept in the passenger seat, and I could feel my stomach begin to growl. If I’d been thinking clearly, I would’ve gotten some of the food out of the back and brought it up here with me, but shooting someone at point-blank range does tend to rattle your logic centers a bit. Ever since I’d left Albuquerque, I’d been telling myself that there was nothing else I could have done, that he’d shot at me first…but those kinds of reassurances only go so far when you’re trying to wrestle with the realization that you’d killed someone earlier that day.

It was not your fault. The voice was soothing, its earlier weariness apparently gone. I must have been really broadcasting my angst, because in general, the voice only answered direct questions and didn’t respond to my inner thoughts. He forced the issue. You should not blame yourself.

I knew that intellectually. But I also knew that killing, even in self-defense, carried its own weight of emotional consequences. When I was in high school, my father had shot someone while on duty — a drug dealer who’d drawn a .38 Special when he was pulled over for running a red light. My father didn’t have much choice but to shoot. Even so, he was in counseling for months after that, coming to terms with what he’d done. Taking a human life was not something to be dismissed lightly. And how much heavier was the burden of doing something like that when so few people were even left alive?

I wasn’t sure, but at the moment it felt pretty damn heavy.

The world has changed, the voice told me. So you must change with it.

“So I’m supposed to not care?” That didn’t sound right at all. What was the point of surviving all this, if the only way to do it was to become a person I didn’t like very much?

I did not say that. But there are certain realities you must face. There is nothing wrong with killing, if that is the only way for you to stay alive.

In other words, I shouldn’t feel bad about acting in self-defense. Maybe someday I’d get to that point, but at the moment I’d had too many shocks in too short a period of time. I really just wanted to curl up in a ball somewhere and pretend the world didn’t exist for a while.

Here, the voice told me. Take the turnoff for 84 north.

“Santa Fe?” I asked in some surprise. For some reason, I’d thought I’d be going much farther than that.

Yes, Santa Fe.

Well, thank God for small favors. I did as instructed and pulled onto the highway, which was more that in name than anything else, since in reality it was just a four-lane road cutting through town, with shops and schools on either side. Here I had to slow down again, as there was a good deal of stalled traffic once more. Not enough that I couldn’t get around it when necessary, even if I had to pull up onto the island at the center of the street, but it was still nerve-wracking.

Then turn here, on Cerrillo.

So we were heading into the heart of the town? I knew Santa Fe, although not intimately; my family had come here from time to time, mainly when my mother was tired of camping and hiking, and wanted us to get some culture. And I’d visited the town with Elena and Tori a couple of times, generally when Elena borrowed her parents’ timeshare so we could get out of Albuquerque and let our hair down for a few days. Even then, though, I hadn’t been the one driving. We always took Elena’s car, because she had a Porsche Cayenne, which was a lot more impressive than my eight-year-old Honda or Tori’s Ford pickup.

But I did know enough to realize if I stayed on my current route, I’d be heading toward the old town square and the touristy areas around it. Sort of a strange choice, if the voice was really that intent on keeping me out of population centers.

I slowed even more, as the road was getting narrower, and I knew I was about to enter the maze of one-way streets that twisted around Santa Fe’s central square. Oddly, there weren’t as many abandoned vehicles here. But this was a touristy area — maybe everyone had bugged out for home as soon as the infection began to spread.

And now down Alameda.

“So I’m not going to the center of town?”

No.

“Is it far?”

Not that far.

Good, because I knew I was going to need a bathroom fairly soon. I just had to hope that my destination included those sorts of civilized comforts, even if I wouldn’t be able to flush after the first time.

I angled the Cherokee down Alameda, stopping every so often to go up on the curb to avoid yet another abandoned car. Luckily, the south side of the road ran along an open greenbelt, so there were no businesses located there, which meant no parked cars, either. To either side, the trees were brave with fluttering leaves of yellow and orange, but no one was around to admire their autumn finery, and I was too focused on my route to give them more than a passing glance.

The street continued in this way for some time, until I was out of the downtown area and in a more residential district, still heading steadily eastward. Since the voice had given me no further commands, I kept going.

And right here, it said, just when I thought I was going to be on Alameda forever.

I turned as instructed, moving onto Canyon Road. As I did so, I couldn’t help wondering just where the heck I was going. This was still a residential area, but with the houses spaced farther apart. The upside was that I didn’t have nearly as many stray cars to maneuver around.

Follow the curve, the voice said then.

Veering off to the left, I found myself now on Upper Canyon Road. It narrowed further, but even in my current focused state, I couldn’t help being impressed by some of the compounds I passed. They had high adobe walls that seemed to stretch on for a full block. Just the kind of thing for people with fat wallets and a serious need for privacy.

The road wound on and on, steadily rising. It became more rutted, littered with gravel. I slowed down, although I didn’t think it was quite time to engage the four-wheel drive. There was still pavement under my tires, albeit pavement that hadn’t been very well maintained.

Eventually, though, even that rutted and gravelly pavement disappeared, and the road turned to dirt. I brought the Cherokee to a crawl, put it in neutral, and then engaged the four-wheel drive. After I felt it catch, I sped up again, but cautiously, knowing I should keep it around twenty-five for safety’s sake.

Even up here there were scattered home sites, and I wondered if I would be told to turn off at one of them. But then the voice said, This road, indicating a dirt track that branched off from Upper Canyon, heading even farther into the hills.

I slowed down a little bit more, jolting and bouncing along the unpaved surface, which now was only wide enough to allow a single car through. Good thing I probably didn’t have to worry about someone coming this way from the other direction.

Dutchie, who’d been dozing for the past hour or more, blinked and got to her feet, pressing her nose to the window. She left quite a smudge, and I winced. Even though I knew my father was far past caring about what happened to the Cherokee, I still couldn’t help experiencing some discomfort at knowing the SUV wouldn’t exactly be in showroom condition by the time I got to my destination…whatever the hell that might be, out here in the middle of nowhere.

The track kept snaking farther and farther back into the hills. At least I’d had some experience driving off-road, so the rocky, rutted surface beneath the car didn’t bother me too much. What did bother me was how far away from civilization this place must be. Had the voice lured me out here to….

To what? I asked myself with some scorn. If he wanted to kill you or do anything else, he could have done it already. What would be the point in sending you out to the back of beyond like this?

No point at all that I could tell.

Which didn’t mean much.

At least the voice couldn’t seem to hear my interior monologue. A minute or so later, it said, Here.

Another dirt track, even narrower than this one. It split off from the main road — if you could call it that — and wound up the side of a hill. Around the crest of that hill, I thought I spied a flash of shimmering gold leaves. Aspen trees?

I turned where the voice had directed, crawling along. Nothing about this hill seemed all that different from all the others I had passed. It was studded with juniper trees and yucca, with dry yellow grass in between. Yes, there was something of a road, but leading to what?

A few minutes later, I had my answer. Almost hidden until you came upon it, a compound of some sort was built just below the top of the hill. From what I could see, there was a main building and several smaller structures clumped around it. A high adobe wall appeared to circle the entire property. There was a metal gate with, of all things, the same Zia sun symbols as seen on the New Mexico flag adorning its four quadrants. At the moment, that gate stood wide open.

I brought the Cherokee to a stop. The voice said, It is all right. There is no one here.

“Why is the gate open?”

I opened it for you.

Not sure what I should do about that particular statement, I swallowed, then nudged the gas. The SUV moved forward slowly, and in a few more seconds, I was inside the compound. Almost as soon as the rear bumper had cleared the gate, it closed behind me.

“You again?” I asked, hoping I’d kept most of the worry out of my voice.

Yes.

Since there was nothing else to do, I took a quick survey of my surroundings. There seemed to be a large house, built in the typical Santa Fe style with sheer walls of thick adobe and a flat roof. Aspen trees surrounded it, their golden leaves fluttering in the afternoon breeze. Just past the house was an outbuilding that appeared to be a large garage with four bays, and beyond that something that looked like an extensive greenhouse.

Everything was very tidy, very neat, except for some fallen aspen leaves on the ground. Here, the driveway was crushed gravel, which crunched under the wheels of the Cherokee as I slowly inched it toward the garage. When I approached, the door to the bay farthest on the left rolled up and out of the way.

This time it wasn’t entirely unexpected, but I still felt the skin along the back of my neck prickle as I pulled into the garage. The bay was quite wide, almost big enough for two cars, so I had plenty of room to park and then climb out. It was scrupulously clean, the walls finished. Overhead, a light bulb glowed.

I blinked at it, wondering if I was imagining things. Or maybe that was just more of the voice flexing its power. “Is that you?” I asked.

No. Look out, past the house.

I did as instructed, ignoring Dutchie’s whines to be let out. She could hang on a minute longer. As I paused at the entrance to the garage, I saw that the property was very large, probably at least four or five acres, all enclosed within that high adobe wall. The other structure I’d glimpsed was in fact a greenhouse, but beyond that was a small solar farm, and beyond that still I spied a windmill whirling away.

“There’s power here?” I had to fight the words past the lump in my throat; crazy how the mere thought of having electricity could get me so worked up.

That, and so much more. Come — let me show you.

I nodded, but then hurried over to open the passenger door. Dutchie sprang out, tail wagging, and promptly christened the place by squatting down on a patch of grass next to the garage. Despite everything, I couldn’t help grinning and shaking my head.

But then I turned away from her so I could follow the flagstone path that led from the garage to the front door of the house. It was painted blue, and shaded by a long colonnaded façade, with heavy wood beams supporting the roof. Again, typical New Mexico architecture, but it looked heavy and solid. Safe.

I put my hand on the latch. The door was unlocked, and swung inward.

It was all I could do not to let out a gasp. The house was, as Elena might have put it, amazeballs.

Red tiled floors. Wooden viga ceilings overhead. A kiva fireplace in one corner. Big, heavy ranch-style furniture. Navajo rugs.

I stepped inside, Dutchie on my heels, then carefully closed the door behind me. My footsteps echoed off the shining floor as I moved farther into the house. It was the sort of place I might have seen in a magazine, with doorways of sculpted adobe, Mexican star lights made of pierced tin hanging in the entry, every piece seemingly selected for one particular spot and that spot only, unique and beautiful.

“What is this place?” I breathed, after I’d recovered myself enough to move from the living room into the dining room, which was dominated by a copper-topped table big enough for twelve and sturdy chairs of dark wood with leather seats and nail-head accents. Landscapes of the area around Santa Fe hung on the walls.

It was built by a real estate developer from Phoenix who wanted to make sure he would survive the end of the world in comfort. Unfortunately, his plans did not take disease into account, only war and civil unrest.

What was I supposed to say to that?

Shaking my head, I went into the kitchen, which was roughly twice the size of my little over-the-garage apartment. I heard a faint humming noise and wondered what it might be, then realized it was the refrigerator. Strange how only a few days without those sorts of background noises could render them unfamiliar, alien.

I had to know. I walked over to the refrigerator and opened the door. Inside, it was stocked with items that wouldn’t spoil easily — cheese, sausage, lunch meats. A six-pack of Kilt Lifter ale sat on the bottom shelf. When I peeked inside the freezer section, it seemed as if it was full of other similar “guy food” sorts of items: frozen pizza, tamales, taquitos. A box of Hot Pockets. A couple of bags of frozen chicken breasts from Trader Joe’s.

Dutchie cocked her head, tongue lolling out. I wondered if she’d gotten a whiff of the cheese or sausages in the deli section of the fridge.

“It looks like the owner just stepped out,” I said, my tone only partly accusing. “Are you sure no one’s been here?”

Quite sure. The developer died two days ago, and the man he hired to watch over this place passed away yesterday, only three days after the last time he checked in here. You’ll find more food in the pantry, and a storeroom in the basement with canned goods, flour, sugar…that sort of thing. The greenhouse has tomatoes, lettuce, carrots, strawberries, and more.

Basically, pretty much anything I would need to keep on living for a good deal longer. And while doing it basically in the lap of luxury.

“How did you find this place?” I asked. I sort of doubted it was the kind of property that popped up on Trulia.

I knew you would need a sanctuary. So I…looked around.

A sanctuary. Yes, that was what this place felt like. More questions bubbled to my mind, but I wasn’t sure the voice would answer any of them.

And in the end, what did it matter? I was here, and I was safe. No one left alive even knew this place existed, and I could hide here for…months. Years, probably. Never mind that I didn’t really want to contemplate what it would be like to be out here for years and years with only a disembodied voice and a dog for company.

Well, I didn’t have to think about that now. I had other things to do.

“Come on, Dutchie,” I said. “Time to unpack the car.

“We’re home.”

Chapter 9

In the kitchen cupboards, I found brightly colored Fiesta ware, and heavy blown-glass tumblers and goblets that I thought must have come from Mexico. I poured water — yes, the taps worked, thanks to a well out back that was powered by the windmill — into a bowl for Dutchie, and then tipped some of the Blue Buffalo dry food I’d brought from home into another bowl. She set to, lapping at the water greedily, crunching away at the dog food. I could tell she thought she was home, too. At some point I’d have to see about replenishing her food supply, but that could wait a while. Based on the amount of kibble left in the bag, she’d need some more in about a week. In a pinch, I could defrost some of those frozen chicken breasts and cook them up for her, but it would probably be smarter to head into Santa Fe and go foraging there for some real dog food.

For the moment, though, I was content to explore the rest of the house. It was very large, probably at least four thousand square feet, although I’d be the first to admit that I wasn’t very good at judging those sorts of things. But there were three bedrooms, as well as an office, a sitting room, and a family room, in addition to the living room and kitchen. Off the back of the house was another covered patio, and surprisingly lush plantings of various native trees. In a secluded corner, a solar-powered fountain bubbled away. It felt tranquil, sheltered, so far removed from the horrors I’d seen in Albuquerque that I might as well have been on another planet.

Here, I thought I might be able to heal.

After I’d taken care of Dutchie and put all my things away, stowing the guns on a shelf in the master bedroom closet, I treated myself to a long, hot shower. And it was hot, thanks to the solar water heater. The storms I’d feared might be moving in had never materialized, and the day was sun and shadow, but with enough sunlight to keep everything in the house running. I soaked in that shower, letting the water run over me, allowing it to wash away the terror and fear and tragedy I’d left in a place I could no longer think of as home. I would never be able to forget any of it, but now, for the first time, I thought I might be able to focus on what lay ahead, instead of what was behind me.

The softest rugs in the world had been laid down over the tile in the bathroom, and I got out and dried myself off, using the equally soft towels hanging from the rack. If the owner of this place truly had been a real estate developer, it was obvious that he’d spared no expense in outfitting his survival getaway. I had to wonder if he’d actually ever been here, or merely hired people to build and decorate the place to his specifications. Something about it did feel…well, not exactly soulless, because it was too warm and inviting for that, but staged, maybe, as if an interior designer had done all the heavy lifting in making the decorating decisions. And had the developer intended to bring someone with him to share the world after the apocalypse, or had he planned to live in all this luxury alone?

Whatever the case, it was certainly far, far more than I ever could have expected might be awaiting me at the end of my journey. I blotted my hair, found a hair dryer in one of the drawers in the vanity area, and experienced the luxury of actually being able to blow-dry my hair, something I’d thought I’d never be able to do again. I put on clean clothes and my flats, since I wasn’t planning to go hiking anytime soon. The next day, I’d roam around and explore the property thoroughly, but for now I was content to cocoon indoors.

When I emerged into the family room, the voice asked, Are you feeling better now?

“Much,” I replied, although I couldn’t help wondering how much it could see. Had it been spying on me in the shower?

No, that was ridiculous. And it had been polite enough to wait to address me until I was in one of the more public areas of the house.

“I’m going to make some dinner,” I added. “You want anything?”

Another one of those sounds that might have been a chuckle. No, thank you. But do enjoy exploring the kitchen.

In that moment, it seemed as if the voice had gone again…if it could ever be said to actually be here in the corporeal sense of the word.

I went on into the kitchen, where Dutchie greeted me with a thumping tail. Had she been here the whole time, waiting to see if I would come back and make some people food?

Apparently so, because the second I opened one package of sausages, her tail began wagging even more fiercely.

“This is not for dogs,” I told her in the severest tones I could muster, but she only smiled up at me and cocked her head. Well, that had never worked on my old dog Sadie, either.

I could have nuked the sausages, but for some reason it felt better to rustle out a skillet and cook them the old-fashioned way. The savory smell filled the kitchen, and my stomach rumbled. After digging around in the freezer, I located some frozen home-style potatoes and added them to the mix. Yes, I really needed some fresh fruit or vegetables, but right then I was suddenly too tired to bother with going out to the greenhouse. It could wait another day.

What I did find, tucked under one of the counters, was a wine refrigerator. “Thank you, Mr. Real Estate Developer,” I breathed, looking at the gleaming bottles, all chilled to a perfect fifty-four degrees. Not that I knew the first thing about wine, but I did know about needing a drink, and boy, did I need one.

I selected a Black Mesa Montepulciano. I had no idea what a Montepulciano even was, but it sounded exotic. Probably far too exotic for my prosy meal of sausages and potatoes, which were still happily sizzling away on the stove top, but I doubted anyone from Wine Spectator magazine was going to drop in and grade me on my wine pairings.

There was a drawer seemingly dedicated only to wine openers and related gadgets — stoppers, little metal collars with padding inside to keep wine from dripping down the side of a bottle after it had been opened. I’d never been able to manage a waiter-style corkscrew, but there was also one of those “jumping jack”–style openers, and I selected that and went to work on the wine bottle, keeping an eye on the potatoes and sausages the whole time.

The sound of a cork coming out a wine bottle has to be one of the happiest sounds in the world, and I thought I could use a little happiness right then. I pulled one of the heavy blown-glass goblets out of the cupboard and filled it approximately halfway. Everything I’d read and heard said you were supposed to let wine breathe, but I wasn’t going to bother with that. I took a sip and closed my eyes. No, I hadn’t been much of a wine drinker, had always ordered mixed drinks or tequila shots when I was out with my friends. Now, though, I started to understand the appeal of wine, the smooth darkness of it on my lips, the gentle warmth it seemed to spread through my limbs.

I allowed myself another sip, then went back to the stove so I could turn over the sausages and stir the potatoes around a little. They were basically done, so I scrounged in the cupboard for a plate and dumped everything onto it. Dutchie’s tail began to wag frantically, and I couldn’t help smiling.

“Okay, we’ll see if there’s anything left over,” I told her, then got out a knife and fork, picked up my goblet of wine, and went into the family room. No way was I going to be the only person sitting down at that massive copper dining room table.

But the family room was a much cozier space, and I settled myself on the couch and placed the plate of food and my wine glass on the coffee table. A flat-screen TV hung on one wall, although it wasn’t going to do me much good unless the real estate developer had a stash of DVDs hidden somewhere. He probably did, but in that moment I was too hungry to worry about it. As with so many other things, I’d go exploring later.

There was also a kiva-style fireplace in one corner, with a nice stack of wood in a basket next to it. After I was done eating, I thought I might light a fire and allow myself to simply sit here for a while, quiet, letting my food digest. Hell, maybe I’d even drink that whole bottle of wine. After everything I’d been through, getting drunk sounded like it might not be a half-bad idea.

But no…I knew I wouldn’t do that. Just the glass, and maybe half of one afterward. The voice had reassured me I was safe here, and had closed the gate to the compound behind me, but until I’d slept a few nights unmolested, I wasn’t about to let my guard down like that. Dutchie had proven to be a good watchdog, and I had a feeling a place like this had some decent built-in security, but even so, being careless seemed like a good way to get myself killed.

Instead, I drank the wine slowly, taking small sips in between bites of my food, until my glass was empty and my plate almost so. There were a few potatoes and the end of one sausage left, and I put the plate down on the floor so Dutchie could have the rest of it. Who cared if that wasn’t the most hygienic thing in the world to do? She was deliriously happy about getting some table scraps, and as far as I was concerned, she’d earned them.

Once she’d polished the plate clean, I picked it up, as well as my wine glass, and went back to the kitchen. The plate went in the dishwasher, and I poured enough wine into my goblet to get it to a little below the halfway mark. In the drawer with all the other wine accoutrements, I found a stopper, so I jammed that into the open bottle, figuring I’d finish it off the next day.

And although I was bone-tired, sitting in front of the fire didn’t seem so appealing after all. I might as well get more of a handle on this place that was now supposed to be my home. Going back to the family room, I discovered that the large carved cabinet placed up against one wall did in fact hold the real estate developer’s Blu-Ray collection. Most of it was fairly typical new-release stuff, with some action classics thrown in. There was also an entire shelf of porn, and I just had to laugh when I looked at it. It was pretty obvious what he’d intended to do with at least some of his time after surviving the zombie apocalypse, or whatever.

I closed the cabinet with one hand, lifted the wine goblet with the other so I could take a drink, and wandered off down the hallway that led to the bedrooms and the office. That was the space which really interested me the most. After flicking on the light — and marveling at how easy that was — I went into the room and took a quick survey. Again, the furniture here was dark distressed oak, a perfect match to the hacienda-style feel of the rest of the house. One wall was mainly window, covered in wooden shutters. Against another wall was a large desk with what looked like a brand-new iMac sitting on it.

There was also a gun safe. I set down my wine glass on the desk, then went over to the safe and tested the lock. I suppose it was silly to think that the thing would have been open, but I couldn’t help experiencing a stab of disappointment when the doors wouldn’t budge. My father had trained me not to leave guns lying around, and although I was sure they would be fine where I’d put them on the shelf in the closet, I’d feel even better if I could lock them up.

Sitting next to the desk was a file cabinet, and I opened that, quickly rifling through its contents. This was a trove — I found manuals for the computer, the drip setup in the greenhouse, all the appliances, the security system. That seemed to feed into the iMac, so I touched the space bar on the keyboard, waking it up from its sleep. Thank God it didn’t seem to be password protected; I was able to find the security program easily enough, which brought up a feed from a number of cameras. At the moment it was showing a grid of all nine of them, although it appeared that I could also expand one image and then rotate through them if I preferred.

Not that it mattered one way or another, as far as I could tell. By then it was completely dark, and the cameras didn’t show much of anything. I supposed it made sense not to have security lights blaring around the exterior of the house and the perimeter of the property; that would only serve as a beacon to show that someone was living out here. And actually, after I toggled around a bit, I realized that no lights were needed, as the cameras switched into infrared mode in the dark. Pretty high-tech.

How much had the developer spent building this place? I couldn’t begin to guess, but it had to be at least a million dollars. And all for nothing…well, at least where he was concerned. I was more than grateful that the house existed, and that the voice had found it for me, but it still seemed somewhat ironic that so much money had been spent to defend against something which ended up having no defense.

That thought sobered me, and I picked up my goblet and took a large swallow of wine. Dutchie had followed me in here, settling down on the floor in a little ball. There was something almost resigned about her posture, as if she knew that once a human being started mucking around on a computer, they were going to be useless for a good number of hours.

But that wasn’t why I’d come in here. I only wanted to know what the room held, and now that I’d seen the kind of security that was protecting this place, I felt a good deal better. Had the system been on when I got here, and the voice had simply disengaged it to allow me to enter, or had he switched it on once I was safely inside the compound? He’d clearly intended for me to come here all along, so I had a feeling it was probably the former. There hadn’t been much chance of someone accidentally stumbling across this place, but even so, better safe than otherwise.

Among the manuals was the guide that had come with the gun safe. I flipped through it with one hand, sipping from my wine glass at the same time. When I got to the last page, I saw that some numbers had been written down along the edge of that leaf. The combination?

Only one way to find out.

I put down the wine glass and went over to the safe, then slowly spun the dial around to match the sequence of numbers I’d found inside the manual. There was a soft click, and the door opened outward.

Even though I’d grown up around my father’s arsenal, I couldn’t help letting out a gasp at what I found. There was — well, an arsenal worthy of holding off an entire horde of zombies. Shotguns and rifles and a parade of handguns, along with box after box of ammo. The problem wouldn’t be defending this place if necessary, but deciding which gun to use to do it.

Well, that and trying to squeeze my own meager collection in here.

I closed the safe, reclaimed my wine glass, and finished the rest of it with one swallow. After that, I took the empty glass with me and performed a quick inspection of the other rooms. Nothing out of the ordinary, just bedrooms decorated with the same taste and flair as the rest of the house. Another bathroom, not quite as luxurious as the one in the master suite, but still large enough that two people could comfortably brush their teeth in there or perform other bathroom prep as necessary. It seemed sort of a shame to waste all this space on me, but truthfully, so far I hadn’t come across any survivors I’d be willing to share this house with. Yes, there had to be some good people who’d made it through the Heat unscathed. I sure hadn’t seen them yet, though.

Suddenly feeling even more tired, I headed back to the kitchen so I could rinse out my wine glass and set it on the counter. For the first time, I noticed a door off to one side; I opened it and saw it concealed the laundry room, which was large and well laid out as well, with a state-of-the-art washer and dryer combo, as well as plenty of storage and a separate wash tub for scrubbing out stubborn stains, or whatever. Inside the cupboards I found what looked like a lifetime supply of detergent, along with all the spare towels and sheets for the various bathrooms and bedrooms. It seemed clear that the developer hadn’t been worried about the appliances using up too much of the power the solar farm produced.

Well, if he hadn’t worried about it, then I wouldn’t worry, either, when the time came. Right now I had enough clothes to last me another week, so laundry wasn’t exactly a concern.

The master bedroom had its own kiva fireplace, and I decided it would be better to have a fire there. Having a fireplace in my own bedroom felt deliciously decadent, and the thought of having the flames there to warm me through the night seemed extra appealing.

So I brushed my teeth but didn’t worry about my face, since I’d taken a shower only a few hours earlier, and then got some logs from the basket on the floor near the hearth and made a stack the way my father had shown me. There was a lighter on a shelf nearby, so I used that to get things going. Dutchie watched all this with some bemusement, but once the fire got crackling away and began to spread its heat through the room, she let out a contented little sigh and curled up on the rug, her eyes closing almost immediately.

I know how you feel, Dutchie, I thought. Even so, something in me was reluctant to turn off the bedside lamp, as if, once I had done so, I’d never be able to get the light back. Silly, I knew. It wouldn’t even be fully dark with the lamp shut off, as the fire was certainly adequate to illuminate the room.

Still, I sat there on the bed for a long time, looking at the glow of the lamp on the bedroom’s warm terra-cotta-painted walls, at the gold leaf detailing on the wall where the door was located. Everything felt cozy and quiet and safe, and yet for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to reach over to the lamp and turn the knob. Finally, I got up off the bed, went to the closet, and retrieved the Smith and Wesson revolver from the shelf. I laid it on the table next to the bed, then took a deep breath and shut off the lamp.

It wasn’t dark. The room danced with firelight, and wasn’t even completely silent, between the crackling of the logs and Dutchie’s soft snores. I settled my head against the pillow, breathing in the indefinable scent of clean linens. Had the caretaker put fresh sheets on the bed when he’d come by a few days earlier? It certainly seemed that way.

But I didn’t want to think about that, because then I’d think about how he was dead, and the man who’d built this house, and Elena and Tori and my aunt and uncle…my mother and father. Devin. Even as I tried to push those thoughts away, I could feel the telltale lump in my throat that meant I was dangerously close to bursting into sobs.

Don’t cry, I told myself. Don’t. It won’t bring them back. All you can do is keep living, so there’ll still be someone around to remember them.

At first glance, that notion might not have seemed very reassuring. Somehow, though, it did calm me, and I found myself falling asleep, succumbing at last to the weariness of the day and the softness of the bed in which I lay. The last thing I heard was a soft pop from the hearth as a log split and settled down on top of the others.

I’d never been much for dreaming. That is, I knew I must dream, because everyone did, but I hardly ever remembered any of those dreams. I was never the one recounting in excruciating detail my crazy dreams about flying or driving my car up the side of a building, or whatever. And I certainly never had those kinds of dreams, the kind you awake from all hot and bothered.

But I did that night.

I dreamed I lay in that bed, with the warm glow of the fire flickering against the walls and the comforting scent of wood smoke in the air. The strange thing was, I dreamed that I slept, and that I awoke to strong arms around me, holding me close, and someone kissing me. In my dream, I didn’t think that was strange at all. I opened my mouth to this dream man, tasted the sweetness of his lips, felt him release me from the embrace so he could caress my body, even as I reached over to touch him, to feel his arousal.

And it seemed so natural for him to press me down into the bed, to push himself into me so that we were moving together, my legs wrapped around him, driving him farther into me. This was all done in complete silence; only when the orgasm hit did I finally cry out, but softly. And he said nothing at all, although I could feel the climax shudder through him as well. We stilled, lying in bed, our breaths filling the silence. Then his lips brushed against my cheek, and I heard him whisper, Beloved.

I sat up in bed then, heart racing, and pressed my palms flat against the mattress. Shaking, I put one hand to my chest. Unlike in the dream, I was still dressed, wearing the sleep shirt I’d put on before I went in to brush my teeth. My mouth tasted of mint, not…him. And I could tell that no one had touched me. Things didn’t…feel…any different.

Just a dream. A horribly vivid dream. In a way, I could even understand it. I was feeling alone, and the voice had been my only real companion for the past few days. All right, I had Dutchie, but that wasn’t exactly the same thing. Was it so strange for my subconscious mind to turn that disembodied voice into a sort of dream lover, someone to make me feel as if I weren’t the only person left alive on the planet?

Maybe not, but I still felt shaken to my core. I pushed back the sheets and blankets and duvet, then crawled out of bed and went to the bathroom. There, I splashed water on my face, trying to calm myself, and telling myself I should be glad that I was someplace where I had the luxury of running water.

That no-nonsense thought did help me to regain my composure somewhat, and I headed into the bedroom after that, pausing to put another couple of logs on the fire and stir it up a bit with the poker before finally returning to bed. Through all of this, Dutchie had slept peacefully, apparently not discommoded at all by my wandering around.

I got back in bed, then pulled in a deep breath, and another. After everything I’d been through, was I really going to let a dream rattle me? I told myself that I needed to let it go, that everything would be fine.

I just wasn’t sure whether I believed those reassurances or not.

Chapter 10

I spent the next few days really getting myself accustomed to the property and everything on it — the greenhouse, the solar farm, even the garage, which was hiding a Polaris ATV in the farthest bay. When I found that, it somehow made me miss my father even more. He’d always wanted one, but a vehicle intended solely for off-roading was a luxury that just hadn’t been in the family budget.

As the voice had told me, there was a good deal of food stored in the basement. Scratch that; there was enough food down there to satisfy the most rabid prepper, shelf after shelf of canned goods and staples such as flour and sugar and cooking oil, and enough spices that I could probably bake something different every day for the next year and still not use everything up. In fact, the basement was so extensive that I got the impression it was actually bigger than the house itself, spreading beyond the walls of the structure directly above it.

The greenhouse was set up on a drip system, one supplied by the same well that gave the house its water. I found a good deal of produce that was at its peak or even just past it, so I harvested that as best I could, eating what needed to be consumed right away and putting the rest in the refrigerator. On the bookshelves in the office, there were a number of reference books on all sorts of topics of interest to the homesteader or survivalist — home canning, sewing, weaving, butchering…even how to make your own bullets. In fact, I found the molds for that very activity down in the basement, along with a quantity of black powder and other supplies. I had to hope none of it would explode and send Dutchie and me sky-high one day.

Although having every conceivable supply on hand should have made me feel better, in truth it only depressed me. I thought of being here so long that I would have to start canning food or sewing my own clothes, of having to go out in the ATV to hunt deer or elk. Even though my father had taken me hunting a few times, I’d never had the heart to pull the trigger. Maybe if I were starving I’d feel differently about the whole thing, but until then I couldn’t conceive of killing something so beautiful.

The one thing the compound didn’t have was dog food. I wasn’t sure what to make of that; maybe Mr. Real Estate Developer wasn’t a dog person, although you’d think he would’ve factored dogs into his survival plan, just because they were good to have around in case things got dicey. Whatever the reason, I was down to about a day’s worth of dry food left for Dutchie, which meant I needed to go foraging.

For some reason, the voice had been fairly scarce the past couple of days. I wondered at its absence, thinking that maybe it believed its work was done, since it had gotten me here safely. All the same, I thought I’d better telegraph my plans, let it know I was leaving the compound for a few hours.

“Dutchie’s almost out of food,” I said as I got the shotgun out of the gun safe. I already wore a gleaming Ruger in a holster on my hip, said armament courtesy of the trove I’d found within that safe. Possibly it would have made better sense to take along a gun I was more familiar with, but I couldn’t resist the chrome-plated allure of that Ruger. My father would have known how much it cost, but I didn’t have a clue. A lot, that’s for sure.

Silence met my announcement, so I went on, “I’m going down into Santa Fe for a few hours. Can I assume the coast is clear?”

Nothing again, and I frowned. But since I’d seen more clouds massing up to the northeast, I didn’t want to dilly-dally. Maybe twenty minutes in and twenty minutes out; I’d actually seen a PetSmart down a side street as I was making my way along Cerrillo Road when I came into town, so at least I wouldn’t have to waste a lot of time looking for a pet store. Having no cell service and no way to look anything up on the Internet definitely made what should have been easy tasks a lot more difficult.

With a shrug, I closed the safe and locked it, then headed out to the kitchen. I really didn’t need anything else in the way of supplies, although the chilliness of the nights even now, in early October, told me that the cold-weather gear I’d brought along might not be sufficient for a full-blown Santa Fe winter. Well, if I had time to poke around, I’d see if I could find something.

As I was getting ready, I debated whether to bring Dutchie along, and then decided against it. She was safe here, and I knew I’d move faster if I didn’t have her along. Besides, I needed someplace to stow the shotgun. I wasn’t sure if she’d take kindly to being relegated to the back seat so the shotgun could…ride shotgun.

I patted her head, got her some fresh water, and then told her I’d be going out but would be back soon. Since she’d gotten used to me coming and going between the house and the garage or the kitchen and the greenhouse, she took this announcement in stride, lapping up some of the water I’d just poured before she settled down on the rug in front of the oven. That was one of her new favorite spots, which made things sort of difficult when I was trying to cook.

Smiling, I went out the back door and made my way along the flagstone walk to the garage. In my explorations, I’d found the remotes for the garage and the front gate, so technically I didn’t need the voice to let me in and out. Still, I couldn’t help wondering where he’d gotten to.

With a shrug, I opened the garage door, then climbed into the Cherokee. I leaned the shotgun against the passenger seat, checked the fuel gauge, and backed out, glad that I wouldn’t have to worry about getting more gas anytime soon. This place felt like it was out in the middle of nowhere — and it was — but I doubted it was more than five miles one way from here to the city center. I could go back and forth at least twenty more times before I had to bother with fueling up.

The dirt track hadn’t improved any since the last time I’d driven over it, and I gritted my teeth as I bounced and jounced along at a steady twenty miles an hour. It was a relief to hit the actual road, even though it wasn’t in the greatest shape, either. But at least here I could increase my speed to thirty, slowing occasionally to go around an abandoned truck or car.

Nothing had changed. I wasn’t sure why I’d expected it to, except I supposed that was a normal, human thing to think — the world around us had never been static, people and cars coming and going, shifting their positions. Here, though, there were no more people left to change anything. Or rather, so few of them probably remained that it would take some doing to run into any of them. I was a little hazy on the population of Santa Fe before the Heat laid everything waste, but I had a feeling there couldn’t be more than a hundred or so people left in the general area, if even that much.

Eventually, I backtracked my way to Cerrillo, then drove some distance down the street before I spotted the PetSmart off to my left. I turned — going wide to avoid a Ford Explorer sitting right in the middle of the intersection — and pulled into the store parking lot. There weren’t that many vehicles here, most likely because people had been thinking about other things than feeding their pets when the doomsday disease swept through town.

When I went inside, my father’s heavy police-issue flashlight in one hand, I was relieved to see that all the live small animals — the rats and mice and gerbils, the birds and lizards and snakes — had apparently flown the coop. How they’d gotten out, I had no idea, unless this was another example of “being taken care of,” as the voice had assured me back in Albuquerque. There was evidence of the food being tampered with, but although anything within reach of a large dog’s muzzle seemed to be either gone or half-eaten, there were still bags and bags on the upper shelves. I got a shopping cart and loaded it up, took it to the Cherokee, and dumped the bags there, then repeated the process until my arms ached and I wouldn’t be able to see out the back window if I kept it up any longer. That would be enough to see Dutchie through the winter, and after that — well, I’d just come foraging again.

I also grabbed a miscellany of dog treats and dog toys from the displays at the front of the store, and wedged those in and around the big twenty-pound bags of dog food. Dutchie was definitely going to be one spoiled doggie, but I thought she deserved it.

During this whole process, which I estimated took me about twenty minutes or so, I didn’t see any evidence of anyone else being around. True, a pet store probably wasn’t the sort of place where survivors hung out, but I felt myself relax a little. Maybe this was why the voice had let me alone — it had known I had nothing to fear on this particular trip.

Humming to myself, I got back in the SUV and pointed it northward, back along the way I’d come. When I got to the intersection where I should have turned on Alameda to head back up into the hills, though, I found myself slowing down, and then cutting left so I could drive up Don Gaspar.

Almost at once, I heard the voice in my head. Jessica, what are you doing?

Relief flooded through me. So I hadn’t been completely abandoned. “I want to see.”

See what?

“The center of town. I want to see if it’s all right.”

Why should that matter?

“Because it matters,” I said, an edge of irritation in my voice. “It was a cultural center. Lots of museums, historical sites. What can it hurt to look?”

Silence for a few seconds. You may not like what you see.

Ice etched its way down my spine, but I attempted to ignore it, instead asking, “So where the hell have you been, anyway? The Bahamas?”

He didn’t answer directly, but said, You missed me?

Did I want to admit that I had? Probably not. Hedging, I replied, “Well, I love Dutchie, but she’s not the world’s greatest conversationalist.”

I heard one of those low chuckles. You may be right in that.

Despite what he’d just said about my not liking what I would see, I couldn’t help smiling. That smile faded abruptly, though, as I came around the corner to Santa Fe’s famous plaza. In good weather — and even not-so-good weather — the plaza was usually full of people, whether tourists, musicians, vendors, or locals out to get some air. I’d expected it to be empty. What I hadn’t expected to see were the obvious signs of looting, of storefronts smashed in, merchandise scattered across the sidewalk.

Mouth grim, I parked the Cherokee in a place that would have been heinously illegal a few days earlier, straddling the curb at the intersection of Palace Avenue and San Francisco Street. There really wasn’t anyplace else, as cars still lined the streets, their meters run out long ago. I didn’t bother to look and see if there were piles of gray dust inside those cars. If their owners had died outside, the wind would’ve blown their remains away days earlier.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why would people loot here? Food or medical supplies I can understand, but expensive jewelry and art?”

I don’t know for certain. Perhaps they were attempting to assert some control over their environment as everything was falling apart.

That was one way of looking at it. My hiking boot hit something that clinked against the sidewalk, and I looked down to see that it was a heavy gold cuff bracelet studded with sapphires and diamonds. I thought I even knew which store it had come from, because it was a place where Elena and Tori and I had pressed our noses to the window and gawked at the wares inside, trying to figure out how anyone would pay almost fifty grand for a pair of earrings, even if said earrings were huge drops of tanzanite and diamond that looked as if they should be at the Academy Awards, not a shop window in Santa Fe.

Without thinking, I bent down and picked up the bracelet, then slid it onto my wrist. It was cold against my skin; the day had turned cloudy and dark, the temperature dropping with it. I even thought I felt the first spatter of a raindrop or two against my face.

Or maybe those were tears.

I saw other items scattered around — a lone earring, a trinket box of carved stone. For some reason, I began to pick them up, gathering everything I could find and then taking it into the nearest store, a shop that seemed to have specialized in high-end western gear. It had been hit, too, but not as badly as the jewelry stores.

Again the voice asked, Jessica, what are you doing?

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I asked angrily. “I’m cleaning this up.”

A long pause. Why?

“Because — because someone loved these things once. Someone made them, and someone chose them to sell in their store, and I don’t want them lying all over the place like garbage. They deserve better than that.” As I spoke, I realized that tears were running down my cheeks, dripping bitter salt into my mouth.

When it spoke again, the voice was very gentle. My dear, they are just things.

“I know that!” I raged. “But I also know they’re the only things left! So I’m not going to leave them here!”

Silence again. Then, Jessica, do not distress yourself so. I will take care of it.

I don’t even know how to describe what happened next. A wind came swirling out of nowhere, seeming to come in and pick up all the detritus in the square — baskets and rugs and loose bits of jewelry and hats and paintings and pots, everything that had been scattered on the ground during the looting. It coalesced into a cloud of debris, snaking through the air and rushing into the open door of a shop, then slamming it shut.

Blinking, I stared at the streets around me, saw how they were clear of everything except a few scattered leaves, all evidence of chaos gone as if it had never existed. Somehow, I managed to find my voice. “That — that was you?”

Yes.

“But…why?”

I do not like seeing you in distress.

What could I possibly say to that? I swallowed, my throat dry. The air around me was still once more, heavy and cold. Again I felt the stinging touch of rain sharp against my face.

“Thank you,” I managed at last.

Go home, beloved.

I nodded, then made myself turn around and go back to the Cherokee, to climb behind the wheel and turn the key in the ignition. Perhaps there was more damage beyond the plaza, but I didn’t want to look. I’d seen enough for one day.

The trip home was uneventful, though, and in a way it felt good to busy myself with hauling all those bags of dog food out of the back of the SUV and storing them in the basement, save for one that I shoved into a corner of the pantry. I also got out a chewy treat and gave it to Dutchie, who wagged her tail ecstatically and settled down on her rug to start masticating.

It wasn’t until later, when I’d put away the Ruger I hadn’t needed and similarly stowed the shotgun, then sat down to catch my breath, that I stared down at the heavy gold bracelet on my wrist. How much was it worth?

Wrong question, in this time when a pound of beef was probably worth a lot more than a pound of gold. The more accurate question to ask would be, What did this cost?

I didn’t know. I’d had a small collection of costume jewelry and a few pieces of Native American work, mostly turquoise. When I packed my belongings and left Albuquerque, I hadn’t brought any of it along, save the small silver hoops I was already wearing. Just hadn’t seen the point.

But this thing, which should have been adorning the wrist of some movie star on the red carpet? Who knows. Probably as much as the Grand Cherokee had cost my father when he bought it brand new.

I twisted the bracelet around and around, and then became aware of something sharp sticking into my left hip bone. Puzzled, I reached into the pocket of my jeans, thinking that maybe I’d stuck something in there earlier and forgotten about it.

My fingers closed around two cool, heavy objects. I drew them out, then opened my hand to see what the hell they were.

For a second or two, I just stared down at them. Then, because I couldn’t think of what else to do, I began to laugh.

In my hand were the tanzanite and diamond earrings Elena and Tori and I had admired on our last trip to Santa Fe.

I didn’t bring up the subject of the earrings. How could I? That would mean I’d have to ask how the voice knew I’d seen those earrings and fallen partly in love with them, even though I’d known I would never in a million years be able to afford something like that.

No, I’d stowed them in the drawer of my nightstand and tried to put the incident out of my mind. And since in the days that followed, I didn’t need to leave the compound, I didn’t hear from the voice much. If I was trying to find a certain item, like a screwdriver, I’d ask where it might be located, and the voice would always answer. Otherwise, though, it seemed to be leaving me alone again, allowing me to find some equilibrium in my new life here.

There was, surprisingly, enough to keep me busy. As I’d promised my father, I wrote down as much as I could about the way the Heat had come to Albuquerque, and what the city had looked like when I left. That was a spare and painful narrative, though, and so I also wrote down random memories, just so I wouldn’t forget them — the surprise party my father had thrown my mother for her fiftieth birthday. Devin’s touchdown at the homecoming game last year. The crazy artist who’d approached me on one of our girls’ Santa Fe trips and told me I had an amazing face and that he wanted to paint me. Things like that…bright pieces of a world now gone forever.

In addition to all that, I tended the plants in the greenhouse and puttered around the house and took Dutchie for long walks, which also helped me inspect the perimeter of the property. The wall was in perfect condition, as far as I could tell, and a good barrier against wild animals, of which there were plenty in the area. I could hear the coyotes calling at night sometimes, and one time the snarl of a cougar or bobcat. Needless to say, I hadn’t ventured out to investigate, although Dutchie had gone nuts, growling and barking as she moved from window to window, presumably following along as the wild cat moved along the wall that bordered the property.

But none of those animals had gotten close enough to trigger the security system, which was why I almost had a heart attack one afternoon, about ten days after I’d come to Santa Fe, when all of a sudden the house was filled with a shrill alarm. I’d been sitting in the breakfast nook in the kitchen, keeping one eye on the book I was reading and another on the loaf of bread I had in the oven. Bread-making was a new venture for me, but really, what else did I have to do with my time?

I shot a quick glance at the timer and saw the loaf still had around a half hour to go, then bolted from the kitchen so I could bring up the security feed on the computer in the office. After I jiggled the mouse to wake up the iMac, I saw the grid with its images from all nine security cameras, including the one at the front gate.

Someone was standing there, staring up at the house. From the way his mouth was moving, it sounded as if he was calling out, but the security system didn’t have audio, only video. And because it was a chilly day, threatening rain just like the time I’d had my meltdown in the plaza, all the windows were shut.

Should I ignore him? Wait it out and hope he would go away? If he’d meant to sneak in and wreak havoc, he probably wouldn’t have been shouting for attention at the front gate. Still….

This was the first living soul I’d seen in two weeks. The camera didn’t show a huge amount of detail, because the sun was at his back and all I could see was his silhouette, but I hadn’t seen any evidence of a gun or any other weapon. Not that that meant much.

Deciding to compromise, I got the shotgun out of the gun safe and then headed out the front door, Dutchie tagging along at my heels. She hadn’t barked yet, but maybe that was only because she hadn’t yet caught a whiff of the stranger.

I walked down the driveway and paused about six feet from the gate. Because the drive sloped up the hill toward the house and the garage, I had something of a vantage point, could see that this unwelcome visitor was a young man probably around my age or maybe a few years older. Black hair pulled back into a ponytail, warm brown skin, black almond-shaped eyes. Definitely Native American.

And…gorgeous. Like, the kind of gorgeous I would’ve had a hard time not staring at if I’d been in a club or out with my friends at a restaurant or the movies or the mall. Having someone who looked like that turn up on my doorstep, when I hadn’t seen anyone since the man I’d shot outside Walgreens?

Well, let’s just say it was a little overwhelming.

But not so much I forgot that I was here alone, sitting on top of a stockpile of supplies that were a damn good incentive for murder, as far as I was concerned. I hefted the shotgun so he could see it, but didn’t bring it up to eye level.

“Who are you?” I demanded, while Dutchie sat beside me, wagging her tail. So much for looking intimidating.

“Jason Little River,” he said, eyeing the shotgun but clearly attempting to keep a pleasant expression on his face. “My friends call me Jace.”

“So, Jason,” I said, emphasizing his full name, “how did you find this place?”

He paused, clearly a little disconcerted by the hostility in my tone. “The tire tracks,” he replied, pointing at the rutted road that led to the compound. Since it had started raining on the way back from my last trip into town, the tracks I’d left were fairly defined. Damn. I hadn’t even thought of that.

But those obvious tire tracks didn’t explain everything. “You still had to get a good way out of town to even see where this road started.”

“True. I had a friend who lived on Upper Canyon. I came here to Santa Fe — well, I came here hoping he might still be okay. Stupid, I know.” Jason paused, gaze lingering on the shotgun before returning to my face. “And when I went to his house….” Under the heavy backpack he wore, the kind of metal-framed thing serious hikers used, his shoulders lifted. “No one there, of course. I was sort of walking around, trying to figure out what to do next, and I saw the tracks on the road going up the hill past his property. I figured I might as well check it out. The tracks seemed too fresh to have been made before…well, before.”

I didn’t bother to ask him what he meant by “before.” For all of us survivors, our lives would forever be divided between “before” and “after.” “You say you came here to Santa Fe. Where from?”

“Taos. I lived on the pueblo there.” A disarming grin, one that under different circumstances might have made my knees melt. “Well, part-time. I also had an apartment in town. You?”

It was on my lips to say I was the one asking the questions here, but that sounded awfully rude, even under the current circumstances. “Albuquerque.”

His eyebrows went up. “How’d you manage to get here, of all places?”

I hefted the shotgun. “I don’t think that matters. I’m here now.”

He didn’t miss the way I’d shifted the gun, just enough to show I wasn’t thrilled by his questions. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just — I haven’t seen anyone for almost two weeks. I’m probably a little off.”

You and me both, honey. Relenting a little, I asked, “So no one was left in Taos?”

A shadow seemed to pass over his face, but his voice was level as he replied, “No one in the pueblo. When I went into town, I didn’t see anyone, except one woman lurking around one of the hotels. She took one look at me and ran off screaming.” He shrugged. “Since I could tell she wasn’t open to conversation, I didn’t bother to go after her. She could have been armed.”

“And you weren’t?”

Again I saw his eyes flicker toward the gun I held. “No. Well, not besides this.” His hand went to his hip, where I could see he wore some kind of leather scabbard, about the size to conceal a hunting knife.

“Let me see it.”

From this distance, I couldn’t really hear him sigh, but I could tell his patience was starting to run thin. Holding my gaze, he undid the snap that kept the knife in place, then pulled it out of its sheath. As I’d thought, it was a big piece clearly designed for hunting, with a serrated edge. My father had owned one not unlike it.

“And that’s all?” I asked.

He nodded, then went on, “Hey, I have a peace offering.”

“What?” Saying my tone was guarded would have been an understatement.

“I’m going to get something out of my backpack,” he said, laying the knife down in the dirt in front of him. “Okay?”

“Depends what it is,” I told him.

A grin, one that showed off a dazzling set of white teeth. I had a feeling he’d used that smile to good effect a number of times in the past, but I had to make it seem as if it wasn’t affecting me, even though I could feel a not-unpleasant shiver go through me at the way the smile lit up his dark eyes.

“I think you’ll like this.”

He unslung the backpack, setting it on the ground before unzipping it and spending a few seconds going through its contents. His back was to me, so I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing. Almost at once, though, he turned around. In each hand he held a wine bottle.

“Very nice, but I’ve got a pretty stocked cellar up there,” I said, jerking my chin back toward the house.

“Ah, but this is La Chiripada cabernet sauvignon. New Mexico wine. You have any of that?”

I really didn’t have any idea. Besides the wine refrigerator in the kitchen, I’d discovered another trove in the basement, cases and cases of wine, most of it from California and France, from what I could tell, and some odd bits from South America and Arizona. I hadn’t noticed anything from New Mexico, but then again, I hadn’t exactly been looking for it, either.

As I hesitated, not sure how to respond, I heard the voice in my head.

He is safe.

“What?” I murmured under my breath, hoping the stranger wouldn’t notice me muttering to myself.

He is safe. There is no reason to keep him out.

“Wait…you actually want me to let him in?”

Yes.

To say I was flummoxed would be an understatement. Here it seemed the voice had done everything to keep me safe, to have me avoid other survivors because of the dangers involved, and now he wanted me to allow a strange man to simply walk into my sanctuary here?

“What happens if he isn’t safe?”

He is safe. I promise you.

Even with the voice stating his opinion so flatly, I couldn’t help hesitating. True, he had always protected me, argued with me when I wanted to do things he found too dangerous. So I supposed I should be trusting his judgment here.

I sent a sidelong glance in the stranger’s direction. He was still standing there, a bottle in each hand, a half hopeful, half anxious expression on his face. There was something so goofy about the combination, so oddly adorable, that I found myself relenting.

“All right,” I muttered to the voice. “You’d just better not be playing supernatural matchmaker here or something, or we’ll be discussing this further.”

No answer to that. I hadn’t really expected one.

Not quite allowing myself to sigh, I transferred the shotgun to my left hand and began walking to the gate. There was a manual release there, since obviously I hadn’t brought the remote with me.

“Okay,” I told Jason. “I’ve never had La Chiripada.”

The look of relief that passed over his face was also adorable, and erased some of the strain I’d seen in his features. “Great. Thanks. I appreciate this. Really.” He began stuffing the wine bottles into his backpack, then hefted it onto his shoulders. After that, he shot me a questioning look. “And your name is?”

“Jessica,” I told him as I pushed the button to open the gate. “Jessica Monroe.”

Another one of those blazing smiles, “Well, Jessica, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Chapter 11

We headed up to the house after that, Dutchie dancing around Jason, tail wagging and tongue lolling as if her long-lost best friend had just come home.

“I hope you’re a dog person,” I told him as we went in the front door.

“I am, actually. There were always a lot of dogs on the pueblo. I didn’t have one of my own, since I was living in an apartment about half the time, but — ” He broke off, pausing a few paces inside the entryway. His expression was so awestruck that at first I thought he was impressed by the house, which didn’t surprise me too much. It was pretty impressive. But then he said, “Is that bread?”

“It is,” I said, adding, “and I hope I haven’t just burned it.”

I jogged into the kitchen, Dutchie tagging along at my heels, since of course the kitchen was her favorite room in the house. Jason followed at a more sedate pace, probably because of the backpack he carried.

But when I peered into the oven, the bread looked perfect, golden brown and with just the right amount of loft. The timer said I had exactly thirty seconds to go. So I grabbed some potholders and pulled out the pan, setting it on the stove top to cool.

By then Jason had shrugged off his backpack and leaned it up against one of the cupboards. “That’s amazing.”

“What is?” I asked, turning to face him.

“The bread. This.” He waved a hand, as if indicating the kitchen and the house beyond. “It’s like — it’s like it never happened.”

Again, I didn’t have to ask what he meant by “it.” “Someone definitely put a lot of work into this house. I was lucky to find it.”

A pause, during which I wondered if he was going to ask again how I had found it…and what the hell I should say in response to such a question. Instead, though, he inquired, “Your family didn’t build it?”

“Oh, no. We could never have afforded something like this.”

My reply appeared to make him relax slightly. Maybe he’d been thinking I was some rich girl from the city or something. There was a joke. But I could see how that might have made things even more awkward between us; I knew most of my state’s Native American residents weren’t exactly rolling in cash.

Well, neither was my family, so I added, “I found some paperwork when I was going through the house. The guy who built it was a real estate developer from Phoenix. I doubt he’s going to be showing up any time soon.”

A nod, although I could see the way Jason was surveying the kitchen, from the gleaming stainless-steel appliances to the custom cupboards and granite countertops. I had no idea what he might be thinking. In that moment, I was only strangely glad that I’d been so careful about keeping the place clean. In the past, I hadn’t been what you might call the world’s greatest housekeeper, but now I found cleaning the house helped to distract me, and used up some of the empty hours.

His next question surprised me. “You came from Albuquerque. We were pretty cut off in Taos. Did you ever hear anything more about the disease…where it started, mortality rates, anything like that?”

That was the last thing I wanted to talk about, but Jace clearly wanted more information than he’d gotten back home. Not that I had a lot to give him. Even so, I thought it best to stall a little while I figured out how much I should say.

“Water?” I asked, and he blinked, clearly startled by the non sequitur, then replied,

“Yes, thanks.”

So I got a glass from the cupboard and filled it up with water from the refrigerator door. When I went to hand it to him, I realized how tall he was, how there were definitely some impressive muscles under the loose-fitting flannel shirt he wore. And even though he had to have been living rough for the past few weeks, I could tell he was clean. In fact, I caught the faintest scent of wood smoke coming from his clothes, and something about the aroma made a little thrill go through me.

I definitely needed to get it together.

Stepping away from him, pretending that I needed to go check on the bread, I said, “Things fell apart pretty quickly in Albuquerque, too. We never got a straight story about where it started or anything like that. Afterward….” I let the words trail off as I flashed back to that dark Walgreens, and the man I had confronted there. “I did meet someone who said he’d worked for emergency management downtown. He said the mortality rate was 99.8 percent.”

“Shit.” With his brown skin, Jace couldn’t exactly go pale, but I still saw the blood appear to drain from his face. Then his dark eyes seemed to go sharp as he focused on what I’d just said. “Wait — you met another survivor? Where is he?”

Shit was right. I’d just met Jace. Was I supposed to tell him that I’d murdered a man?

I didn’t see much of a way around it. If we were really going to be sharing this house, I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep that big a secret from him. He needed to know, so he could decide if it was worth the risk to stay.

“He’s dead,” I said, my voice flat, harsh. “He tried to take my vehicle away from me, all the supplies I’d put together. He pulled a gun on me. So I shot him.”

Silence. Jace stared at me, obviously trying to process what I’d just said. When he spoke, his tone was a lot gentler than I’d expected. “Because he was trying to steal from you, and you would’ve been dead without that vehicle and those supplies.”

The question was, would I have been? I could have gone foraging all over again if necessary, could’ve found one of the abandoned vehicles and hot-wired it, another skill my father had taught me. I wasn’t sure what happened to car keys if they were actually on a victim of the Heat, in a pocket or something, when they went to dust. All their clothes and jewelry seemed to disappear, so obviously the heat in their bodies was so extreme that it could destroy everything around them. Or was the explanation that simple? I hadn’t actually stopped to puzzle it out, mostly because I knew in the end it didn’t really matter. Those people were gone, and so were the belongings they had on them.

“I thought so at the time,” I said slowly. As Jason kept looking at me with that concerned expression on his face, I felt something give way inside, the words flowing out, even though I hadn’t meant to mention anything else of what had happened. “And he had this look on his face, and the night before that, crazy Chris Bowman had broken into my house and attacked me, and — ”

I couldn’t go on, because out of nowhere tears were streaming down my face, and, to my dismay, I’d begun to sob, the horror of it all coming back to me, something dark and terrible that had only been lurking in the murky sediment at the bottom of my mind, just waiting to return and overwhelm me.

Jason crossed the kitchen and pulled me against him, his hand smoothing my hair, his warm voice murmuring my name as I wept into his shirt, the flannel soft against my cheek. He smelled of wood smoke and pine needles, and underneath that, clean male sweat, and I breathed him in, reassured beyond measure at the feel of someone so solid, so real.

And then I realized what I was doing, that I was sobbing in the arms of a man I had just met, and I pushed myself away, shaking my head. “I — I’m sorry,” I gasped. “That was just — that came out of nowhere. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said. His dark eyes seemed alight with compassion, with understanding. “I can’t imagine how rough this must have been for you. And I’m sorry that you…did what you had to do. But I don’t think you can blame yourself for that.”

I went to the paper towel dispenser and tore off a partial sheet, then blotted my eyes. Good thing I hadn’t bothered with makeup since I’d gotten here, except for some gloss to keep my lips from cracking in the dry, cold weather. “Thank you,” I said simply. “But I do blame myself. There had to be something else I could have done — ”

“I don’t know about that,” he said. “Sounds like you were kind of up against a wall.” Again I was struck by the warmth in his expression…but it wasn’t that kind of warmth, more that he was sorry I’d had to go through anything so terrible. “But I’m glad you told me the truth.”

So was I, oddly enough. I’d just told him the worst thing about me, and he hadn’t even blinked. That had to be a good sign.

“I’m glad, too,” I told him, wanting to put the whole thing behind me. Somehow I knew Jace wouldn’t press the issue any further. “Now, how about some of this bread?”

And like that, Jason Little River came to live at the compound. He took over the larger of the secondary bedrooms, putting his meager belongings in the closet there. I noticed that he hadn’t brought any personal items with him, no photographs of family or anything like that, unlike the wedding photo of my parents that now lived on the mantel in the living room, or the shot of all of us at one of Devin’s football games, which was now sitting on the dresser in the master bedroom.

When I asked him about his family, his expression grew shuttered. “All gone now,” he said, and didn’t seem to want to talk about it anymore. Since I understood all too well what it felt like to lose everyone around you, I didn’t press the issue. Although I didn’t know a whole lot about life on the pueblo, I knew it had to be a fairly close-knit community, a sort of huge extended family very unlike what I’d grown up with. His loss was probably even more painful than mine. If he wanted to open up about it later, after he’d had time to work through it in his own way, then I would be there to listen to him.

He was impressed by the compound, by all the lengths its builder had gone to so it would be self-sustaining. Even so, after one morning of walking around and inspecting everything, just a day or two after he moved in, he told me, “We should really be thinking about getting some livestock. This place isn’t big enough for cattle, but maybe some goats?”

“Goats?” I repeated, not bothering to keep the skepticism out of my voice. “You’re not suggesting we eat a goat, are you?”

His teeth flashed in the morning sun as he grinned at me. It was a bright, brisk day, the sky dappled with clouds, but the sunlight still fiercely bright. Despite the glaring sun, I could feel the bite in the wind, the unmistakable signs that winter was coming…and that it was going to be a lot colder than anything I’d experienced down in Albuquerque.

“The original barbacoa was made with goat,” he pointed out. I only raised an eyebrow, and he laughed and went on, “I was thinking more in terms of milk and cheese. The cheese you have now isn’t going to last forever.”

Well, that was true. We had plenty of other staples, but some of the perishables like the cheese and the butter were about on their last legs. “Do you know how to milk a goat?” I asked.

“No, but I’ve milked cows. The technique can’t be all that different.”

The way he said it, halfway arch, halfway teasing, just made me shake my head. “Okay, I’ll let you do it. Assuming we can even find any goats. They weren’t exactly thick on the ground, the last time I checked.”

“Maybe not, but there were probably people on the outskirts of town who kept livestock, and I know I saw animal pens up in Nambe as I came down into town.”

“Oh?” I asked. It was the first time he’d made any mention of his journey here. I hadn’t pressed, because I knew better than anyone else that there were some things people just didn’t want to talk about. Even so, I’d wondered about the long walk from Taos, and what he’d encountered on it.

“Yeah.” He wasn’t looking at me, was instead staring to the north and east, presumably in the direction from which he’d come. “Part of the reason it took me so long to get here was that I took the High Road down from Taos. I figured it might be safer to stay off the main roads.”

“And you walked that whole way?” I asked, staring at him with some incredulity. I’d heard of the High Road, but I’d never been on it. The scenic side trip was one that my family had discussed taking a few times, but those plans had never materialized. My father had always been a Point A to Point B kind of guy and was more intent on the destination than on the road that led to it.

Jace gave me a rueful smile. “Not at first. I had a motorcycle, and I’d ridden it before with my backpack, although I know that’s not really recommended. But I thought I could do it if I kept my speed down. Besides, a motorcycle is a lot easier to maneuver around abandoned vehicles.”

I couldn’t argue with that. But a motorcycle wouldn’t have worked for me. I had too much stuff to bring, and besides, there was Dutchie. Well, maybe a sidecar….

Turning away from me, Jason surveyed the horizon again. The wind picked up, pulling strands of heavy dark hair out of the piece of thin leather he had wrapped around his ponytail. His hair hung a few inches below his shoulders, and so far I hadn’t seen it in anything but that heavy tail down his back. That hadn’t stopped me from wondering what it would look like, sleek and loose over those broad shoulders.

Which was exactly the wrong thing to be thinking. After I’d lost it the day we’d met, and he’d held me and comforted me, we’d maintained a careful distance between us. I hadn’t noted even a flicker of interest from him. Maybe I wasn’t his type, or maybe it was the far more stark fact that he’d lost not just his family, but his people, his entire way of life. He seemed to be bouncing back fairly well, but it was probably a little self-absorbed of me to think he’d be interested in any sort of romantic entanglements so soon after suffering that kind of shock.

Besides, I wasn’t even sure whether I was interested in anything like that. Yes, Jace was extremely good-looking, and he had an easygoing way about him that I appreciated, after some of the high-strung guys I’d dated in the past, but our focus should be on survival first and foremost. Those other sorts of complications were pretty far down my list of priorities.

And anyway, break-ups were bad enough when you had a decent chance of never seeing the other person again. I didn’t exactly have that luxury at the moment.

Jace didn’t seem to have noticed my preoccupation, since he appeared to be absorbed in studying the far-off outlines of the Jemez mountain range. I noticed that he held something in his hand, a leather thong knotted through a hole in a smooth-polished black stone. His thumb moved over it, the motion reminding me of the worry beads sometimes used by Greek men.

Then he said, “But I picked up something in my tire in Placita. I had a patch kit in my backpack, but it wasn’t just a nail that had blown the tire, but a sharp rock. I lost two nights there, trying to fix it, scavenging around to see if I could find anything to replace it with, but that was a no-go.”

“No one there, either?” I asked, although I already knew what the answer would be.

“No. Not a soul. I did some foraging to replenish my supplies, which was what delayed me even more. Or maybe I just wasn’t looking forward to that long, long walk.”

It would have been that. Even with the part of the trip he’d shaved off by riding his motorcycle, he still had to have walked a good forty miles or so. Farther, actually, because it was still about fifteen miles from Nambe to the heart of Santa Fe, and then another five miles to this hidden fold of the hills where the compound was located.

“But you did it anyway.”

He nodded, then shoved the polished stone he’d been holding back into his pocket. “There was nothing left in Taos. I wandered there for about a day and a half — I was at the pueblo when the illness hit, and our healers couldn’t do anything to combat it. No one could. People were being told to stay at home, that the local medical center didn’t have the resources to treat that many victims at once. So…I stayed there and watched everyone die around me.”

“And waited to find out when it would be your turn,” I said quietly.

Finally, he shifted so his gaze fell upon me, rather than that far-off, jagged horizon. Those jet-black eyes, in their fringe of equally black lashes, were startled, but then he nodded in understanding. “Yes. That’s exactly what I did. But then after another day passed, and everyone was gone, leaving behind only dust, I realized I wouldn’t be lucky enough to join all my people in the afterlife. I was doomed to drift here, in a world I hadn’t chosen.”

I probably wouldn’t have phrased it that way, but he was right — that’s exactly what it felt like. Being cast adrift on dark waters, paddling desperately, although you had no idea why you’d been pushed out onto that black ocean in the first place. “So you left then?”

He nodded, and once again his attention moved back to the horizon, to the mountains that blocked his view of the place he had once called home. “Well, I went from the pueblo to my apartment. At least I’d had the motorcycle with me at the pueblo, so the trip didn’t take long. The whole way I didn’t see anyone, just cars left along the side of the road. Same thing at my apartment — it was a small building, only four units, but all the hotels were equally deserted.”

His shoulders lifted under the leather jacket he wore, although I wasn’t quite sure of the reason for the shrug. Dismissing his futile attempts to find any survivors? I didn’t know him well enough to guess.

“Anyway,” he continued. “I could tell that staying in Taos probably wasn’t a good idea. It’s a small town…was, I mean…and the chances of finding anyone who’d lived through the Heat were pretty low. I packed what I could and left. I did see that one woman as I was heading out of town, but, as I said, she took off the second she saw me. Maybe she thought I was a ghost.” He did smile then, but grimly, just the slightest lift at the corners of his mouth.

Or a rapist, I thought, recalling my own experiences. I didn’t say anything aloud, though. Whatever he might be, Jason Little River was clearly not a rapist. “And the wine?” I asked.

“The La Chiripada tasting room was just down the street from where I lived. Since no one was around, I figured it wouldn’t matter if I liberated a couple of bottles. I had a feeling I might need a drink in the near future. Or,” he added, with a real smile this time, his expression warming as he looked over at me, “a peace offering.”

I tried not to blush, but I wasn’t sure how successful I was at it. With any luck, he’d think the flush in my cheeks had come from the brisk wind blowing down from the north, and not the way he’d just looked at me. “Speaking of the wine,” I said, my tone probably too casual, “we should have something special to drink it with. Frozen tamales probably aren’t festive enough.”

“You like rabbit?” Jace asked, a gleam in those black eyes.

“I don’t know,” I replied uncertainly. I had a feeling I knew what he was going to suggest. “I’ve never had it.”

“Well, time to change that.” He glanced over at the house, then back at me. “That is, assuming you have a .22 in that gun safe of yours.”

At least he didn’t ask me to go with him. In the back of my mind, I’d understood that at some point I’d have to start eating game meats, but I wasn’t sure I could handle watching Jace shoot a fluffy little bunny and then expect to roast it or whatever a few hours later.

He did take Dutchie along, saying she might as well start to learn what it meant to be an outdoor dog. I knew he was right; her days as a pampered suburban pooch were long over. Anyway, she was more than happy to go along on the hunting expedition, trotting off at Jace’s side without even a backward glance toward the house. I only hoped she wouldn’t scare off every rabbit in a five-mile radius.

In the meantime, I had to scour the cookbooks that sat on the shelf mounted to the kitchen wall to see if I could find anything about cooking rabbit. Actually, that didn’t take me much time at all, because in addition to the standard Joy of Cooking and Better Homes and Gardens cookbooks, I found several specialty ones, including a title dedicated to cooking all sorts of game meats, starting with rabbit and quail and moving up from there.

After that, it was a matter of poring over the recipes and deciding which sounded best — and one for which I had actually had all the ingredients on hand. I decided that the rabbit with mustard sauce variation sounded good. Since I’d already harvested some onions and garlic from the greenhouse a few days earlier, all I had to do was rescue the onion from the fridge and the garlic from the little terra-cotta keeper that sat on the counter.

While I did that, I couldn’t help worrying that Jace would come back with a couple of rabbit carcasses and expect me to skin and dress them, his work as the he-man hunter done. I didn’t know the first thing about doing any of that. Hell, I could barely cut up a whole chicken properly. My mother showed me how to do it once, but I’d protested the whole time that you could buy already cut-up chicken, so what was the point? Wasting a half hour on that sort of exercise just to save a dollar or so on the price of the meat had hardly seemed worth it to me.

That had annoyed her, I could tell; she was probably flashing back to when she and my father first got married, when she was substitute teaching while trying to get a full-time position, and he was still a rookie right out of the Academy. Money had been tight. I understood that intellectually, but twenty-five years later, it seemed a little extreme to be worrying about a few cents a pound for chicken.

But at least she had taught me to cook — not Cordon Bleu or anything, but how to make a roast and how to prepare a variety of potato dishes and lots of veggies, sauces, that sort of thing. I knew I wouldn’t have to worry about poisoning Jace if he did somehow manage to bring back a rabbit, even with Dutchie’s help.

Until they did return, I wasn’t about to get anything started. I assembled the ingredients on the kitchen counter, went down to the cellar to get some potatoes, and then found a tablecloth and some matching napkins on one of the shelves in the laundry room. This would be the first time we’d sat down at the dining room table, as his first few nights here, Jace had eaten with me at the little breakfast set in the kitchen nook. For some reason, that had felt safer to me. There was a certain ritual associated with sitting down to a real meal at a dining room table.

Maybe I was making too much out of his going rabbit-hunting. It wasn’t as if we wouldn’t be eating a lot of that sort of thing in the future, if it turned out he really was handy with that .22. Then again, making an occasion out of it might make us both feel a little better about our current situation.

That thought seemed to reassure me, so I went ahead and finished setting the table, completing the setup with the long wrought-iron candleholder that had been sitting on the sideboard. It held five pillar candles, and would provide plenty of light.

Candlelit dinners? I asked myself. Boy, you really are asking for trouble.

I decided if Jace asked, I’d say it was a good way to save energy.

He returned an hour or so later, Dutchie bounding along beside him, and a very messy bundle of rabbit dangling from a bag in one hand. So he had done the butchering for me, probably guessing that asking me to handle that particular duty would have damaged my delicate sensibilities.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the bundle from him. “I found a recipe with mustard sauce. Does that sound okay to you?”

“Sounds great,” he replied. He was windblown, but looked far more relaxed and happy than he had when he was telling me about how he had left Taos. Getting out in the fresh air and away from the house seemed to have done him a world of good. “I need to get cleaned up. Can you manage things from here?”

In another world, I might have complained about having to do the typical female thing of cooking, now that he’d bagged his bunnies. Actually, though, I was just grateful that he even had the ability to go out and get us food. He knew how to hunt; I knew how to cook. It seemed a pretty fair division of labor from where I stood.

The bundle of rabbit parts was a little bloodier than something I would have gotten from the supermarket, but I wasn’t so squeamish that I couldn’t handle it. I rinsed everything off and patted it dry, then sprinkled the pieces with salt and pepper while warming up some olive oil in a pan. As the rabbit was browning, Jace returned to the kitchen, face and hands looking freshly scrubbed, and asked if I needed help peeling the potatoes.

Okay, so much for my worry about thinking he was going to sit on his ass and watch a DVD of Die Hard or something while I labored away in the kitchen.

“Yes,” I said. “Thanks.”

He went to work, being sparing with the water, for which I was grateful. So far it seemed as if the well could manage just about anything we threw at it, including daily showers for the two of us, but it never hurt to be careful. I used to take long, hot showers, the kind that would basically kill all the hot water in the place by the time I was done, but once I got here, I retrained myself so the whole procedure only took five minutes. Not the easiest of tasks at first, but things did get sped up when you didn’t have to worry about shaving your legs.

I risked a glance at Jace, thinking I wouldn’t mind having to go back to the whole leg-shaving thing if the situation warranted it. But that day seemed far off — if it ever came at all — so in the meantime, I was pretty sure my five-minute showers were safe.

Neither of us spoke, but it was a companionable sort of silence, him peeling the potatoes, me working away at the sauté pan, following the steps of the recipe. He did stop to ask whether I wanted the potatoes sliced or cut up or whatever, but since I was planning on mashing them, he didn’t have to do much besides quarter them and put them in a pot of cold water.

“Don’t you need milk for mashed potatoes?” he asked.

“There’s evaporated milk in the pantry. It won’t be quite the same, but I think it’ll be okay.”

I could tell by the way his brows drew together that he wasn’t exactly thrilled by the idea of evaporated milk, but he didn’t say anything, only went over to fetch the box and then mix up a batch for me. Well, if it was that big a problem, the next day I’d send him off in search of any stray goats that might be wandering the area, looking for a home. Dutchie would probably be ecstatic at the prospect of that sort of expedition.

The dog had definitely latched on to Jace. Maybe she’d been more bonded with Mr. Munoz, back in Albuquerque. Or maybe Jace was one of those people whom dogs tended to love. I didn’t know, and in the end, it didn’t matter. Jace was Dutchie’s new best friend. It didn’t bother me as much as I thought it might have, simply because Dutchie had proved herself to be a decent judge of character. If she liked Jace, it must mean he was okay.

It was dark by the time dinner was ready. Jace and I carried the various platters and bowls to the dining room table, and I brought out some matches I’d found in the kitchen so I could light the pillars in their wrought-iron holder. Without my asking, Jace turned off the overhead fixture, so all we had was the candlelight. It danced off the heavy glass goblets, the dark bottle of cabernet that sat waiting to be drunk. The walls in this room were a warm parchment yellow, and seemed to reflect the glow of the candles and multiply it.

“Wow,” Jace murmured. “I hadn’t expected to see anything like this ever again.” Then he shook his head. “Wait — I don’t think I’d ever seen anything like this before, either. It looks beautiful, Jessica.”

“Thanks,” I said, my tone almost shy. Now that I was with him in this intimate space, would he take all this for more than I had intended, as some sort of seduction or something?

Well, there wasn’t anything I could do about it now. I pulled out my chair — obscurely glad that he hadn’t offered to do it for me — and sat down. A second later, he followed suit, lifting the cloth napkin I’d set out and placing it in his lap. Then he raised the bottle of wine, which he’d already opened back in the kitchen, and poured some of the cabernet into my glass first, and then his.

“I think we should have a toast,” he said.

“What should we toast to?” Not being dead seemed the obvious choice, but it seemed crass to voice the thought aloud.

He seemed to think about it for a moment, his glass a few inches off the tabletop. The candlelight gleamed against his raven-dark hair, and again I wondered what it would feel like to run my fingers through it.

“To sanctuary,” he said at last.

I was definitely on board with that. Even if nothing ever happened between Jace and me, we had found a quiet haven here, a place to shelter from whatever might be going on outside in the world. “To sanctuary,” I echoed, raising my glass as well and clinking it against his.

A brief silence fell as we both swallowed some of the wine. It wasn’t as heavy as the Montepulciano I’d drunk a few days earlier. I could taste the fruit in it, and thought it was probably a good choice to go along with the sharpness of the mustard sauce I’d made for the rabbit.

Then we both dug into the main dish, which turned out to be excellent. I wasn’t sure why I’d avoided rabbit before this, because I found myself liking the taste.

Good thing, too, I thought, because you’re probably going to be eating a lot of it in the future.

And the mashed potatoes actually were fine, even with the evaporated milk, and there was fresh bread and butter and roasted carrots. It really was quite the feast, especially considering I’d had to work with what was available in the cellar and the greenhouse. No more popping down to the grocery store to get that one special ingredient.

“This is…amazing,” Jace finally said, after making some serious inroads into the food on his plate. “Were you a chef or something?”

“Hardly.” I took a sip of wine to cover my embarrassment, cheeks flaming. I really needed to get this blushing thing under control one way or another. “My mother taught me how to cook. That is, she pointed out that it was mostly following directions, at least for the basic stuff. So…that’s what I did tonight. Followed directions.”

“It’s still pretty incredible.” Expression thoughtful, he drank some of his own wine. “So what did you do? Before, I mean.”

“I was getting my master’s at UNM, so I T.A.’d a couple of courses. English — a lot of paper grading, mostly.” I broke off a piece of bread but didn’t eat it, just sort of rolled it between my finger and thumb. “What about you?”

“I graduated from UNM four years ago, then came back to Taos.” He looked at me directly then, as if studying my features, and it was difficult to remain as I was, to not glance away. “We must have been there at the same time, but I guess there wouldn’t have been much overlap. You’d have been a freshman when I was a senior.”

I could have sworn his expression was somewhat regretful, but I didn’t want to read too much into it. That way only lay disappointment.

“Anyway,” he went on, “after that I went back to Taos. I conducted tours at the pueblo part of the time, and the rest of the time I worked on getting my business going.”

“What kind of business?” I asked, after finally remembering to eat the piece of bread I was holding.

“Website and graphic design. I did some work for the local businesses. Mostly advertising stuff. The tours paid a lot better.”

That revelation surprised me. “They did?”

“Oh, yeah.” He got himself a piece of bread, then buttered it. When he went on, he wore a rather sardonic smile. “You’d be amazed how much the tourists were willing to part with. On a good day, I could make around three hundred bucks. White guilt is expensive, I guess.”

I just stared at him, and he hurried to say,

“No offense. But I think that’s part of why they’re willing to hand over a twenty — or more — for a half-hour tour of the pueblo.” His gaze sharpened on me, and again I had to force myself to look back at him directly. “Anyway, I’d say to look at you, you must have some First Nations blood back in the woodpile yourself. Or am I overreaching?”

So that was it — he was just inspecting my appearance in an attempt to determine my own origins. Fair enough. Would he feel better, knowing I had a Native American heritage of my own? “No, you’re not overreaching,” I replied, glad I sounded calm and unruffled. “Family legend has it that my great-great-great-grandmother was full-blood Ute.”

“Even better,” Jace said, a certain warmth in his eyes doing unexpected things to my midsection. “The Ute and the Pueblo were on very good terms back in the day.”

What in the world was I supposed to say to that? Was Jace hoping that he and I would be, as he put it, “on very good terms”? Not that I thought I would be opposed to such a shift in our relationship, but we’d only known each other for a couple of days. I certainly didn’t intend to rush into anything.

“Well, that’s good to know,” I remarked. “At least I won’t have to worry about tribal warfare breaking out in the laundry room or something.”

For a second or two, he didn’t reply, only stared at me, and I hoped I hadn’t offended him. But then he chuckled, reached for the wine bottle, and poured some more into my glass. Still smiling, he said, “No, I don’t think we have to worry about any conflict here.”

It was all I could do not to shiver. No matter what he said, though, I wouldn’t take for granted this current harmony and goodwill lasting indefinitely.

How could it, when we were such strangers to one another?

Chapter 12

But somehow, strangely, that cooperation did continue. We fell into a sort of pattern after a few days — rising early, eating breakfast, which was toast or oatmeal most of the time, taking turns with our showers, getting dressed, then doing whatever needed to be done around the place. Jace was full of plans, abetted by some of the books and manuals he found in the office.

“We really should build a henhouse,” he said one morning, about a week after he showed up. “I know people in the area had to have kept chickens. Eggs are a good, steady source of protein.”

“So are rabbits,” I replied, not bothering to point out that we’d been eating rabbit at least every other day. Wile E. Coyote would have been jealous.

“Now they are,” he said. “In the dead of winter, it might be more difficult. But those plans I found for a henhouse look dead easy. We just need to get some supplies.”

“What, you’re a carpenter and a web designer?” I asked, teasing. Sort of. What I knew about building henhouses was roughly the same as what I knew about brain surgery — that is, nothing. I didn’t think I was going to be much help.

He shrugged. “I picked up a few things here and there. It’ll be fine.”

And so, later that morning, we headed down into Santa Fe in search of a Home Depot, which wasn’t as easy as it might seem, considering we couldn’t exactly Google its location. But we found a yellow pages inside an abandoned dentist’s office, and tracked down the store from there. It was a good ways outside the city center, so I was doubly glad that we’d looked it up instead of driving aimlessly all over the place.

Jace had a list of everything he needed, and we “liberated” one of the trailers you used to be able to rent to haul your building supplies home. Thank God my father had invested in a tow package for the Cherokee, even though we’d never actually had any reason to use it. There just never seemed to be quite enough in the family budget to buy a trailer or an ATV.

It took a while to locate and then load all the necessary supplies — partly because we both kept finding things we thought would be useful and figured we might as well add them to the haul. But after the back of the SUV was packed to the rafters, and the trailer similarly loaded down, we drove off, moving slowly through the streets, since I had to keep zigging and zagging to avoid abandoned cars and trucks. We’d left Dutchie at home, much to her dismay, since we’d known we would need all the available cargo space in the Cherokee.

“It’s kind of strange, don’t you think?” I asked Jace after we’d cut back up on Cerrillo and were heading to Alameda.

“What’s strange?” he replied, his attention still on the list he held. Maybe he was worried that we’d forgotten something.

“That we haven’t seen anybody. I mean, even with a 99.8% mortality rate, there should still be a couple hundred people wandering around Santa Fe, right? Where are they?”

He did look up at that question, his gaze drifting to the empty sidewalks and dark windows of the businesses on either side of the street. “Lying low?”

“Maybe,” I said, but I wasn’t sure I believed it. By that point, it had been almost a month since the Heat first began to spread across the country. Anyone who was going to die was long dead. You’d think the survivors would be out foraging in earnest, getting ready for winter. “It’s just weird that we haven’t seen a single person.”

“Do you want to find more people?” His tone was almost sharp as he asked that question, as if he thought I wasn’t satisfied with his company, that I needed something more.

“I don’t know,” I replied. It was only the truth. Part of me wanted to know what had happened to everyone, but after my experiences in Albuquerque, I wasn’t sure being around other people was such a good thing. Yes, Jace had turned out to be all right — more than all right, really — but could I count on being that lucky a second time?

“They could be hiding,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “Or gone to Albuquerque, thinking that maybe if any center of government still existed, it would be there, in a place where there would be more survivors. There are probably a lot of reasons why we’re not seeing anybody.”

That explanation sounded logical enough. If it hadn’t been for the voice urging me to get out, would I have left my hometown, or would I have stayed there in the hope that people might gather in what had been the state’s most populous area?

I wouldn’t second-guess myself, not now. I really didn’t know. Then again, my run-ins with Chris Bowman and the man outside Walgreens might have been enough to convince me that it was time to get out of Dodge.

“You’re right, of course,” I said, and he smiled.

“It’s okay, Jess. We’re okay. That’s all we have to worry about right now.”

Oh, how I wanted to believe him. I just wasn’t sure if I did.

The henhouse did go together with surprising speed, and within three days’ time, we had a full-on chicken coop with space for six hens to nest, a perch that Jace built from a closet rod, and an enclosed run. He also hung a light overhead so the hens would be encouraged to lay even on gray winter days. It was all perfect, except…no chickens.

So we got in the Cherokee again, this time taking Dutchie with us, and started scouring the rural and semi-rural areas outside Santa Fe for any rogue chickens who needed a home. It actually didn’t take as long as I’d thought; about an hour into our search, we found a house with a flock of chickens scratching away happily in the backyard, apparently unaware that the apocalypse had happened and they’d been left on their own. We gathered up six hens and the rooster, who was less than pleased at being plucked out of his yard and put in the back of an SUV. Jace was a little scratched up by the time the procedure was over, but in the end we had everything we needed. All I could say was that I was very glad I’d had the forethought to lay down some plastic trash bags in the bed of the SUV before dumping the chickens back there. If he’d had a proper grave, my father would have been rolling over in it.

It took a few days for the chickens to settle down and start laying, but after that we were able to have eggs pretty much every morning.

“Next, the goats,” Jace said at dinner not too long after that.

“Are you still on that kick?” I asked. All right, I had to say that the whole chicken thing was working out pretty well. But the thought of having goats roaming around the property intimidated me more than I wanted to admit. When I was a little kid, maybe five or six, my parents had taken me to a petting zoo. All had gone well until one of the goats decided to eat part of my sweater. I’d screamed bloody murder, and my father had grimly lifted me out of the pen and carried me away. Needless to say, goats weren’t exactly my favorite animals.

“Yes, I’m still on that kick. We ate the last of the cheese two days ago.” His dark eyes caught mine, and he grinned at me, a wicked grin I’d come to know over the past few weeks…and one that invariably made my knees go a little wobbly. So far I didn’t think Jace had noticed what kind of an effect it had on me, but still, I couldn’t help getting annoyed with myself for not having better self-control. He clasped his hands together and said in mock-earnest tones, “Jessica, do you want to consign me to a cheese-less future?”

“Oh, for God’s sake….” I couldn’t help smiling back at him, though, and I spread my hands in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, I give up. So, say we find some goats. How do you plan on getting them back here?”

“Easy,” he replied. His grin now had an element of triumph in it. “We’ll just find a horse trailer and put them in there.”

Easy. Right.

As with the henhouse supplies, we went foraging for the trailer first. There were a number of horse properties in the area, so that wasn’t too difficult. The odd thing was, just as I hadn’t seen any people on any of our expeditions, so, too, were there no horses in evidence anywhere. They could have bolted, kicked down the fences and gates when it became clear no one was coming to feed them or give them fresh water.

I didn’t see any signs of that, though, and the voice’s words came back to me: The animals will be taken care of. So apparently I didn’t need to worry about the horses. I couldn’t help wondering, though.

Just as I couldn’t help wondering what had happened to the voice. By that point, I hadn’t heard him for more than a week. Now that it seemed I was truly settled with Jace, maybe the voice had moved on, deeming me no longer in need of any assistance.

I wasn’t sure why, but that thought saddened me a little. I hardly wanted to admit it even to myself, but I missed the voice. If nothing else, he would have given me someone else to talk to…if he’d stuck around. A few times when Jace was out of the house and occupied with some task or another, I’d tried calling out to the voice. It never replied, though, and at last I’d given up, telling myself that if the voice didn’t need me, well, I didn’t need it, either. Intellectually, I knew I should let it go. But its absence bothered and worried me, despite my best attempts to think about other matters.

Jace and I hit the goat jackpot on our second stop. Not only did we find a nice, largish horse trailer, but the property actually had goats roaming around, keeping the lawn cropped, doing their usual job of eating anything that wasn’t nailed down.

So we hooked up the trailer to the Cherokee, then had a little convo in which we decided having four goats to start should work — three does and a buck. If it turned out the does didn’t produce enough milk or whatever, we could always come back and collect more of the herd. There seemed to be fifteen or so of them, although it was hard to get an exact count, what with the way they kept milling around.

Choosing was difficult, because I had no idea what to look for in a goat. Thank God Jace wasn’t quite as clueless, and he managed to get two of the does with the most developed milk bags up into the trailer without too much trouble. All right, that looked easy enough, so I started to do my best to urge another doe, a pretty animal with a sleek black coat and fawn-colored tipping, in the general direction of the trailer. She just bleated at me and trotted off, so I followed her grimly, wishing Jace would stop messing around with the two he’d already gotten in the trailer so he could help me.

Then, out of nowhere — wham! Something hard hit me square in the butt, and I went flying onto the ground. I blinked, wondering what the hell had happened, and then realized it was the buck, who was standing a few paces away and glaring at me out if his dark amber eyes. It seemed he’d taken exception to my maneuvering that one doe, and had butted me right in the ass.

From the trailer, I heard laughter, and I scowled. Jace came out, grinning at me where I sat on the ground in a pile of dirt and dead weeds.

“Very funny,” I snapped. “You come over here and deal with this bastard.”

“Sorry, but the way he got you right in the — ”

“Point taken.” I began to push myself to my feet, only to be stared down by a very angry-looking buck. Fine. I’d wait here until Jace took care of him.

Which he did, somehow managing to circle the beast and then urge him up the ramp into the trailer. How, I wasn’t quite sure. Hypnotism? Some magical Native American goat-charming trick?

Whatever it was, it worked. The buck headed right into the trailer as if it were full of a harem of does in heat, and the last doe, the one I’d been trying to manhandle, trotted after him, tail swishing.

Frigging goats.

Jace came over to me and extended a hand. “Need help?”

I scowled at him but took his hand anyway, letting him pull me to my feet. In fact, he yanked me up with such vigor that I lost my balance and pitched right into him, colliding chest to chest. He took me by the arms and steadied me, holding me for a second or two longer than he really needed to.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Uh — ” Was I all right? My rear end ached, and I knew my jeans were covered in dirt, but in that moment all I was really conscious of were his hands on my arms, the strength of the fingers wrapped around my biceps. Our faces were only inches apart. Blood tingled all through me, and I knew all I had to do was go up on my toes, bring my mouth to his….

No, that was insane. This was the first time he’d even touched me since he held me when I wept, on the day he had first come to the compound. Other than a few sideways looks and glances I’d probably misinterpreted, he had done absolutely nothing to show he had any interest in me other than as a companion and friend.

Somehow I gathered myself, saying, “I’m fine,” and then gently pulled my arms from his grasp. He didn’t try to stop me, didn’t tighten his grip or attempt to bring me closer.

Well, there was my answer.

I dug the car key out of my pocket and headed to the driver-side door of the Cherokee, while Jace went around the other side. So far I hadn’t let him drive the SUV, and he hadn’t pushed the matter, somehow sensing that having control over the vehicle was important to me. Besides, he’d taken to driving the Polaris all over the area around the compound, had used it to bring back a buck he’d shot one Saturday afternoon. The freezers were full of venison. Yes, Jace was very handy to have around.

Even so, I didn’t say anything to him on the trip back home.

The awkwardness eased itself soon enough, as it had to. We were so busy with getting the goats set up and then foraging for feed, reading up on their care and what we needed to do to ensure the does were properly producing milk, that the moment we shared back in their corral was soon pushed aside, if not forgotten.

Of course, the awkward part was realizing that we needed to breed the goats now so they would have babies in the spring, and therefore more milk. Oh, yeah, discussing breeding options for farm animals with a guy you have a serious amount of unresolved sexual tension with is a whole new species of fun.

To be fair, Jace was very mellow about the whole thing, and didn’t make any rude jokes or indulge in any cringe-worthy innuendo. He spelled out the whole thing logically and factually, and then let the goats do the rest. It really wasn’t that difficult; a buck is going to do what a buck is going to do, after all. I was just glad that I managed to avoid seeing them actually do the deed.

One thing we didn’t have to worry about was the goats escaping the compound. They might come through and eat the ornamental plants in the garden area directly off the back of the house, but there was no way even the most ambitious goat could jump a seven-foot-high solid adobe wall.

Jace did have to teach me to milk the damn things, which at first scared me to no end, since I was sure I was going to end up with a hoof in my face the second I put one of my unpracticed hands on the animal’s teat.

“You can just do it, you know,” I told him, hovering nervously in the background as he sat down to give me a demonstration.

“Oh, no,” he replied. “Equal division of labor on this farm.”

I made a face but didn’t argue. It was true; I might have done most of the cooking, but he did the hunting, and even cleaned out the chicken coop when my one foray into doing so proved I didn’t have the world’s strongest stomach. In return, I happily did his laundry. At least that way I was able to learn that he favored dark-toned boxer-briefs over tighty-whiteys.

“It’s not that hard,” he went on, his voice almost too coaxing. “Just watch.”

He placed his thumb and forefinger near the top of the doe’s teat, squeezing it, and then exerted pressure with his remaining fingers on the lower part of the teat. A thin stream of white liquid emerged and went into the glass jar he’d set beneath it. “See?”

“Oh, yeah. Easy peasy.”

“Actually, it isn’t. You have to exert a good deal of force. But that’s okay. She wants to be milked.” He did it again, and I watched his long fingers squeezing against her flesh. For a second, I had a brief flash of those fingers cupping my breast, squeezing, and I had to force the thought out of my mind. No way was I going to let myself get turned on by watching Jace milk a goat. He glanced up at me. “You want to give it a try?”

I really didn’t. To stall for time, I responded with a question of my own. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

He appeared to consider, then said, “I don’t know how to play the violin. Now come over here and start learning how to milk this goat.”

Heaving a sigh didn’t really seem appropriate, given the situation, so I waited while he got out of the way and then sat down on the old packing crate we were using as a milking stool. I did take a breath, though, before placing my fingers more or less in the same position Jace had put his.

“Good,” he said, watching my hands, not my face. “Now squeeze with those two fingers while using the rest to push the milk out of the teat.”

Oh, boy. I squeezed, tentatively at first, and the goat, who we’d named Aster because of the little star-shaped mark on her haunch, shot me a look of pure irritation over her shoulder. But at least she hadn’t kicked me.

“Harder than that,” Jace instructed me, but his voice sounded more coaxing than annoyed.

I definitely didn’t want him annoyed with me. This time I squeezed harder, exerting so much pressure that I was certain Aster was going to step on my foot in protest. Instead, milk squirted into the bottle, and she seemed to relax slightly, letting me do what I needed to do.

After letting out a little exhalation of relief, I went back to milking her. More and more milk kept squirting out, but within five minutes, the fingers of my right hand were aching like you wouldn’t believe. I tried switching to the other hand, but couldn’t get the angle right. After another minute, I sat back, shaking my head. “I can’t do any more.”

“It’s okay,” Jace said. His hand dropped to my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “It’s going to take some time to develop those muscles. I can finish up.”

That was probably my signal to relinquish the packing crate to him so he could sit down, but I found I didn’t want to move. Not with his warm hand on my shoulder, the pressure of it somehow delicious, even through the flannel shirt and heavy canvas anorak I wore.

He seemed to realize that as well, because he moved his arm, breaking the contact. At the same time, attempting to cover up the awkwardness of the moment, I got to my feet.

“Thanks, Jace. I’ll just get back to the house, then.”

Grinning, he asked, “How’s the butter project coming?”

“Good. I’m just about to break out the mixer and have at it.”

Making butter had turned out to be a bigger task than I’d expected, but after some trial and error, I’d gotten enough buttermilk ready to go so I could move on to the next step. At least we had power in the house, and the kitchen had come equipped with a fancy stand mixer. Much better than having to stand around with a butter churn the way they did it in the bad old days.

We’d made the decision to use a good deal of the milk for making butter and cheese, since neither Jace nor I was what you would call a big milk drinker. Both of those projects weren’t exactly what you’d call user-friendly, but it was sort of amazing how much extra time you had on your hands when you weren’t spending half the day chatting with your friends on Facebook or whatever.

I still hadn’t decided whether that was a good thing or not.

A week after that, I stood at the window in the living room, looking out over the drive, past the wall to the landscape beyond. Heavy clouds blocked the sky, and I wondered how much we would get out of the solar panels today. We had a backup generator, but we hadn’t needed it yet. I was glad of that — the procedure to switch over from the solar collector to the electric generator didn’t sound all that simple. But the oven ran on propane, so I’d still be able to use that, even if we decided to dial back on our power consumption for the day. All the heat came from the various fireplaces and the wood-fired stove in the sitting room, so the interior temperature of the house wouldn’t be affected, one way or another.

Anyway, it wasn’t the possible loss of power that had me staring out at the brooding vista. What with one thing or another, I hadn’t been paying that much attention to what day it was, although I’d dutifully marked off each one on the calendar in the office, just so I wouldn’t completely lose track of time. But today, when I’d picked up the Sharpie to draw that thick black line, I’d paused and frowned at the date I was crossing out.

October 31st.

“Something wrong?” Jace asked, coming into the living room. He looked a bit surprised, and I supposed I couldn’t blame him. We didn’t spend much time in there, beautiful as the room was. Usually we were either in the kitchen or the family room, or, more rarely, the office.

“No,” I said, then paused. “It’s Halloween.”

“And?” His expression told me he wasn’t particularly impressed by that piece of information. “Did you want to go trick-or-treating or something?”

“Ha,” I replied. My trick-or-treating days were long behind me, although Elena and Tori and I had still gone out on Halloween, mostly as an excuse to get dressed up and go to bars. I’m not going to lie — the year before, we all did variations on the “sexy” something, me as a witch, since it suited my long near-black hair, Tori as an angel, and Elena…well, I still wasn’t entirely clear what her costume was supposed to be, except that it was black and red and sparkly, and showed way more leg than I would ever have dared. Needless to say, we didn’t have to buy any of our own drinks that night.

“It’s not the trick-or-treating,” I said slowly. “It’s more…I don’t know. Like the date is telling me it’s been more than a month since…well, since.”

The light of humor in his dark eyes abruptly disappeared. “You’re right. I guess I hadn’t really thought about it, what with everything we’ve been doing.” He closed the distance between us, coming to stand next to me in front of the window. So close, and yet…and yet, he might have been a million miles away. I knew I didn’t have the courage to reach out and take his hand in mine, to feel the reassurance of his touch. Then he shifted so he was halfway facing toward me, his gaze fixed on my profile. “I have an idea.”

“You do?” I didn’t dare move, didn’t want him to see any of the yearning currently pulsing within me. I wished it could be different, but I just wasn’t brave enough.

“Tomorrow’s the Day of the Dead. Dios de los Muertos.”

“And?”

He smiled, but it was a grave, quiet smile. “I think there are a lot of dead who need to be honored.”

Chapter 13

We’d been meaning to go back into town anyway, but had been putting it off for one reason or another. Well, today we had a mission.

I drove, of course, since I still felt hinky about letting Jace get behind the wheel of my father’s Cherokee. This time we went to a place we’d avoided, the Albertson’s grocery store near the center of town. So far, we’d either had everything we needed on hand, or we hunted or foraged for it. Although there were items we could have used from the store, neither of us thought it a very good idea to go in there, not with all that food spoiling inside.

Neither did we know for sure what it would be like now, after having the power cut off for more than a month, but it was the best place we could think of to get some of those saints’ candles for our Day of the Dead observance. Maybe Santa Fe had a Hispanic grocery store somewhere, but I remembered the Albertson’s because that’s where the girls and I stocked up on booze when we came to stay at Elena’s parents’ timeshare.

I pulled into the parking lot of the Albertson’s, then reached down and pulled the bandanna I had wrapped around my neck up and over my mouth. Jace did the same. We looked like we were there to hold up the place, but it seemed the best solution, since we didn’t have access to any surgical masks.

“Ready?” he asked.

Probably not, but it was too late to back out now. Besides the candles, there were a number of nonperishable goods we wanted to grab — paper towels, toilet paper, rice, flour, sugar, spices. Of course Jace didn’t know the store at all, but I had a hazy idea of where some things were located, based on my previous visits here. I’d just have to hope it would be enough to get us in and out as quickly as possible.

“Ready,” I said, my voice muffled by the bandanna tied over my mouth.

We got out of the Cherokee and headed toward the entrance to the store. Shopping carts had been abandoned in haphazard order in front of the building, and we each grabbed one. We also both held big crank-operated flashlights, part of the emergency supplies at the compound, since my experience inside the Walgreens in Albuquerque had taught me that those little pen-sized ones really didn’t cut it when you were trying to carry out a salvage operation.

The glass in the door had been broken out and lay scattered all over the place, so it was a good thing that Jace and I both wore heavy hiking boots. Shards of glass crunched underfoot as we pushed our way inside, flashlights bobbing this way and that.

It was fairly cold that day; the outside temperature reading in the Cherokee had put it at around forty-six degrees. Maybe that was a good thing, as it kept the smell from being too overwhelming, even with my nose covered. Oh, it was definitely there, something sickly sweet and yet acrid at the same time, but not so overpowering that I couldn’t ignore the odor. It did seem to catch at the back of my throat, and I found myself breathing shallowly, pushing the cart grimly ahead while Jace cut off to the right to canvass that side of the store.

Some people might have said that was foolish, to separate like that, but since neither of us had seen another living soul in weeks, we decided it was a risk we were willing to take. This way we could be in and out more quickly.

As I moved along, panning my flashlight over the shelves, I could again see evidence of looting, of items that had been taken. Breakfast cereals seemed to be popular, for some reason. The vitamin aisle had also been almost cleaned out, although I found some bottles of multis that had been left behind. The same with the paper goods — a lot had been taken, but not all. I grabbed what I could, stacking big packages of toilet paper and paper towels in my shopping cart.

Then I came around the corner and found the real reason why we’d come there: the Hispanic food section. I was sort of surprised to see that all the saint candles seemed undisturbed. Maybe people had been more interested in seeing to their physical needs than their spiritual ones, or possibly it was just that they hadn’t thought to use the candles for lighting after the power failed. Whatever. It didn’t matter now. What mattered was that I was able to scoop up a dozen of the things, packing them in and around the toilet paper and the boxes of Kleenex and all the other items I’d picked up.

“Got ’em!” I called out.

Jace’s voice came back to me from the other side of the store. “Great! Go on out to the Jeep — I’m almost done.”

I wasn’t sad to hear that at all. This grocery store wasn’t quite as creepy as the Walgreens had been, since the flashlight I held was far more effective than the one I’d had then. Besides, I knew Jace would come running the second I gave the alarm, should anything strange happen. All the same, I was glad to get out of there, out of the lingering stench and the mournful realization that nobody would be coming by to restock those shelves or pick up the items that had been knocked to the floor.

As I was beginning to load my haul into the cargo area of the Cherokee, Jace came out as well, his cart full to the brim with those big economy-size bags of rice, boxes of salt, pepper grinders, container after container of spices — you name it, he seemed to have nabbed it from the bakery aisle, including some much-needed tins of olive oil. We had some, but not nearly enough. This would definitely help to extend our supplies for a good many more months.

“Looks like you plan to keep me chained to the stove for a good while longer,” I joked.

He slanted me one of those dark-lashed looks I loved so much. “Oh, I might give you time off for good behavior.”

“That a fact?”

“Absolutely.”

A hint of a smile had been playing around the corners of his mouth, but as I watched, it faded. When I followed his gaze, I thought I understood why. I’d excavated my cart to the point where all that was left were the saints candles. He reached in and picked one up, turning it over in his hands. From her blue robe, I guessed the saint depicted on it was the Virgin Mary, but I didn’t know for sure. My family wasn’t Catholic.

Elena would have known, but she was long gone.

“I suppose we’re done here,” Jace said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” I told him. “Let’s go.”

Although we hadn’t discussed our plan in any detail, somehow we were both drawn to the monument at the center of the plaza. It seemed that here, in the heart of the city, was the best place to pay our respects.

Dead leaves had scattered over the walkways, but otherwise the place looked as if it hadn’t been touched since the last time I was here, when the voice had summoned the wind to sweep up the mess the looters had left behind. True, many of the stores had their windows broken in, but unlike at the Albertson’s, there was no glass scattered on the ground.

I had to wonder how much of that detail Jace took in as we walked from the Jeep to the center of the plaza. Some, it seemed, if the tight lines of his mouth and the puzzled furrow in his brow were any indication. But he didn’t ask any questions, only continued to the monument and the low wall that surrounded it.

The day had remained dark, the clouds threatening, although it hadn’t rained. It smelled like it might, though, heavy and damp. If it did, then these candles wouldn’t last very long. But at least we would have made the effort.

Still not speaking, we each took our burden of candles and placed them at regular intervals along the low wall surrounding the monument. Jace produced a box of strike-anywhere matches from the inner pocket of his jacket, then took one out and used the rough concrete of the wall to get it started. It flared up, and he cupped it in his hand, moving from candle to candle and lighting them one by one. They flickered in the chilly wind but didn’t go out.

We’d waited to go out on this expedition until late afternoon, and now it was almost dusk. It was the first time I’d ventured out into the city at anywhere close to dark, and I realized how very black it would soon become, especially with the cloud cover blocking out any possible moonlight or starlight. But we had our flashlights, and, for the moment at least, the candles themselves were giving off far more illumination than I had expected they would.

Jace glanced over at me, and I nodded. This had been his idea, after all, and so I thought he should be the one to make the speeches.

For a long moment, he didn’t speak, but only stood there in front of the candle with the Virgin Mary on it, the blue of her robe seeming to glow from within. Then he said, “We honor all those who walk in the paths of their ancestors. Those of us who are left here behind have so many questions, questions we know will never be answered. But our thoughts are with you, and we hope you have all found peace in the next world.”

The next words he uttered, I couldn’t understand, and I realized he must be speaking the language of the Pueblo. The sound of it was slow and sad, but strong and rich as well, and I found something inside me unclenching for the first time since I’d left Albuquerque. True, I had written something of the time before, in the little sketches I’d jotted down during my first days at the compound. After that, though, I had walled away my grief, thinking that the only way to survive and go on was not to think of everyone who was gone, of everyone I had lost. Now, hearing Jace speak, I knew that had been the wrong approach. I needed to celebrate who they were and what they had done, not pretend they had never existed. That was doing them no service, giving them no honor.

Jace fell silent, and I could see the way he looked over at me, clearly expecting me to say something. How I was supposed to follow that, I had no idea. But no, that was foolish. This wasn’t a competition.

“I miss you all,” I said simply, then turned and began to walk away from the monument. I didn’t bother to turn on my flashlight, even though the sun had gone down by then. The illumination from the candles was enough to light my path.

From behind me, I heard the sound of Jace’s footsteps, hurrying a little so he could catch up with me. And then I felt his hand slip into mine, his fingers warm and strong, even though it was cold enough that we really should have been wearing gloves. My own fingers felt as if they’d been dipped in ice water.

Neither of us said anything. It was enough then to walk hand in hand back to the Jeep, to take comfort in the feel of human flesh pressed against mine, reassuring in the dark and the cold. When it was time to pull the car key out of my pocket, I hesitated for a fraction of a second. I didn’t want to let go of him, to relinquish my grip on his fingers.

He seemed to detect my reluctance, because he stood there next to me for a moment, his grip tensing. But then he let go and said, “Let’s get home.”

I couldn’t argue with that. The night wind was drilling through the anorak I wore as if it were made of gauze rather than sturdy canvas, and right then the thought of being surrounded in the warmth of our house seemed even more attractive than usual.

So I nodded and unlocked the Cherokee, and we both climbed in. After I’d pulled away from where we were parked and was negotiating the narrow, car-choked streets — a task far more difficult after dark than it was during the day — I felt Jace’s hand cover mine where it rested on the gearshift.

“You okay?” he asked.

I couldn’t take my eyes off the road, but I nodded. “I think so. That was — ” The exact word seemed to elude me. Moving? Sad? Satisfying? All those, and more. “It helped,” I finally said, hoping he would understand what I meant.

It appeared he did, because his fingers tightened around mine. All he said, though, was, “Good.” And then he let go, seeming to realize that I needed to focus on driving. Although I’d gone back and forth along this route several times, it had always been during the day, and of course there were no streetlights to guide me along my way.

I flicked on the high-beams and slowed down. Good thing, too, because when I finally got to it, I almost missed the turn-off to Upper Canyon Road. Muttering a curse, I angled the Cherokee onto the street at almost the last minute. In the passenger seat, Jace shifted, but he remained silent, as if he knew any comments on my driving were the last thing I needed right then.

We bumped along, and then there was gravel under our wheels as we left the paved road and began to head up the winding dirt track that led to the compound. I slowed so I could shift into four-wheel drive, and when I looked up, I let out a little screech. Three pairs of eyes seemed to glow red as they stared straight into the Jeep’s headlights.

“Coyotes,” Jace murmured. “It’s okay — just drive forward slowly. They’ll get out of the way.”

Which they did, as I began to inch toward them. Somehow, though, their movements seemed almost leisurely, as if they weren’t too worried about me running them over. Almost at the last minute they got out of the way, but they only moved to the side of the road, where they stood and stared as we passed them by.

Something about their posture, about the way they were watching the Jeep, made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. It wasn’t the cold; I’d turned on the heater as soon as we got inside the SUV. No, their unblinking surveillance just felt…wrong. Unnatural. I’ll admit I wasn’t the world’s foremost authority on coyotes, but in general, wild animals tended to scatter when confronted by something as large and intimidating as a Jeep Grand Cherokee.

I shot a sideways glance at Jace. He wasn’t looking at me, though, and instead was staring out the passenger window. I didn’t know how much he could even see, since the high-beams were illuminating the road ahead of us, not either side.

“That was weird,” I said, once we were past the coyotes and they’d melted away into the darkness.

“A little,” he agreed. Then I saw his shoulders lift. “Maybe they’re getting bold now that they don’t have to worry about getting run over every time they come out of hiding.”

That sounded plausible. But still a note of wrongness seemed to echo inside me, and I couldn’t help thinking there had to be more to it than that. Then again, the world had ended in a way no one could have ever predicted. Things had been wrong for weeks now.

Well, mainly. I risked a sideways glance at Jace and saw that he was looking out the window again, his fine profile faintly illuminated by the glow from the dashboard lights.

Looking at him, I knew there was one thing right in my life.

Although I cast worried glances from side to side as we approached the compound and I pushed the remote to open the gate, I saw nothing in the darkness, no gleaming red or yellow eyes of various wildlife just waiting to pounce. We came onto the property without incident, although I activated the controls for the gate as soon as our rear bumper had cleared it. The motion-activated lights above the garage door turned on as we approached.

Off in the distance, I did see a shimmer of eyes glowing in the darkness, and I jumped.

“It’s okay,” Jace said softly. “It’s just the goats.”

I didn’t quite relax, but I did let out my breath. “Oh, right.”

Was that a chuckle? When I glanced over at him, his expression was sober enough, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Fine, if he wanted to laugh at me for jumping at shadows — or glowing eyeballs, in this case — I’d let him. I didn’t see anything wrong with staying on my guard.

But the unpacking of the Cherokee passed without incident, although it took longer than I’d expected to unload all that stuff and get it safely stowed. Dutchie kept wandering between us, trying to track all the new and interesting smells we were bringing in the house, until at last I bribed her with a chewy treat so she’d get out from underfoot.

By then it was moving on toward seven o’clock, and far past time for dinner. When I had all afternoon to figure out what to make and plenty of time to prepare it, I really didn’t mind cooking. Right now, though, I thought I might have sold my soul for pizza delivery. Or Chinese takeout.

Jace must have noticed my lack of enthusiasm for the task at hand, because he said, “It’s not that bad. Look what I brought back.” And I saw that he held a package of fettuccini in one hand and a jar of vodka cream sauce in the other. “Add some of that rabbit sausage you made a few days ago, and we’re set.”

I could have kissed him. Actually, I realized I would have loved to have an excuse to go over and kiss him, but I wasn’t sure dry pasta and pre-made sauce were a good enough reason. I had to settle for smiling and saying, “That sounds perfect. Can you feed Dutchie while I get this going?”

He nodded, setting the pasta and the jar of sauce down on the countertop. The dog, seeing that he was heading toward the pantry, got up from her rug and went bounding over to him, tail wagging wildly. At least she wasn’t the type to turn up her nose at kibble. She still got as excited about it as though we were feeding her T-bone steak or something.

While they were occupied, I filled a big stock pot with water and set it on the stove, then found a smaller pan and dumped the sauce into it, setting it on low heat on the back burner. The sausages were being stored in an airtight container in the fridge, so I got them out and started them cooking, too. Actually, I was sort of surprised that they’d turned out as well as they had. Let’s just say that making sausages hadn’t exactly been in my cooking repertoire before this, but they really weren’t that difficult, once you figured out how it all worked.

They were just starting to sizzle away when Jace came over to the stove and paused to sniff the air. “Those smell good.”

“You said the same thing two days ago when we had them for the first time.”

One eyebrow went up. “So? Two days shouldn’t make them taste any less good.”

Maybe not. I wasn’t going to argue the point, especially with him standing that close to me, barely a foot away. He’d taken off his jacket, and I could see the way the knit henley shirt he wore molded to the muscles in his arms and chest, the smooth golden-brown skin where he’d left one button undone.

Shit. I shouldn’t be staring. Was I staring?

I had a feeling I was staring.

Blood rose to my cheeks, and I turned back to the skillet, making something of a show of turning the sausages over. I also took a pot holder and lifted the lid on the pot of pasta water to check on it, but it wasn’t boiling yet.

As I was setting the pot holder down on the counter, I felt a hand settle on my waist, turn me around. Jace was even closer now, dark eyes fixed on my face. The touch of his fingers through the long-sleeved T-shirt I wore seemed to burn like fire.

I swallowed, thinking I needed to say something. But words had fled, leaving me alone with him, with the need I now saw in those dark eyes. I recognized it at once, because I’d felt the same thing myself.

And then…oh, God…he was bending toward me, his mouth suddenly on mine, his lips strong, urgent. I tasted him, felt him taste me, and then I was pressed against him, feeling the shocking solidity of his body, the power of the muscles in the arms that were now going around me, bringing me even closer, as if he needed every inch of me to be touching every inch of him.

Why now? some part of me asked, but the rest of my mind and body and soul, all those parts that had been aching for him for days…for weeks…they didn’t care so much. It was enough that here, in this moment, Jace was kissing me, and I was kissing him back, letting him know I’d wanted this, too, more than he could ever know. Every nerve and cell in my body seemed to be responding, pulsing with heat. Had it ever felt like this before? I didn’t know, because Jace kissing me seemed to have wiped away my memories of every other kiss I’d ever experienced.

A hissing sound interrupted us, though, and Jace let go of me abruptly. “The water’s boiling,” he said.

That’s not the only thing boiling, I thought, but I didn’t answer, only lunged for the pot holder so I could lift the lid on the stock pot and then turn down the heat to a more reasonable level. Those mundane tasks helped me gather myself a bit, although I could still feel the blood thrumming and throbbing in my veins. That wasn’t the only thing throbbing, either. I wouldn’t say I was the kind of person who got turned on easily — as my asshole ex-boyfriend had complained on more than one occasion — but right then I was so aroused that Jace probably could have laid me out flat on the kitchen counter and taken me there with absolutely no complaints.

He’d backed away slightly, though, seemed content to watch as I dumped some fettuccini into the boiling water and then turned the sausages over once again. It was only after I gave the vodka sauce a quick stir that he said, “You didn’t…mind that, did you?”

“Mind it?” I asked. We now stood facing one another, my back to the stove. He looked calm enough, but I thought I could detect a certain hard, bright glint in his eyes that I’d never seen before. Arousal? I couldn’t tell.

I realized I didn’t know him well enough to guess. Yes, we’d been living under the same roof for almost three weeks now, but we’d always been careful around one another, making sure we didn’t cross any lines, didn’t blunder through any barriers.

Well, those barriers were pretty well knocked down now.

“I didn’t — I didn’t want you to think I was forcing you or anything.”

Now he appeared almost worried, the gleam gone from his eyes, leaving them sober and dark, so dark I couldn’t really tell where the pupils ended and the irises began.

Forcing me? That was a joke. I’d wanted that kiss, but had worried that my growing feelings for him weren’t reciprocated.

“I mean, after what happened to you in Albuquerque — ”

Time to disabuse him of that notion. I set the spoon down on the little stone rest we used to keep our cooking utensils off the counter, then went over and took his hands in mine, right before I went on my tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. A fast kiss, not like the breath-stealing, knee-knocking one we’d shared a few moments earlier, but still enough that he should understand that I liked kissing him very much indeed.

“This isn’t Albuquerque,” I told him. “And you’re nothing like…either of them.” To be fair, I didn’t even know for sure that the man who’d wanted to steal the Cherokee had the same designs on me that Chris Bowman did, but I’d gotten the impression his intentions weren’t exactly benign. “And I’ve wanted…this…for a long time. I just wasn’t sure it was what you wanted.”

The tense set of his shoulders seemed to relax slightly, and he even grinned. “Oh, I wanted it, too. But I didn’t want to push you. I could tell you’d been through a lot.”

“We both have,” I said simply. No need to go into it any more than that. He’d lost everything, and I’d lost everything. Through some miracle, though, we’d both come to this place, come to the one spot in the world where we’d be safe to grow into knowing one another, caring for one another.

And again I couldn’t help wondering if this was somehow the doing of my guardian angel, the voice. Had he given Jace the same prompting he’d given me?

Eyes flickering as he seemed to study my face, Jace asked, “What is it?”

Did I dare mention the voice? We’d just opened up so much to each other; the last thing I wanted was for him to think I was crazy, or at least slightly unbalanced by everything I’d experienced since the Heat stole everything I loved. But I didn’t want to keep it a secret from him, either.

“Did you….” I began, then stopped. He was still holding my hands, fingers strong and somehow comforting. I never wanted him to let go, although I knew he’d have to at some point, just to let me get back to making dinner. But that could wait another minute or two. His gaze was still resting on my face, expectant, wondering what I was trying to ask. And there was simply no good way to ask.

“Did you ever hear anything?” I blurted. “Afterward, I mean. Like a voice guiding you, telling you where you should go. Telling you should come here.”

A long, long pause. At least he hadn’t let go of my hands, but I could see him weighing the question in his mind, trying to see if I was serious. “No, nothing like that,” he said at last. “Like I said, I came to Santa Fe because no one seemed to be left in Taos, and I had a friend here. The world’s longest shot, I know.” He hesitated, then asked, his tone soft, “Did you hear something like that?”

I wanted to deny it. But that would also seem like a denial of all the assistance the voice…guardian angel…whatever…had given me. “Yes,” I said. “It’s how I found this house. I would never have gotten out of Albuquerque alive if not for the voice.”

“‘The voice,’” he repeated. Nothing in the calm, even set of his features told me what he was thinking, and so I could only stand there in agony, wondering when he was going to let go and back away from me. Away from the crazy woman.

Somehow I managed to stand there, waiting.

“You’ve been blessed, I think,” Jace said at last. “Some guiding spirit looked down on you and knew you were worthy, that you needed to survive.”

Relief washed over me. So he didn’t think I was crazy. Then again, although I’d never much believed in such things, I guessed that his people thought differently. The dividing line between our world and the world of the spirits was definitely thinner for them.

“You really think that?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. Up until that moment, I hadn’t realized how important it was that he believed me.

“Oh, yes,” he replied, pulling me closer to him, his lips finding mine. “So let’s make sure our survival matters.”

Chapter 14

Dinner was…well, dinner was wonderful. It might have only been left-over sausage and sauce out of a jar, leavened a little by some zucchini from the greenhouse that I steamed to go along with the pasta, but I might as well have been eating at a five-star restaurant for as exhilarated as I felt. Jace had kissed me. Jace wanted me, had only been holding back because he didn’t want to pressure me or frighten me off.

Some people might have said it was inevitable, that if you put two healthy, attractive people of the same sexual orientation in the same place, sharing the same home, eventually they’d end up together. Propinquity, or whatever they called it.

I didn’t believe that for a second, though. There were plenty of guys I’d known over the years who, if they’d shown up on my doorstep the way Jace had, I could’ve lived in platonic harmony with and never had the slightest inclination for anything more than a quick hug on a birthday or something.

Jace, on the other hand…well, I’d been thinking how hot he was from the first moment I laid eyes on him, even as I was confronting him at the gate to the compound, shotgun in hand. That sudden, unexpected flare of admiration had shifted into attraction as the days had gone on, and now was…what?

Far more than simple attraction, even if I was too scared to put a label on it right then.

He’d opened a bottle of wine, some more of the Black Mesa Montepulciano, which, as it turned out, was also a New Mexico wine. I’d been so rattled when I arrived at the compound that I hadn’t even read the label that closely. It did go well with the simple meal I’d prepared. More than that, it gave the evening a sense of celebration, that this was just the beginning of something far more.

Was I ready for that? Yes, I’d been dutifully taking my pill every night, knew I’d be protected in that way, if nothing else. Maybe I should’ve been worrying whether Jace had packed some condoms as part of his “surviving the apocalypse” kit, but for some reason, I didn’t think that was necessary. He certainly didn’t give off the man-whore vibe. It should be fine.

“Dollar for your thoughts,” Jace said, and I startled, knowing I could never tell him I’d been pondering contraceptive options. By then we were winding down, only a few bites left on our plates.

“A whole dollar?” I teased, glad that we were eating by candlelight. With any luck, he wouldn’t have noticed the way the hot blood rose to my cheeks.

“Well, a penny’s probably worth more than a dollar now, since at least you could melt a penny down and get the copper out of it.” He set down his fork and leaned forward slightly, a smile touching those full lips, the ones that had felt so delicious when pressed against mine. “But your choice.”

“I — I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular,” I said.

An eyebrow went up.

“Seriously.” I lifted my glass of wine and took a quick swallow.

The other eyebrow went up.

Oh, boy. I could stall and I could hedge, but it was pretty obvious that Jace would see through any of those machinations. “Okay, fine,” I told him, setting my wine glass back down and taking a breath. “If you have to know, I was thinking about whether you’d packed any condoms when you bailed out of Taos.”

He let out a breath, both eyebrows still raised. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

“Well, you asked.”

For a second or two, he didn’t say anything, only looked at me. I tried not to blink or glance away, but damn, that was hard. My cheeks felt like they were on fire.

At last he said, “No, I didn’t. Sorry…I guess I was thinking more about the world ending or something than whether I was going to get laid in the near future.”

I winced, and he shook his head as if exasperated with himself.

“Jessica, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.” His hands flattened on the tabletop, as if by exerting pressure against the cool copper surface, he could take back what he’d just said. “That is, if we — if we were together, I think you know it would be a lot more than just getting laid.”

My heart seemed to start beating again. “It would?”

“You know it would,” he said, his tone quiet, but no less intense for all that.

I smiled at him. “It’s fine. I’m on the pill.”

After that…well, I’m still not sure who moved first, but almost in a single motion, we were on our feet, pushing our chairs away from the table, Jace reaching out to take me by the hand. He pulled me into him, kissing me, his mouth sweet with wine. I felt as if I could never get enough of tasting him.

But he broke the kiss after a few seconds, leading me down the hallway to my bedroom. He’d never been in here before, of course, although I left it unlocked most of the time, except for the occasions when I was getting dressed. Since Dutchie liked to wander between our rooms at night, I didn’t have the heart to shut the door. Because of that, though, I always kept it tidy. I knew I didn’t have to worry about Jace tripping over a discarded bra or something when we entered.

It was cold, though, away from the fireplace in the family room, which did a pretty good job of heating the dining room as well, since they were right next to each other. Jace let go of my hand — with some reluctance, it seemed — and asked, “Okay if I get a fire going?”

“You already have,” I said, smiling, but I nodded. “We could use one. It’s probably going to get below freezing tonight.”

He went to the fireplace and began expertly stacking some logs within it. We were burning a lot already, but I wasn’t too worried. The house had an enormous log room built on the north side, with wood stacked almost to the rafters on every wall. Jace had taken one look at the stockpile and said we could have fires in every room through July if necessary.

So I allowed myself to enjoy the warmth that began to spread through the room after he got the fire going, and not fret over whether we were going to run out of wood halfway through the winter. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t also enjoy watching the way Jace’s jeans hugged his backside as he bent over, coaxing the fire to life.

Afterward, he turned around, then came over to me where I sat on the foot of the bed. “Better?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Although it’ll probably still be smart to get under those covers quickly.”

“I can help with that.” His fingers tugged my shirt loose from the waistband of my jeans, then undid my belt buckle. At the same time, I was working at his belt as well before undoing the buttons on his faded Levi’s. I hooked my thumbs through the belt loops of his pants, easing them down. I could tell he was already aroused, the bulge in the dark gray boxer-briefs he wore evidence that stopping to get the fire going hadn’t put him too much off his stride, so to speak.

He stepped out of the jeans but didn’t let that distract him from pulling my T-shirt up and over my head. After dropping it on top of his jeans, he reached down and undid the front clasp of my bra, releasing a long, drawn-out breath as his hands closed over my bare breasts.

I gasped, closing my eyes as he caressed me, fingers sliding over my skin. Then he was tugging at my jeans, getting them out of the way, and I stepped out of them, letting him lead me over to the bed. With one hand, he yanked back the covers, and I collapsed onto the mattress, bringing him with me, bare skin to bare skin, our mouths finding one another in the fire-lit darkness. The sheets were icy cold, but I hardly noticed.

Because oh, God, he was reaching between my legs, stroking me as his mouth closed on my nipple. My heart was pounding, my breath coming in great, heaving gasps. I had done all these things before, but never with Jace. And it had never felt like this with anyone else.

My own hand moved lower, touching him, wrapping around him, feeling the heat and the strength of his arousal. He moaned as I touched him, the sound seeming to reverberate through every inch of my body. Or maybe it was just the approaching wave of the orgasm that I could feel bearing down on me, building up until I couldn’t do anything except allow Jace to touch me, to flick his tongue against the bud of my breast, and then it tore through me like a swollen river breaking down a dam, my voice calling his name, my body heaving against his.

Yes, it had been a while, but it was more than that. It was Jace, all of it — the way he’d made me come, the way I felt as if I had been some strange half-alive being before this, hiding in the darkness until he brought me into the light.

Then he was shifting, moving, and I could feel him pushing against me, against my entrance. I’d never wanted anything more than I wanted him inside me, filling me. “Please, Jace,” I breathed.

That was all he needed. In that instant, he was there, in me, moving deeper and deeper as I rocked my hips against his, drawing him into me, our bodies locked together, finding the rhythm, the perfect push and pull of man and woman, Jace and me. I clung to him, one hand moving up to clutch his neck, feeling the leather cord that held his hair back. One tug, and it was loose, his raven hair spilling over his shoulders, brushing against my cheek, and that was it, the last push I needed. Crying out, calling his name, gasping, my body convulsing against his, and then I could feel him let loose, heard him groan, his hips driving him into me, my legs wrapped around him, until finally he stilled, went quiet, his mouth by my ear, my name a soft breath in the silent room.

“Jessica….”

We lay there for uncounted moments, flesh to flesh, drinking in each other’s warmth. Finally, he shifted, pulling away from me, but only so he could lie on his side, his chest touching my arm, as if he didn’t want any real distance to come between us. I understood the feeling all too well. In a moment, I’d have to force myself out of bed and go to the bathroom, get myself cleaned up, but right then I only wanted to be next to him, to breathe him in, to reassure myself that he truly was real, that this actually had happened.

He reached out and pushed a strand of hair away from my face. Such a tender gesture, so different from the wild abandon of a few minutes earlier. Because the room was so dimly lit, I couldn’t precisely decipher his expression. But I definitely wasn’t expecting what came next.

“I love you, Jessica.”

Out of nowhere. Or not nowhere, not really. I could have seen those words in the way he looked at me when he thought I wouldn’t notice, in how careful he was to listen to my suggestions…in the very reticence that had kept him from making a move until he was certain it wouldn’t be rebuffed.

And because he’d been brave enough to say it first, I didn’t hesitate. Not now. I’d been denying this to myself, coming up with reasons why it couldn’t be true, but there was no point in denying it any longer.

“I love you, Jace.” It was true. I knew it, accepted it, let my heart and mind and soul become open to the idea. I loved Jason Little River. The sound of his voice. The crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he laughed. The long, strong fingers of his hands. The way he asked for my opinion on things and never made me feel foolish for not knowing as much as he did about raising animals or gardening or…well, most things. I’d led a sheltered life, while I got the impression he hadn’t. His hands were beautiful, but they had the calluses and scars of someone who hadn’t spent his entire life behind a desk. I supposed that was from the time he spent at the pueblo, even though his own start-up business had involved computers.

All these details and contradictions, all the elements that made Jace uniquely Jace…they were what made me realize I loved him. And, by some miracle, he loved me in return.

He pulled me against him, and I burrowed my face into his chest, breathing in the warm, delicious scent of his skin, hearing his heart beat, strong and sure. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d been this happy.

Happy. Was I allowed to be happy, when most of the world was gone?

I didn’t know. I tried to tell myself that my parents would have wanted me to be happy, that they wouldn’t have wanted me to wallow in sorrow for the rest of my days, just because they were gone. But even in the warm afterglow of our lovemaking, of hearing Jace say that he loved me, I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt.

He pushed a lock of hair away from my face, trailed his fingers across my cheek and down to my mouth. I pressed my lips very softly against his forefinger, and he smiled. But then his expression sobered, and he gave me a very direct look.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” he said.

“Do what?” But I was pretty sure what he meant.

“You can’t beat yourself up just because you’ve found some happiness in your life. The Dying wasn’t your fault. All you can do is live your life to the best of your ability, make your survival mean something.”

The Dying. It was the first time I’d heard him use that phrase, but it was apt enough. Because that was what had irrevocably changed the world… all that death.

“I know,” I whispered. “It’s just sometimes…it comes rushing over me like a wave, you know? I put it aside, and I’m fine, because I’m here with you, and I know we’re safe, but….”

His arms went around me, keeping me close to him, close to the security of that strongly beating heart and the soothing warmth of his flesh. “I know.” The words came in a murmur, gentle. “You’re stronger than you know, Jessica. It’s human to feel doubt and worry. But…don’t let it get between us. Please?”

There was a note of concern in his voice that I hadn’t heard before, and I shifted so I could look up into his eyes. “Oh, no,” I told him then. “I’ll never let anything come between us.”

We slept in each other’s arms that night, and awoke to a chilly morning where the roof of the garage was white with frost. The fire had guttered down to coals, and Jace wrapped one of the blankets around himself as he got up to set new logs in the hearth and get a fresh blaze going. Dutchie watched all this with approval; it looked as if she hadn’t moved since she curled up in front of the fireplace the night before. I got the distinct impression that she was happy with our new sleeping arrangements, since it meant she wouldn’t have to split her time between Jace’s and my room anymore.

Even with the fire going, I was loath to get out of bed. But I wasn’t a city girl any longer; I needed to get moving, shower, check on the goats, start breakfast. All these things were speeded up by Jace and me sharing the shower in the master bath, which was roomy enough that we fit quite nicely. Okay, we didn’t save quite as much time as I’d thought, because we got lost in lathering up each other’s bodies, running soapy hands over bare skin, until I was pressed up against the wall and he was inside me again, one of my legs wrapped around him, holding him in place while he thrust into me. We had to clean up all over again afterward, but it was worth it.

At last, though, we got out of the shower — mostly because the hot water heater began to run out of steam — and got dressed, then dried our hair. A pang went through me as he fished another one of those leather cords out of his pocket and began winding it around his hair.

“Don’t,” I said, and he turned toward me with a quizzical look.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t tie it up. I like it down.”

A slow smile spread over his lips then, and he shrugged and shoved the cord back into the pocket of his jeans. “Okay. But if it starts getting in my face when I’m out in the wind — ”

“Then okay, you can tie it back again.” I went to him and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’m not totally unreasonable, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” He gave my own ponytail the side-eye, and I couldn’t help laughing.

“Yeah, do as I say and all that.”

We went out to check on the goats before breakfast, our breath puffing up into the icy air. They seemed all right, but Jace looked at the frost on the ground and shook his head.

“We need to get them some kind of protection from the cold. It’s only going to get worse after this, and when we have our first snowfall….” He didn’t bother to finish the sentence, but I knew what he meant. Our little herd needed someplace to go.

“So what are you thinking?” I asked, looking around the walled-in landscape. From within the chicken coop, I could hear the hens clucking away happily. It was obvious they hadn’t suffered too much from the cold.

“It doesn’t need to be fancy, but some kind of shed, someplace where they can go inside if they need to. The henhouse went together pretty quickly, so I’m sure I can do something like that for the goats, too.”

I saw another foray to Home Depot in our near future. We’d stocked up on food just the day before, but if we were going to Santa Fe anyway, I was going to put in a request to raid an outdoor gear store or something similar. My outerwear definitely wasn’t up to snuff, and I had a feeling that adding some thermal underwear to my repertoire wouldn’t be a bad idea, either.

So I asked about that, and Jace nodded. “I could use a few things, too. So we’ll do that first, and then we’ll go the hardware store. I need to check the library here, though — I’m pretty sure I saw a book with plans for different kinds of outbuildings, and that’ll help me figure out how much to bring back.”

With that settled, he headed back into the house to start making notes, and I popped into the henhouse to scoop up some fresh eggs for breakfast, then hurried to the kitchen. At least in there it was relatively warm and cheery. My fingers gradually thawed out as I made scrambled eggs and toast, and a pot of fresh coffee. I reflected then that Jace was right — I couldn’t let survivor’s guilt get in the way of enjoying the life I had now. I had him, and we had this beautiful place to live, with plenty of food and no one bothering us. In this post-Dying world, that was about as close to heaven as I would probably get.

After breakfast, we patted Dutchie and went out to the garage. I’d been thinking this over while Jace took care of this dishes, and I realized it was time for me to show how much I really did trust him.

“Wait,” I said as he began to head to the passenger side of the Jeep. He glanced back toward me, and I opened my hand to reveal the key fob lying on my palm. “You want to drive?”

His dark eyes lit up, but he didn’t move. “Are you sure?”

I nodded, and he came back to me, taking the key from my hand as he leaned down to kiss me. Mmm, coffee and the faintest trace of butter, rich and friendly, welcoming, just like the man who was kissing me.

“Thank you,” he said, then went to climb in the driver-side door.

It felt strange to go around to the passenger side, to get in and then watch Jace back the Cherokee out of the garage and maneuver it down the steeply sloping drive to the gate. I had a new perspective on things this way, could concentrate on my surroundings rather than merely on the road.

Not that there was a lot to look at up here. The junipers didn’t change much with the seasons, and the grass had already been sere and yellow even before the frost hit. But the sky was a deep, deep blue, overlaid with faint traceries of high clouds, and in the Sangre de Cristo mountains above town, I could see the patches of bright yellow aspens now looking faded as they lost more and more of their leaves, settling in for winter.

We came down onto Upper Canyon road and wended our way into town. “Any ideas on outdoor supply places?” Jace asked.

“Not really,” I admitted. “When I came here with my friends, we were more interested in partying than hiking. And of course you can’t Yelp something after the apocalypse.”

His mouth seemed to twitch, but when he turned slightly to look at me, his expression was grim enough. “Is that what you think this is? The apocalypse?”

“Well, close enough as makes no difference.” We’d slowed to maybe twenty miles an hour at the most, partly because Jace was weaving in and out of the abandoned cars on the streets, but also because I had a feeling he didn’t have any idea where he was supposed to go. “I mean, most of the world is dead, and the life we had back then is gone. No, I suppose there weren’t any four horsemen and blood-red moons and flaming swords and all that, but….”

He didn’t reply, but I could almost feel him turning over the idea in his head. My knowledge of Native American mythology was scanty at best, and so I didn’t know if his people had their own vision of the end of the world. The terminology I’d used was purely Revelations sort of stuff, but that was my only frame of reference. At least, those were the kinds of things you’d always hear quoted in movies dealing with the end times.

“I have an idea,” he said, in a very different tone. “Let’s stop and go into that hotel. They had to have phone books and local directories at the concierge desk, right?”

He had a point. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d used a phone book, since I either used Yelp or Google Maps to find things with my cell phone, but maybe not everyone was as firmly rooted in the digital age as I had been before the world collapsed. Checking at the hotel sounded like a good idea.

So he pulled up onto the sidewalk in front of the La Fonda Hotel, in a spot where once bellhops had probably assisted people with their luggage but was now free of cars. And actually, as I got out of the Jeep and looked around quickly, it somehow seemed as if the street wasn’t quite as choked with vehicles as I remembered it.

“What’s the matter?” Jace asked, seeming to notice the way I was scanning the street. “Do you see something?” His hand went to his belt, and for the first time I realized he was wearing his long knife in its sheath. I hadn’t even thought to bring one of the guns with me. Maybe Jace made me feel a little too safe. I was getting sloppy.

“No,” I replied, quickly so he wouldn’t get too nervous. “That is…I could have sworn there were more cars here the last time I drove through. It’s as if some of them are just…gone.”

His eyebrows went up, and I could see him look past me to the street the hotel faced. What good that would do, I wasn’t sure, because I didn’t think he’d even come this way when he passed through town. There were obvious gaps in the lines of cars parked at the sidewalk, but that didn’t have to mean anything, except that no one had been parked there in the first place.

“You’re sure?” he asked, and now I thought I detected a note of patience in his voice, as if he was trying to humor me.

“No, I’m not sure, because I wasn’t memorizing everything I saw when I drove through here. It just feels…off.”

“Well, all the more reason for us to see if we can find a phone book and a map, and then get out of here.”

I decided I couldn’t argue with that logic, and followed him into the lobby of the hotel.

Luckily for us, the concierge’s desk did have an area phone book, as well as a detailed map of downtown and a larger one for the greater Santa Fe area. I took a quick glance around, remembering how Tori and Elena and I had gone up to the rooftop bar for drinks. Back then the place had been packed. Now the tiled floors echoed under our footsteps, and I had to work hard not to look at the flurries of gray ash that stray drafts must have blown against the floorboards and into the corners.

It felt good to be out in the sun again, despite the brisk wind, although we got into the Jeep quickly enough. I paged through the phone book and discovered that there was an REI probably less than five minutes from our current location. Jace seemed cheered by that, and we headed there in silence, although I kept looking at the streets as they passed by, trying to determine if they felt less impacted by abandoned vehicles than I’d previously thought. It was hard to say for sure, as I’d never gone down this particular road. It did seem less crowded than it should be, although I was basing that observation on pure gut feeling and not much more.

The store was located almost on the railroad tracks, just off Market Street. While there were a few vehicles parked nearby, the place still felt far more deserted than some of the other shops I’d visited. Again, people probably weren’t thinking of outdoor supplies as they were succumbing one by one to the Heat.

Jace and I got out of the Jeep and headed to the store entrance. The glass wasn’t smashed, but the doors seemed to have gotten stuck halfway open. Convenient, since we wouldn’t have to worry about breaking in.

When we entered the store, though, I still got the feeling that it had been carefully ransacked, although it wasn’t a mess. No, it was more that the stock seemed far leaner than it should have been. The glass case with the GPS devices had been emptied of its contents, and it looked as if a bunch of the mountain bikes were gone, too.

But at least the low-dollar stuff like the thermal underwear and the gloves hadn’t been totally depleted. I got a shopping cart and started adding anything in my size, while Jace went to the men’s section and basically did the same thing. He dumped in all his items, then went back for a thigh-length down-filled jacket. Before he put it in the cart, he looked at the price tag and shook his head.

“What?” I asked.

“That coat cost more than I paid for my motorcycle.”

Ouch. Well, retail prices were definitely a thing of the past, so it wasn’t as if we had to worry about whether we could afford any of this stuff. “Yes,” I said, “but a motorcycle won’t keep you warm at night.”

A corner of his mouth quirked, even as a warm gleam came and went in his eyes. “Oh, I’ve got something way better than a jacket for keeping me warm at night.”

I could feel heat as well, running through my core, but I knew we needed to stay focused on the task at hand. “Anything else?”

“That about does it for me. I like my boots, so I’m not going to bother replacing them. You?”

“Same.” Maybe there were some fancy outdoor shoes that would have suited me better, but my hiking boots were sturdy and comfortable. They’d cost me a good chunk back in the day as well, come to think of it. Money well spent, as far as I was concerned, considering everything they’d gotten me through during the past few weeks.

So we pushed our haul out to the Cherokee and stowed everything in the back. “Who do you think took that other stuff?” I asked Jace, just as he was closing the hatch to the cargo area.

He shrugged. “Other survivors, I suppose.”

“Don’t you think it’s weird that we still haven’t seen anyone?” Something felt strange. I couldn’t put my finger on it, since I really didn’t have any frame of reference for what things were supposed to feel like after the apocalypse. Still, you’d think that any survivors in Santa Fe would have seen Jace and me coming and going, would have realized we didn’t pose any kind of threat. At least, I didn’t think we looked terribly intimidating.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” He turned the key over in his hand, fiddling with it. “I’ll bet if you crunched the numbers, you’d realize the odds of us running across any of the few hundred survivors in the area on any given day really aren’t that great. We’d have to keep coming down here day after day, looking for them. Are you ready to do that?”

Part of me was. Oh, I didn’t really need anyone other than Jace, and we’d done just fine — more than fine — on our own, but still….

I wanted to know.

However, I could tell from the expression Jace currently wore that he didn’t share this particular thirst for knowledge, and I decided I’d better not push it. After all, before I’d met him, my run-ins with survivors of the Dying hadn’t exactly been all that pleasant.

“No,” I said, and gave him what I hoped was a convincing smile. “I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

Chapter 15

Strangely, although at first glance the Home Depot looked exactly the same as the last time we’d left it after we’d gotten the supplies for the chicken coop, when we went to fetch a trailer to haul the lumber home, only one was still sitting there. The other three were gone.

That did take Jace aback; he stood there for a moment, hand on his chin, staring at the spaces where the trailers had been parked. Finally he said, “What the hell?”

“So you’ll admit they’re gone.”

“Of course they’re gone. It’s kind of obvious, don’t you think?” Then he shook his head. “Sorry, Jess. Didn’t mean to snap at you. But this is just weird.”

That was a good word for it. I could see survivors making off with GPS devices and hiking boots and multi-packs of toilet paper. But equipment trailers?

“Well, at least they left us one,” I offered.

That didn’t seem to mollify him much. He stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, clearly discomfited by this evidence that there were survivors, and that they seemed to be organized enough to make off with most of the store’s trailers. I saw the troubled glance he sent toward the entrance at the lumberyard end of the building, and guessed he was worried that the stock inside would be similarly picked over.

We were here now, though, so we might as well go in and see what we could find, once we had the trailer hooked up to the Cherokee. That didn’t take long, though, and afterward we headed toward the building, both of us grimly silent.

Several big orange flatbed carts sat near the entrance, so Jace took one and wheeled it in, glass crunching underfoot as he did so. It seemed clear enough, even from a quick glance around, that someone had been in here since our last visit. The battery displays were almost all emptied out, and a lot of tools seemed to be missing, too. But at least the lumberyard didn’t look as if it had been raided, so Jace was able to get the supplies he needed. Tools we already had back at the compound, up to and including a belt sander and a jigsaw, so the looters were welcome to take anything that still remained here.

“I wonder what they’re doing with all of it,” I ventured as he began shifting the lumber from the cart and into the trailer.

“Who knows?” he replied. “They’re probably people like us — you know, with a place where they’re holed up and safe but still need assorted odds and ends. Actually, I have a feeling they would need more, since our compound was so well stocked when you found it. And you’re probably used to seeing stores getting restocked on a regular basis. Things can start to look pretty picked over when no one’s coming in with new products all the time.”

Well, that made sense. It was true that I didn’t have much experience yet of a world where stores weren’t magically restocked when supplies ran low. Even so, something didn’t feel right to me. Batteries and hammers I could understand. But the trailers? I supposed if they had enough stuff to haul away, it made some sense. But that would have to be a lot of stuff.

Jace finished tying down the lumber, then threw the nails and fasteners and other small items he’d collected into the cargo area of the Jeep. From the way the corners of his mouth were turned down, I could tell he wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of having to compete with other survivors for supplies we might need to get through the winter.

But no, that wouldn’t happen. We were stocked on food, and now we had milk and eggs and cheese and butter, so really, once we got the goats sheltered, we wouldn’t have much need to come back down to Santa Fe proper unless we were just dying to. And I didn’t see that happening anytime soon.

Thinking about our goats made me recall the herd we’d taken them from. They were just as much out in the cold, although I thought I remembered seeing a few ramshackle outbuildings on the property where they were grazing. Still, it couldn’t hurt to check on them. It wasn’t that out of our way.

When I mentioned my concerns to Jace, he nodded. “That’s probably a good idea. They would have more shelter there than our own goats, but we might as well look. If they’re in trouble, we can unload this stuff, get the horse trailer, and then bring them back to the compound. It might take a couple of trips, though.”

I said I wouldn’t mind that at all, so we got into the Cherokee and drove off, angling away from our normal route so we could get to the edge of town and the small ranch where we’d first found the goats. But when we got there, the animals were all gone. I would have said they’d wandered off on their own, but I could see tire tracks in the dirt, tracks that were fatter and wider than those of my Jeep. Some big off-road truck, if I had to guess.

Jace seemed to be of the same opinion, because he squatted down to take a closer look, one finger digging into the rutted earth. “Probably a half-ton pickup, judging by the tread and how deep it is.” He stood, following the tracks along the narrow dirt road that led to the pasture gate. We’d come in that same way, but it looked like the truck had turned and headed west afterward, rather than to the east, the direction of town and our own hidden compound.

“Where do you think they were going?” I asked.

“I have no idea. I don’t think there’s much out that way, unless they were headed to the highway. And if that’s the case, their home base could be anywhere.”

“So you don’t think they’re local?”

For a second or two, Jace didn’t answer me. He just stood there, gazing off to the west, straight brows pulled together in a frown. The wind blew his loose hair, turning it into a shining raven cloud around his head, but for some reason, I didn’t find myself quite as lost in admiration as I might otherwise have been. Instead, a shiver of apprehension went down my spine. Whatever thoughts might be occupying his mind, they didn’t look as if they were pleasant ones.

“I don’t know if they’re from around here,” he said at last. “Maybe, maybe not. Maybe one of the survivors knew this ranch existed, then noticed some of the goats were missing and came back to get the rest before they disappeared, too. And maybe they’re holed up someplace remote, just like we are.” He turned and began heading back to the Jeep, walking quickly. I practically had to jog to keep up with him.

I almost asked what the rush was, but he seemed to know what I was thinking. Jaw tense, he told me,

“I think it’s better that we get back. We’ve been gone long enough.”

Nothing else, but the implication was enough to make me hurry into the passenger seat, to hold on as he drove faster than he really should have on the way home, the trailer rattling and bumping behind us. It was a beautiful, brisk fall day, but I couldn’t enjoy the scenery. I just wanted to get home and make sure everything was all right.

If anything had happened to Dutchie….

But when we pulled up and opened the gate, everything looked fine. The goats were still wandering around, eating dried grass, and I could hear the hens clucking away in the chicken coop. Jace maneuvered the Jeep around so he could back the trailer up to the edge of the yard. That way, he wouldn’t have to carry the lumber as far. He left it, though, to come with me to the house.

“Let me go in first,” he said, and I did as he asked, allowing him to walk in front of me.

All that did was subject him to the first of Dutchie’s onslaught. She came bounding up to us, panting, tail wagging, nose busily sniffing the bags we carried. Since all they held was the clothing we’d pilfered from REI, she lost interest soon enough, instead hanging out by the pantry, clearly angling for a chewy treat.

“I think it’s safe,” I told Jace, going to get the dog her treat. Maybe she hadn’t exactly earned it, but I was so happy to see her and the rest of the property safe that I didn’t much care.

“Probably. I’ll go drop this stuff in the bedroom, though. That way I can check the rest of the house.”

I didn’t bother to stop him. If it made him feel better, he was welcome to search every inch of the property.

After I gave Dutchie her treat, I paused and surveyed the kitchen. Nothing appeared out of place, unless you wanted to count some water slopped on the floor around the dog’s bowl. The world’s neatest drinker she was not. Otherwise, though, it was tidy enough, the dishes stacked in the wooden drainer on the counter, everything I’d used to make breakfast either put back in the refrigerator or the pantry.

Jace entered the kitchen then, relief plain on his face. “Everything looks fine.”

“Were you really worried it wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know. I suppose — ” He stopped there, clearly trying to decide what he really wanted to say. “I suppose seeing all that stuff taken rattled me. I’m not sure why. Maybe because the last time we were in town, I didn’t see any evidence of other survivors. Now, though….” His shoulders lifted; I noticed that he’d taken off the leather jacket he’d worn on our expedition. “I know it’s stupid. They have just as much right to help themselves to supplies as we do. But the way they came in and took all the rest of the goats? It feels…greedy, I guess. We only took what we needed.”

I could see what he was thinking, but at the same time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to ascribe any negative intentions to the people who’d collected the rest of the herd. “Maybe…or maybe they saw them and were worried about them, the same way we were, and took them all because they had more room for them. There could be all sorts of reasons.”

“You’re probably right.” The square set of his shoulders seemed to relax a little, and he came over to me and took me in his arms, holding me tightly against him. Something of the cool juniper-scented wind outdoors seemed to have clung to his hair, and I breathed it in, marveling at how the feel of him could drive all worries right out of my head. Whoever had absconded with the goats, it really didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. We had enough to keep our own little homestead going, and would have more goats in the spring, once the does gave birth. Really, in a couple of seasons we’d be swimming in animals and wondering what the heck we were supposed to do with all of them.

“I’ll make some sandwiches,” I offered, after I glanced at the clock and realized it was nearly one-thirty, past the time when we’d usually eat lunch.

Jace nodded, but I could tell from the way his mouth was set that he was still turning the problem over in his head. Well, if he wanted to brood over it, I couldn’t stop him.

I just knew it would be fine. It had to be.

The days seemed to blur after that, running together until I realized that we were less than a week away from Thanksgiving. Jace had spent long hours building the shed for the goats, doing his best to make sure they didn’t have to be exposed to the elements any longer than absolutely necessary. And they did seem grateful for the shelter we provided, going in there without any urging from us.

As a child, I’d read all those “Little House” books about Laura Ingalls Wilder and her family moving from place to place, homesteading, farming, and although I thought I’d absorbed most of the details, it wasn’t until I was doing roughly the same thing myself that I understood how time-consuming having to do everything yourself actually was. And yes, I realized that Jace and I were living in a modern, up-to-date house with a lot of conveniences that Ms. Wilder could never have conceived of. Even so, there was still housework and laundry and cooking and so much more, like making cheese and sausage and butter, collecting eggs, making sure the goats had fresh water and were milked twice a day, tending the plants in the greenhouse and determining what was ready to be eaten and what still needed a few days. By the time we were done with dinner and the clean-up afterward, Jace and I were practically asleep on our feet. Every once in a great while, we’d sit down and watch a movie from the collection in the family room, but that happened maybe every ten days or so, if that. And no, we never watched any of the real estate developer’s porn. Jace had looked at the row of Blue-Rays and chuckled, shooting me an inquiring look.

“No way in hell,” I’d told him, and he’d let it go. I wasn’t about to confess that I actually had tried to watch one of them in the first week I’d been here, lonely and scared and thinking maybe giving myself an orgasm would help to relax me. But about five minutes of looking at the actors with their unnaturally waxed bodies and the women with their fake breasts and equally fake moans made me less inclined toward sex than I’d ever been in my life, and I took the disc out of the player and put it away, knowing I could never watch one of those movies again.

And now, I had no need to.

By some unspoken agreement, Jace and I had begun making love in the morning, while the world was still dark and the day hadn’t wrung every last drop of energy from us. Sometimes one of us would wake up in the middle of the night and reach out for the other, and we’d cling together in a sort of frenzy before passing out again, but it wasn’t a common occurrence.

Even so, it was a good life. The weariness I felt every day when I lay down to sleep…it was a good kind of tired, the kind you got when you’d spent your day doing something that felt useful, worthwhile. I could tell that Jace viewed our existence the same way, that he didn’t have any regrets about the life we were living. In a post-industrial world, this seemed to be the new normal.

Behind all that, though, I still had this nagging sensation at the back of my mind, as if I was missing something vitally important, that if I could only put the pieces together in the right order, I’d figure out what had been bothering me all this time. It was sort of like looking at one of those “magic eye” pictures and attempting to puzzle out what exactly the hidden image was. I was never very good at that, either. No matter how hard I tried, I could only see a blur of color that didn’t mean anything.

In the meantime, Thanksgiving came, and we feasted on pheasant, which I found I enjoyed far more than turkey. Maybe that was simply because, although my mother knew her way around a turkey, my Aunt Susan really didn’t, and so on alternating Thanksgivings I’d had to eat dried-out bird smothered in cranberry sauce to give it a decent flavor.

No such worries with the pheasant Jace brought home, which was moist and delicious, especially paired with a sauce I made from currants he’d found during one of his hunting expeditions. And combined with wild rice and sautéed green beans from the greenhouse — well, it was probably the best Thanksgiving meal I’d ever consumed, even if I couldn’t help looking at all the empty seats around that huge dining room table and thinking it would have been wonderful to have friends and family there to share the meal with us.

But that world was long gone, and if I were destined to spend the rest of my life around only one person, I couldn’t think of anyone better than Jace to share it with. During that meal, he’d gone quiet a time or two, and I had a feeling he was thinking the same thing, that Thanksgiving was supposed to be about sharing, about being with loved ones, and now ours were all gone.

Those somber moments were fleeting, though, and I could tell he wasn’t about to let the memories of what once was ruin what we had now. He joked about Dutchie wanting to eat that pheasant whole before it even hit the back of the ATV, and praised my cooking, raising a glass to honor my efforts. It did feel good. Before all this, I would never have said I was particularly domestic, but I’d risen to the occasion with more success than I could have imagined.

Also, I’d surprised him by putting on the black dress I’d brought from Albuquerque, and my jeweled sandals, and those amazing tanzanite earrings that had so mysteriously shown up in my pocket after my first visit to the plaza in Santa Fe. Actual makeup, my hair styled as best I could, since I hadn’t brought any curling irons or hot rollers with me, thinking I’d never need them again. Jace had taken one look at me and asked, “You expect me to be patient all through dinner with you looking like that?”

I’d given him a sphinx-like smile and continued teetering my way back and forth from the kitchen, bringing food to the table. Funny how just a month or so in hiking boots had apparently killed all my ability to walk in heels.

And after dinner, Jace surprised me by taking me in his arms, actually lifting me away from the dining room table and carrying me to the bedroom, where he proceeded to show me exactly how much he appreciated me, mouth moving with teasing slowness across my skin, his fingers stroking me, finding exactly the right spot to wring moans of ecstasy from a place so deep that before I’d been with him, I hadn’t even known it existed. Then we were together once more, bodies locked, moving in a rhythm that had become second nature to us by now.

That was really how it felt…natural, as if my body had been made to fit with his, and the reason it had never worked with anyone else was simply that they hadn’t been the one. We fell asleep in one another’s arms, a perfect end to a perfect day.

A week after that, we had our first snowfall. At first, I didn’t even know what was happening, only caught an odd flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye while I was clearing up the breakfast dishes. The skies had been heavy and gray when we woke up that morning, and Jace said it smelled like snow. I’d laughed at him over that remark, although really, he would know more about it than I would, since he’d grown up in Taos. When I was in high school, Albuquerque had been hit by a freak snowstorm that basically shut the city down, but that was my only real experience with snow, save for a light flurry here and there that didn’t stick around long enough to cause any trouble.

This, though — it drifted downward, light and delicate, the flakes settling on the goats’ shed and the chicken coop and the evergreens in the backyard, giving everything a soft sugar frosting. I stood at the window, a dish still in my hands, and stared at the miracle of it, how beautiful it was.

I was so transfixed that I didn’t even realize Jace had come up behind me, not until his arms wrapped around my waist and his breath came warm against my neck as he said, “Looks like winter is really here now.”

“And we’re all safe and snug inside,” I responded, setting the dish in the drain before I could drop it. The sensation of having him there, pressed up against me, was enough to send all sorts of tingles up and down my spine.

“That we are. I’ll go out and check on the goats in a bit, just to make sure there aren’t any leaks in the shed or anything, but I think we’ll ride this out just fine.” He shifted, as if glancing up at the ceiling, then added, “But we may not have lights for much longer. With cloud cover this thick, the solar’s not going to do us much good.”

“Then we’ll spend our day by candlelight,” I replied. “I’ll turn off anything extraneous — maybe that way, there’ll be enough of a trickle to keep the refrigerator going.”

“Not a bad plan. You may want to go scrounge some extra candles from the basement.”

“I’ll do that as soon as I’m finished with these dishes.”

His lips brushed against my cheek as he gave me a soft kiss, an acknowledgment of my words. Then he let go of me, heading toward the laundry room and the mudroom beyond that, where he could get into his jacket and gloves and brave the snow to check on the livestock.

There really weren’t that many dishes to do, so I was done in the next few minutes. After that, I went from room to room, making sure we hadn’t left any lights on. In general, we were pretty careful about that sort of thing, but I did realize that I needed to put the computer in sleep mode so it wouldn’t draw any more power than was strictly necessary. If something happened to set off one of the periphery alarms, it would turn back on right away, but in the meantime it could hibernate.

After that I got a flashlight from the drawer in the kitchen where we kept them, and headed down into the basement. It had its own lights, of course, but if we really were in for a snowy day, I didn’t want to turn them on and waste more power. The flashlight would do well enough, even if it was a little creepy to be wandering around down there with only a narrow beam to show me what I was doing.

I’d come down here once before to fetch the candles, but that had been weeks ago, before Jace had even shown up at the compound. The basement actually was very organized, with rows of metal shelving and the items on them arranged according to use. Even so, I couldn’t exactly recall where I’d found the candles that last time. On the left, about five rows down?

Figuring it was worth a try, I shone the flashlight’s beam in that general direction, but saw only bins of what looked like bundles of wire and cable, possibly intended for repairs to the home’s electrical system, should the occasion warrant. Undeterred, I moved to the next row, only to have my foot bump into a cardboard box sitting on the ground next to one of the shelving units rather than placed directly on it. That was strange, simply because everything else I’d encountered in the basement so far had shown an almost fanatical adherence to order on the part of the person who had put it there.

I frowned and moved the flashlight’s beam over the box. It had clearly come from some kind of a manufacturer; there was even a shipping label still affixed to it. Crouching down, I read the name and address.

Cory Berman

28-A Skyline Trail

Santa Fe, NM 87501

Cory Berman. So was that the name of the developer from Phoenix who’d built the property, or the caretaker who’d kept watch over it? Maybe it didn’t really matter. They were both gone, after all.

What did matter, as I read the lettering stamped on the box itself, was what had been sent to him.

Yaesu FT-857D Amateur Radio Transceiver

Holy crap.

A ham radio?

A way to make contact with other survivors.

Heart pounding, I shone the flashlight around and saw another package, a much longer one, that seemed to contain the antenna to go with the radio. Damn.

I didn’t know the first thing about setting up a ham radio, or its antenna, but maybe Jace would. Or at least could puzzle out the instructions. We’d have to wait for the snowstorm to blow over before we could go up on the roof to mount the antenna, but in the meantime we could read up on how to use the radio itself.

This could change everything.

I was halfway to the cellar stairs before I remembered I’d come down here in the first place to pick up some spare candles. After going up and down a few more rows of shelving, I found them — pack after pack of shrink-wrapped pillars and votives and tapers, the sort of thing you’d buy in bulk for a wedding or some other large event. I grabbed a flat of pillar candles and headed back to the stairway, then hurried up to the main level of the house.

Jace was nowhere in evidence as I set the package of candles down on the breakfast table in the nook. When I peered out the window, though, I could see him hauling something from the garage to the shed. A sack of the pellets we used to supplement the goats’ diet, it looked like. That made sense — they probably weren’t going to head out to forage until the snow stopped.

About ten minutes later, I heard him come in, then waited as he stopped in the mudroom to get rid of his coat and scrape the snow from his boots. In the meantime, I’d gone around the house and lit a number of candles, as it was clear from the lowering skies outside that we probably wouldn’t see any sun today. Actually, it was so dark that it almost felt as if dusk was coming early, which of course was ridiculous. At this time of year, the days were short, but they weren’t that short.

“What’s up?” he asked, almost as soon as he entered the kitchen. I supposed he could tell I was fairly dancing with impatience.

“Guess what I found in the basement?”

One brow lifted slightly. “You know, that question generally doesn’t have a good answer.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” But I could tell by the twitch at the corner of his full lips that he wasn’t…not really.

“A ham radio,” I announced. Jace appeared nonplussed by that revelation, so I went on, “It’s still in its original packing…I think it was delivered here but never used. And there’s an antenna, too.”

“And?” he asked.

I felt a stir of impatience. “What do you mean, ‘and’? With that radio, we can try to reach out to any other survivors, find out where they are, how they’re doing.”

“Maybe they don’t want to be found. It seems as if they’ve done a pretty good job of hiding so far.”

“So have we,” I pointed out. “But it doesn’t mean we don’t want people to find us. Or…do we?”

Without replying, he went to one of the cupboards and got out a glass, then filled it with water. He drank some, his gaze not fixed on me, but on the increasingly snowy landscape outside the window. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “You wouldn’t think there’d be much of a struggle for resources, not with so few of us left, but after hearing what happened to you in Albuquerque, I’m not sure I’m willing to trust anyone right now. What if there’s a bigger, more organized group out there, one that decides what we have here is better than where they’re living? We have weapons, but there are only two of us. Would you be willing to risk that?”

When he put it that way…. Involuntarily, my mind flashed back to the man in the Walgreens, to the greed in his watery brown eyes, and I shivered.

“No,” I admitted, hoping Jace hadn’t noticed my shudder. “Of course I don’t want to do anything that would put us in harm’s way. But maybe if we set it up and just listened, didn’t transmit?” That seemed like a good compromise to me, but Jace’s grim expression didn’t change. After a perceptible pause, he said,

“Maybe. But we’ll have to wait for better weather. No way am I climbing up on the roof in a snowstorm, just so I can install an antenna.”

“Of course not.”

“And it may need hardware we don’t have, so then we’d have to go back into town.”

A prospect I didn’t particularly relish, and it seemed clear enough to me that Jace wasn’t looking forward to it, either.

“Well, we can figure out the logistics later,” I said. “It’s nothing that has to happen right now.”

He nodded, and I let the matter go, instead went on to ask him what sounded good for dinner that night. Something in the tense set of his shoulders appeared to relax. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was glad that I didn’t intend to press him on the issue.

Exactly why, I didn’t know. Was he really that worried about the consequences of contacting other survivors?

Or did he have some other reason why he wanted us to stay isolated here?

Chapter 16

Actually, despite his obvious reluctance to do so, Jace did get to work on the antenna situation a few days later, after the weather had cleared. We bumped along the icy, muddy roads to go back to the hardware store, since, as he’d guessed, we didn’t have all the little bits and pieces necessary for the installation.

Although a good deal of the snow had melted by then, there was still enough of it around to make driving treacherous, and I was more than happy to have Jace behind the wheel. He had experience driving in snow and ice, and I sure didn’t. And as I stared out at the streets while we drove along, it suddenly hit me, the thing that had been niggling at the back of my mind for so long.

“None of the cars are missing,” I said, and Jace took his eyes off the road for just long enough to shoot me a quizzical glance before returning his attention to the icy pavement.

“What?”

I glanced back out the window, wanting to confirm the notion that had finally taken coherent shape in my brain. “You know how I said that it seemed like there weren’t as many vehicles around as I remembered, that some seemed to have gone missing, but I couldn’t quite figure it out?”

A nod.

“Well, the cars are all here. And sure, there are still SUVs and trucks all over the place. But….” I let the words trail off as I focused on the patterns I now saw on the streets around us.

“But what?”

“I bet if we stopped and made a survey, we’d see that the SUVs and trucks left behind are the ones without much utility. Two-wheel drive, small engines…you know, passenger cars with SUV bodies. The ones that can pull their own weight, like this Jeep — I have a feeling we won’t find as many of those around.”

By then we were almost at the Home Depot, so Jace didn’t say anything until after he’d pulled into the parking lot and stopped. “You mean someone’s been coming here and systematically taking the trucks and the four-wheel-drive SUVs?”

“Well, I doubt I could prove it, but…yeah, something like that.”

He shook his head and pulled the key from the ignition, then slipped it into his pocket. “In a way it makes sense, I suppose. Whoever and wherever the other survivors are, they’re going to have to do a lot more for themselves. So having vehicles that can tow things and haul things and get around on unplowed roads would be vital.” His brows had been pulled together as he pondered the conundrum, but then he seemed to relax, and although the air was sharp and cold, a flicker of warmth went through me as he gave me an admiring glance. “That was some pretty good detective work, Jess. I don’t think I would have even noticed.”

“Well, it’s just a theory,” I said deprecatingly, trying to convince myself as much as him.

“Better than anything I could come up with.” Then he hesitated, looking past me down the street that fronted the store. Of course it was completely deserted, but I could tell he was worried. “Maybe you should stay here. You know — keep an eye on the car.”

I really didn’t want to do that, but if it turned out I was right about the way the abandoned vehicles were being cherry-picked, then it made sense for me to stand watch. At least this time I’d remembered to bring a sidearm. It was hanging in a holster against my hip, a reminder that we could never relax all the way when we came into town. Jace had one as well, the big S&W, which was better suited to his height anyway.

“No problem,” I said. All right, so I didn’t sound terribly enthusiastic, but neither had I argued with him.

He leaned down and kissed me on the cheek, his lips warm against my wind-chilled skin. “I’ll be less than five minutes. I just need some brackets and wire. It’ll be fast.”

I nodded, and he reached into his pocket and pulled out the car key.

“Just in case.”

In case of what? I wanted to ask. I didn’t, though, only took the key from him and slid it into my coat pocket.

After that, he turned away from me and headed into the store, walking quickly despite the patches of ice that lingered on the asphalt. I supposed I could have gotten back inside the Cherokee where it would be warmer, but I didn’t. Instead, I leaned against the driver-side door, my eyes scanning in all directions for…what? A batch of marauders out of a Mad Max movie, bearing down on me, intent on stealing my SUV?

No sign of anything like that — no movement at all, except a crow that came flapping down the street and then perched on one of the tall lights in the parking lot. It shook out its wings and settled down, fixing me with a baleful yellow gaze.

Crap on my car, and I’ll use you for target practice, I thought, but the bird didn’t move, only sat on the lamppost, surveying the parking lot. In happier days, it might have had some pickings there — the uneaten fries from some kid’s Happy Meal, a spilled Coke. Now, however, the lot was bare of anything except the abandoned vehicles that still remained there, waiting for owners who would never return, and some patches of unmelted snow.

But even though I didn’t see anyone else, and I knew I was perfectly safe, I couldn’t help the wave of relief that washed over me when I saw Jace coming back out of the store, carrying several bags’ worth of supplies.

“It looks like they — whoever they are — came back. More stuff is gone.” Jace handed me the bags, and I got the car key out of my pocket and gave it to him.

“Stuff you needed?” I asked anxiously.

“No, everything we came here to get is pretty esoteric. But now the batteries are totally cleared out, and the solar garden lights, and — well, just a lot of different things.”

The batteries would have worried me, except that we had flats of the things back in our basement, both regular and rechargeable. And solar garden lights? Our property was outfitted with those, too. It seemed whoever was looting the Home Depot, they were coming from a place of a lot more need than either Jace or I.

But we’d have to figure that out later. Or never. The weather seemed to be holding, and I had to hope it would stay that way for a few days, long enough so Jace could get the antenna installed. Maybe after that we could start to get some answers.

Right then, though, it was a lot more important that we get home. We had no evidence to show that anyone knew of our hideaway, but leaving it unattended always made me feel nervous. Dutchie would bark up a storm, but I doubted her doing so would be enough to scare off anyone who was determined to break in and take what they could.

Either no one had yet discovered the compound, or any survivors in the area had decided it was easier pickings in town, because once again we returned to find everything as we had left it. We gave Dutchie her usual greeting of some scratching behind the ears and a treat, and then Jace went to survey the area outside the office.

“We’re in luck,” he said, after prodding at the mud and driving a piece of rebar down into the ground. “It’s not frozen.”

“And that’s relevant because…?” I was standing a few feet from him, close enough to see what he was doing but not so close that I would be in the way.

“Because I have to install a ground rod in addition to running co-ax from the antenna to the unit in the office.” At my blank look, he sort of grinned and shook his head. “It’s a little more complicated than sticking a TV aerial on your roof.”

“Can you do it?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized that I probably should have asked that question before we went to all the trouble of getting supplies.

“I think so. I’ve read over the instructions a few times. Good thing I learned to solder in my shop class in high school.”

And here I’d thought all we’d have to do was install the antenna on the roof, run some wire, and voilà, we’d be chatting it up with survivors around the globe. I should have known nothing would be that easy.

But he got to it in earnest after that, producing a ladder from the garage and climbing up to the roof, then letting me hand the antenna up to him from a point midway on the same ladder. I had to loiter there for some time, waiting so I could catch the bundle of coaxial cable as he tossed it to me once one end had been attached to the antenna. After he was done on the roof, Jace came down and fastened the wire to the exterior wall of the house with a series of brackets.

“I can handle it from here,” he told me. “You’d better go inside — your lips are starting to turn blue.”

“They are not,” I protested, although truthfully, it was fairly cold outside, probably only a few degrees above freezing.

“I can see them. You can’t.” He grinned at me. “Really, I’ve got this. Isn’t it around time for you to be starting dinner anyway?”

“Chained to the stove, just like I thought,” I remarked, but I leavened the tartness of my words by giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Don’t stay out so long that your lips start to turn blue.”

“I won’t.”

I had to be satisfied with that, so I went in the house and started rummaging around in the kitchen. Outside, the daylight slanted its way toward dusk, and before it got full dark, I heard Jace come inside, although he seemed to go straight to the office rather than stopping in the kitchen to check on the ETA for dinner. Since I was making quickie rabbit stew that didn’t really need babysitting, as it was now in the “let it sit in the pot until you’re ready to eat it” stage, I headed back to the office, where I found Jace under the table we’d designated as the ham radio workstation.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” came his voice, somewhat muffled, since he was facing the wall. “Just need to make this last connection.”

Since I really didn’t have anything better to do, I leaned against the doorframe and waited as he wrenched on something. A few minutes and a couple of muffled curses later, he was pushing himself out from beneath the table and getting to his feet.

“I think that should be it.”

“So let’s fire it up and see if we can find anything.”

He set down the screwdriver he was holding and crossed his arms. “We don’t have to rush into this, you know.”

“After you just spent all afternoon working on it?” I said, both perplexed and irritated by his reluctance to use the radio. “If you didn’t think it was a good idea, then why waste so much time and effort on it?”

“I’m not saying that,” he replied, digging in his pocket for another of those interminable leather cords so he could pull his hair out of his face. I wondered why he hadn’t done that earlier, but maybe having his hair down on his neck had helped to keep him warm while he was up working on the roof.

“Then what are you saying?” I crossed my arms and tried hard not to scowl. “I guess I just can’t figure out why you’re so reluctant to even attempt to find other survivors, especially since we wouldn’t be talking to them, just scanning to see if there is even anyone else out there.”

A long pause. I could tell from the way his mouth tightened and he didn’t quite look at me that he wasn’t particularly eager to explain himself. Maybe not, but I wasn’t about to let this go.

Finally, he jammed his hands into his jeans pockets and said, “All right, what if we listen in and find some survivors, then decide they sound all right and that we should reach out to them? What if they turn out to not be all right?”

“‘Not all right’ as in…what?” I asked, wondering what he was driving at. I tried to think of the worst-case scenario and added, “Like, cannibals or something?”

A grim smile touched his lips. “No, I don’t think cannibalism is going to be an issue, not with all the wild game to be had around here. More like….” The words died away, and he hesitated again. “More like, what if they turn out to be a bunch of good old boys who aren’t exactly thrilled to find an Indian shacked up with a white girl?”

I stared at him. “That’s….” I’d been about to say, That’s ridiculous, but then I realized maybe it wasn’t. It should have been, but…I’d seen enough ugly incidents involving my friend Elena to know prejudice wasn’t exactly a thing of the past, even for someone who was beautiful and talented and came from a family with money. The worst incident had been at a frat party in college, when some drunk asshole told her, “Hey, chiquita, you’re pretty hot. Why don’t you come over here and suck my chalupa?” Luckily, Tori was standing right there and responded by dumping her cup of cheap keg beer over the guy’s head, but I’d never forgotten that scene. I knew Elena hadn’t, either, even though she’d blown it off at the time, telling us the guy was too wasted to know what he was saying. That wasn’t true, though…he’d known exactly what he was saying. And so had she, despite trying to act as if it was no big deal.

So as much as I wanted to brush off Jace’s concerns as being completely unfounded, I knew they weren’t. Just because the calendar said it was the twenty-first century, it didn’t mean that everyone had gotten the memo.

And while intellectually I could understand where he was coming from, I knew I’d never be able to feel that doubt, those misgivings, the way he did, because I’d come from a completely different world. I was a white girl. Sure, I had a Ute great-great-grandmother — if the family legend was even true — but that didn’t mean I could relate to his experiences as someone who’d grown up on the pueblo, who’d come at life in twenty-first-century America from a completely different angle than I had.

“So you see what I mean,” he said quietly.

“Yes.” His expression brightened a little at that, and I went on, “But…can’t we just try it to see if it works? No one will know we’re doing that if we don’t transmit anything, right?”

At least he didn’t try to equivocate. “No, no one will know that we’re listening in. If there’s even anything to listen to. But we’ll give it a shot.”

Jace went to the ham radio receiver and switched it on. When he’d set it up, he’d told me that it was designed to be portable, that if we could locate a different antenna setup, we could even take it along with us in the Jeep if we wanted. Why we’d want to do that, I didn’t particularly know, but it could possibly come in handy one day.

“Well, here goes,” he said, pressing the power button.

A soft hiss began to emerge from the small speakers set up to either side of the receiver. Jace began scanning along the bands, going slowly enough that he could stop if he came across something interesting. All I heard was that hiss, sometimes louder, sometimes softer, but even I knew it was all merely dead air.

And then…what sounded like a faint, tinny voice, a single syllable. “Lo — ”

It cut off with a screech and was replaced by more static. “Damn it,” Jace said, scanning back to the band where the sound had come from. But there was no voice this time, only an angry, crackling hiss.

“What happened to it?” I asked, coming closer, as if somehow I thought my presence would help the tuner lock back on to the signal.

“I don’t know.” He sounded irritated, and I didn’t blame him. All that work, for something that might or might not have been an actual person?

“Keep scanning,” I suggested, and he expelled a breath and continued his slow sweep across the bands. Just more hissing, more static.

My stomach clenched, and I told myself to calm down. Just because we weren’t picking up anything now didn’t mean there was no one out there. The other survivors might not have the skill to operate ham radio equipment, or hadn’t managed to set theirs up yet. It wasn’t as if Jace and I were alone on the planet — the missing supplies and those mysteriously vanished trucks and SUVs told me other people were out there somewhere, and, from the look of it, they seemed to be fairly well-organized. Sooner or later, we’d have to cross paths. Although now, after what Jace had confided in me about his misgivings on that score, I wasn’t sure meeting up with other people would be as beneficial as I’d previously hoped.

“I’m not getting anything,” Jace said at last, then shut off the receiver before turning back toward me. “Maybe I screwed up something in the installation, but it’s dark out now, so I won’t be able to check until tomorrow morning.”

“It’s fine,” I told him, even though I didn’t know if it really was. “I think you did have it working. I just think…no one’s transmitting.”

“Still, I’ll investigate more tomorrow.” He glanced away from me, sniffed the air. “Smells like dinner’s ready.”

“Almost,” I said, knowing that he’d changed the topic on purpose. Still, what did it matter? We weren’t getting anything out of that ham radio tonight.

So we went to the kitchen, which was warm and smelled of good and savory things — proven by Dutchie, who was loitering much closer to the stove than she should be. I shooed her away, and then dished up our food while Jace got her some kibble. Just another normal night…or as normal as things could ever be now.

That syllable was still rattling around in my head, though. Lo…. “Lo” what? The transmission had cut off so quickly that I didn’t even know whether it truly had been part of an actual broadcast of some sort, or merely a weird distortion that sounded like part of a word but was in fact only a nonsense note generated by a rogue sound wave or something.

I didn’t speak of my concerns to Jace, though. The subject of the ham radio was a sore one already, and he had tried. I’d let it go for now, and maybe someday I’d learn if there truly had been someone broadcasting out there…or whether I was only imagining things.

We checked the radio every day after that, but got nothing but static and hiss. It was frustrating — for me, anyway — but as there didn’t seem to be much we could do about the communications blackout, we put it aside so we could focus on more important things, like surviving the winter.

Well, it wasn’t that bad, but I still could tell I hadn’t become acclimated to the cold. Santa Fe probably averaged around ten to fifteen degrees colder than Albuquerque most of the time, but when that difference is between fifty-five degrees and forty, believe me, you can feel it. We had the wood stove in the sitting room going all the time, and the fireplaces in the living room and family room as well, but you could still sense the drop in temperature when you went out of the range of any of them. Jace got in the habit of going to our bedroom immediately after dinner and starting a fire so it would be comfortable enough to get undressed by the time we went in there.

Of course it could have been much worse, and the conditions were certainly endurable, but all the same, I found myself missing the central forced heat at my parents’ house or even the wall unit in my studio apartment over the garage. That thing had heated up fast.

But those appliances were long gone, along with a million other comforts and conveniences I hadn’t even appreciated until I didn’t have them anymore, and so I told myself not to worry about them, that I was damn lucky to be where I was now.

Especially since I could be here with Jace.

We talked about the coming spring, about what we might be able to plant outside the greenhouse to supplement the crops we grew there. Because of the goats, we’d have to build a separate enclosure for another garden, since otherwise it would get eaten before we had a chance to harvest anything, but Jace thought he could manage it, especially if the stores of lumber down at the Home Depot didn’t get pilfered by whatever survivors were still lurking around the area.

And occasionally, after I was done hurriedly washing my face and brushing my teeth, because the heat from the fireplace in the main part of the bedroom didn’t quite reach into the bathroom, I’d pull out my packet of pills and hesitate before taking one. We hadn’t discussed that kind of future, but it seemed clear to me that Jace didn’t intend to go anywhere, that he was planning on a future with me in it. Was it crazy to consider starting a family? After all, someone needed to begin repopulating the earth.

But after that wild moment of hesitation, I always popped the pill in my mouth and swallowed it resolutely. Having a baby was a crazy idea. With no doctors, no medical facilities…no epidurals?

No, thanks.

The funny thing was, I’d never been all that invested in the idea of having a family. Elena was the one who wanted to get married and have lots of kids (and a nanny, of course) and do all that domestic stuff, and Tori wanted to be a social worker and focus on other people’s kids, not her own. As for me, well, most of the time my main concern had been finding someone to have a few dates with and then break up with before things got serious. I’d tried serious once, and all that had gotten me was taking multiple exams for a bewildering variety of social diseases, thanks to my cheating ex.

With Jace, though…it was different. So different that some days I could barely wrap my head around it. I thought it would probably be wonderful to have a child with him, because I had a feeling he’d be a great father. He certainly possessed the patience and the quiet good humor. I knew I could count on him to be steady under pressure…a lot steadier than I, when you got right down to it.

Also, he was so gorgeous that it seemed a real shame to let all that amazing DNA go to waste.

More important than all that, however, was that I loved him. I wanted to bring something into the world that came from our shared love, that showed our commitment to one another.

I knew better than to bring up the subject, though. One day, the time would be right to discuss a future beyond the next planting season, but I didn’t think we were there. Not quite yet, anyway.

The cold days slid past. It snowed here and there, but never enough to completely bury us, just enough to make the world pretty to look at and a pain to get around in. Christmas would be here in less than a week, and I had no idea what to do about that. I wanted to give Jace something, but I couldn’t exactly nip out to the mall and buy him a sweater. Yes, we could go into town together and split up while we picked out presents for one another, but that didn’t sound very safe.

When I mentioned Christmas to him, that I wished I could get him something, he’d pulled me against him and given me a strong, lingering kiss, the kind that made me want to drag him back to the bedroom and tear all his clothes off, although we’d have to pause long enough to get a fire started before I could safely do that. And he’d said,

“You’re the only present I need.”

How was I supposed to respond to that statement? By kissing him back, of course, and telling myself that presents didn’t matter, that being here together was what mattered.

The next day he went out with the ATV, saying he was going hunting, and since he went on these expeditions a few times a week, I didn’t think all that much of it.

But then he returned carrying a beautiful pine tree, a little bit taller than he was, and I realized he had given me my present, the one thing I’d really wanted all along.

“How did you know I wanted a Christmas tree?” I asked, watching as he settled it in a corner of the living room. It had a stand made of two pieces of wood attached to the bottom of the trunk, so he must have stopped at the garage first to hammer those on before coming to the house.

“I guessed. I saw the look in your eyes when you were talking about Christmas, and….” His shoulders lifted, and he reached out to make a minute adjustment so the tree sat more squarely in the corner. “I thought you should have some sort of holiday, even if it can’t be like what you were used to.”

“It’s perfect,” I said sincerely. And it was, especially because I knew Jace wasn’t Christian, and might not have even had a tree while he was growing up. But he’d still realized how important following these traditions was to me.

“Glad you like it.” He stepped back a few feet from the tree, looking at it with narrowed eyes, as if making sure it stood as straight as it possibly could. “I didn’t have anything to use as a bowl, so I’m not sure how we’ll keep it fresh.”

“I’ll get some paper towels and dampen them, then wrap them around the bottom of the trunk. It should work okay.” I gazed at the tree, wondering what to do to decorate it. Go to town and raid the nearest Michael’s? No, that wouldn’t work, even if I could convince Jace to take me on such a frivolous expedition. The Heat had struck in late September, and even a store as gung-ho for Christmas as Michael’s wouldn’t have had any decorations out then. Should we raid random houses along Upper Canyon Road and see if they had any boxes of Christmas decorations hidden in their garages?

That sounded even worse.

Then I remembered the jars of popping corn in the pantry. Perfect. Old-fashioned, but it suited the way we were living now. “We can make popcorn strings, and I’ll use one of the spare Mexican blankets in the linen closet to wrap around the base. It’ll look great.”

Jace nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll try not to eat all the popcorn before you get it on the string.”

“Better not,” I warned him, and went to kiss him on the cheek before heading off to the kitchen. I had no idea how much popcorn to make to cover a seven-foot tree, but I got the feeling I was about to find out.

A good deal, as it turned out, and although Jace didn’t eat all of it, or even anything close, I did catch him popping quite a few kernels into his mouth as he worked at making his own strings to decorate the tree. It was so lovely being there with him in the living room, a fire blazing away in the hearth, candles burning on the tables and on the mantelpiece of twisted juniper, that I couldn’t even get angry about the way a good portion of the popcorn in his bowl was going into his mouth rather than onto the thread he held. Then again, maybe that had something to do with the half bottle of wine we’d brought out here with us after we were done eating dinner.

Either way, I was feeling more than a little mellow as we hung the popcorn strings on the tree, then topped it with a five-pointed star that Jace had fashioned out of aluminum foil and tied on with some extra thread.

“I want to make a wish,” I said.

“Is that a tradition?” he asked. “To make a wish when you put the star on the tree?”

“I don’t know if it was for everyone. But we always did it in my family.” A flicker of sadness went over me then as I thought of all those family Christmases when I was younger, the wrapping paper strewn everywhere, hot cocoa for Devin and me and coffee for my parents. Regret, too, that they’d never get to meet Jace. I had a feeling they would have liked him.

“All right,” he said. “What’s your wish?”

So many I could have made — that the world would somehow heal itself, that the Dying had never happened. Those things were out of my hands, though, so I wished for the one thing I truly wanted that was reasonable. “I wish that it will always be like this — the two of us here, together.”

A glow touched his dark eyes, a glow that had nothing to do with the flicker of the fireplace or the gleam of the candles all around us. “I think I can make that wish come true.”

He moved close, pulling me into his arms, and then he was kissing me, mouth warm, lips insistent against mine. Just like the first time we’d kissed, I could taste the wine on his tongue, and heat flamed through me, awakening a deep throbbing in my core. I knew this was one night when we wouldn’t fall asleep exhausted without touching one another.

No, we were hurrying down the hallway to the bedroom, laughing at the chilly air, Jace fumbling with the logs so he could get the fire going.

“You should have come in here right after dinner like you were supposed to,” I teased him.

“I would have, except someone insisted I come with her to make popcorn strings.”

“Oh, right. Well, I hope that won’t take you too long.” I pulled the sweater I wore over my head, followed by the long-sleeved T-shirt I had on underneath. It was cold enough that I broke out in goose bumps, but I wouldn’t let that stop me. While Jace was busy with the lighter, his back to me, I took off my boots, then stepped out of my jeans. All that remained were my socks and my bra and panties, and I made short work of those.

When he turned around, his mouth dropped slightly. “Damn, Jessica.” He took in a breath, then added, his voice husky, “You are so beautiful.”

Heat went over me, despite how cold it was in the room. “Th-thanks,” I said, my teeth chattering slightly. “Now come over here so I can tell you the same thing.”

He was across the room in a flash, my fingers working the buttons of his flannel shirt while he undid his belt buckle and then the buttons of his Levi’s. Oh, how I loved the smooth, heavy muscles of his chest, his flat stomach. If anything, he’d gotten bigger and harder during his months here, probably from all the manual labor.

Speaking of bigger and harder….

I sank to my knees, stroking him, and then brought him into my mouth, tasting salt and a faint, faint musk. He moaned and tipped his head back, his fingers tightening on my shoulders. “Man, Jessica,” he breathed. “I’ll have to remember to bring you Christmas trees more often.”

Chuckling, I continued to move my hand up and down his shaft, my tongue swiping over him. After that, he didn’t seem capable of speech, only continued to hold on to me, until he pulled himself from my mouth and raised me to my feet, then pushed me down on the bed, his hands warm on my ass.

We didn’t have sex in this position very often, but I loved it when we did. He pushed into me, hands shifting slightly so they were wrapped around my hips as he rocked against me, in me, and I gasped, my own palms flat on the bed as I took him in, took all of him, pushing deeper, stronger, until I felt the throbbing warmth growing within me and knew I was close…so close.

As was Jace, because I felt him clench, then cry out, and as he released, I did so as well, my body clamping down on him, pulsing, squeezing. I gasped. “Oh, God, Jace….”

That was about all I could manage before I collapsed on the bed. He slid down next to me, his chest heaving, and then pulled me against him. How perfect the warmth of his skin, the way our bodies fit together. We held each other in silence like that for a few moments, and then he said,

“Happy?”

I didn’t even have to stop to think. “I’ve never been this happy.”

He kissed me then, not fiercely as he had before, but with a touch of his lips to my skin as soft as a snowflake settling there. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. To make you happy.”

Because I could already feel myself slipping into sleep, I didn’t really stop to puzzle that out, how he could’ve always wanted such a thing when we’d only known each other for less than two months. Instead, I cradled my head against his chest, and let myself drift into darkness.

Chapter 17

Voices in the darkness woke me. I blinked and sat up, holding myself still for a second or two, since the room wanted to spin around me. For some reason, I felt positively thick-headed, like the one time in college I’d tried an over-the-counter sleep aid because I was stressed from exams and the breakup with Colin, and I was having a hard time falling asleep. That didn’t make sense, though, since I hadn’t had anything more than a glass of wine with dinner, and another one while we were in the living room, making popcorn strings.

Instinctively, I reached to my right, where Jace should have been sleeping. But the bed was empty, although I knew we couldn’t have been asleep for too long, as the fire was still burning brightly. Dutchie was passed out in front of it, nose and tail almost touching, her heavy breaths not quite a snore.

Once again I heard that strange murmur, and I sat very still, ears straining to make out individual words. But the voices were far enough off that I couldn’t catch anything, although one of them sounded like it could be Jace. Had he gotten up and tested the radio, and this time actually made contact with someone? I would have thought he’d come and wake me up for something that momentous, but maybe he’d thought it best to let me sleep.

I blinked, fighting off the last of that strange drowsiness, pushed back the covers, retrieved my panties from where they were lying on the floor, and then went to the closet to get my flannel sleep shirt and thick robe. Yes, lying naked next to each other was very romantic, but by the time 4 a.m. rolled around, it was also damn cold. Luckily, Jace didn’t seem to mind the sleep shirt, which was covered in penguins. One time he even told me he thought it was cute. He could have been lying, but I think it was more that he wanted me to know he thought I was sexy no matter what I might be wearing to bed.

As I tied the robe around me, I went to the doorway, then paused. The voices should have been coming from my right, down the hall in the direction of the office. But they weren’t — instead, they seemed to originate in the living room.

That didn’t make any sense. Even if the unthinkable had happened and another survivor had shown up on our doorstep, I should have heard something, no matter how deeply asleep I was. If nothing else, Dutchie would have barked her head off. But she was passed out on the floor of the bedroom, so conked she looked like someone had drugged her.

Frowning, I slipped out into the corridor, the tile floor icy against my bare feet. It wasn’t quite pitch dark, since, in our rush to get to the bedroom, Jace and I had left the pillar candles burning on the coffee table and on the mantel. Because of that, as I approached I could make out clearly enough who was in the living room.

Only…my brain couldn’t quite grasp what it was seeing. Two men. At least, they looked like men, but…they couldn’t be. Not hovering in midair, approximately a foot and a half above the floor, as if they had no need of solid ground.

One of them was Jace. Or rather, he resembled Jace, except somehow older and harder, his jaw and eyes stern. His hair seemed longer than its current inch or so below shoulder length, almost as long as mine, and floated around him, appearing to wave in an unseen wind, a wind that stirred the branches of the Christmas tree and made all the flames in the pillar candles on the mantel and coffee table dance and sway. Just as when he’d fallen asleep, his chest and arms were bare, but now thick cuffs of silvery-blue metal surrounded his wrists, and he wore full-legged pants made of a shimmering dark blue fabric, possibly silk.

The other man…or whatever he was…stood in profile to me, so I couldn’t get all that good a look at him. And actually, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. There was something cruel in his hawkish profile, in the set of his jaw and mouth. His hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail and banded with reddish metal — copper, maybe, or even rose gold. More reddish metal gleamed at his wrists, and his pants, similar in construction to the ones Jace wore, were a dark burnt-umber sort of shade.

Stranger than his presence, and even stranger than the way he floated above the floor, however, was the way odd little flames seemed to dance around his feet and swirl in the air directly above his head, as if he were somehow made of fire, and had only taken on physical form so he could have this conversation.

I flattened myself against the wall, glad of my bare feet, which had made no sound as I approached, and the relative darkness of the hallway where I hid. Jace…that oddly altered Jace…and the stranger would have had to look directly at me to see me at all, and it seemed clear enough that they were occupied with one another, not sparing a glance for the supposedly sleeping house around them.

“…wasted enough time here already,” the stranger was saying. His voice was deeper than Jace’s, harsh, and something about it made chills go up and down my spine. “It is time to come join the rest of us.”

“Surely a few days more won’t matter,” Jace replied. “After Christmas has passed — ”

The stranger made a sound of disgust. “Christmas? What foolishness is this? That day means nothing to us, and you have coddled the woman long enough. Tell her the truth, or as much of it as you deem necessary, but we will not wait much longer.”

“What is the rush?” Jace crossed his arms and stared directly into the other man’s eyes, something I didn’t think I’d have had the courage to do. “What does it matter if we wait out the winter here, and then come to you in the spring?”

For the briefest second, the stranger hesitated, his hands tightening into fists at his sides, even as the flames dancing around his feet and above his head flared brighter, shifting from warm orange to an acid yellow. From annoyance…or something else? “Because it may not be safe to do so. We are disturbed by some of the developments among the Immune. They’ve gathered in a place not far from here, and although we do not know how they are managing it, they are blocking us from scrying them, or indeed from coming within miles of their compound so we might finish them off.”

“The Immune”? I thought. Other survivors? And what the hell does he mean by “finish them off”?

“That is troubling,” Jace said, and it seemed the unseen wind that swirled around him gained in force, wildly blowing at his hair and causing the flames of several of the candles to almost snuff themselves. “No one has been able to get close?”

“No. There is one road in and one road out, both heavily guarded. Several of the Chosen volunteered to investigate, since they would be able to get far closer to the Immune than we would, but we have had no contact with any of them since, and it is feared they have been lost.”

It was hard for me to tell for certain, but it almost seemed as if Jace winced when he received that particular piece of information, as if it was more painful to him than the rest of what he had just heard. “That is a grievous loss.”

The stranger shrugged. Clearly, he was not overly concerned about the loss of these “Chosen,” whoever they might be. “They volunteered for the mission. Their partners will find replacements, if they wish.”

From the set of his shoulders, it appeared that Jace wasn’t quite so blithe about the fate of the Chosen who had disappeared. “How long has it been? Perhaps you are not giving them enough time.”

“Two weeks, as such things are counted here. Time enough.” The stranger straightened, his eyes on a level with Jace’s. “I am telling you this because your safety here is not guaranteed. Better for you to be with the rest of us.” Then he paused, and my heart seemed to stop in my chest as he glanced over in my direction. “Your paramour is awake. It seems she was not quite as deeply asleep as you thought. You will have some explaining to do, I think.”

That appeared to be his parting shot, because after he made that remark, the flames which had been licking at his feet seemed to grow and swell, rising until they engulfed him. Then they went out, and Jace was alone in the living room.

His eyes met mine, and I saw him draw in a breath, then lower himself to the floor. As he did so, his appearance shifted back to the Jace I knew…or thought I knew. At the same time, the lamp in the corner of the room flared to life, although neither of us had touched a light switch.

“Jessica,” he said, his arms reaching out to me as he began to move in my direction.

“Don’t,” I retorted, still hugging the wall. “Stay back.”

He stopped at once, but I could see the pleading in his dark eyes. “Jessica, I can explain — ”

“Oh, you’d better explain.” The cool plaster of the wall against my back gave me a little courage. At least this way, he’d have to face me, couldn’t sneak up on me from behind. “Who — what are you?”

His shoulders seemed to droop then. He looked so pitiful that, under normal circumstances, I would have gone to him at once and put my arms around him, attempted to comfort him. But there would be no comfort here. Not after what I had just seen.

“Please, come and sit down,” he said. “We must have this conversation, but we don’t need to have it like this.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Jessica.” This time he sounded different, his voice deeper, the way it had been when he was speaking with that — whoever he was. At the same time, he backed off, going to sit down on the couch. “Look. Here I am. You can sit in that chair. I promise I won’t move unless you say it’s all right.”

For a second or two, I didn’t do anything, only watched him through narrowed eyes. He was sitting there quietly, his hands planted on his knees. He certainly didn’t look as if he intended to launch at me, but how could I trust him when it was clear he was definitely not who he had pretended to be?

Then again, I did want answers, and if he might be more inclined to give them if I sat down as he’d asked, then that seemed to be what I should do. Not taking my eyes off him, I crossed over to the chair and sank into it. Actually, that did feel a bit better, although the spurious sensation of relief could have had something to do with the rug under my bare, icy feet and the warmth of the fire as it reached out to heat the room.

I pulled in a breath. “So…this you I’m looking at right now. Is it the real you, or the other one?”

In answer, his features seemed to shift and harden, becoming those of the man I’d seen floating above the floor a few minutes earlier. Still handsome…in a way, more handsome, because those features had somehow become more chiseled, more refined, even though he was recognizable as the Jace I’d thought I had known. “This is my true aspect,” he said.

Right then, I wasn’t sure which was upsetting me more — knowing that Jace wasn’t real, was some sort of disguise worn by this…being — or the casual way he flipped from one appearance to the other. I tightened my fingers on my knees, feeling the soft nap of the robe I wore and realizing that now it was giving me absolutely no comfort. “And your true name?”

“Jasreel.”

So he was still Jace, in a way…although I doubted I’d ever feel comfortable enough to call him that again. The thought made incongruous tears sting my eyes, and I swallowed. Could I mourn the loss of something I’d never truly had?

Maybe, at some point. Right then, I had to man up and get some answers.

“So what are you?” I asked, my voice deliberately hard. “Some kind of demon…angel…what?”

“Neither.” He reached up to touch the smooth stone he wore around his neck, and I wondered then if it was some sort of talisman, rather than the simple souvenir I’d thought it must be. “I am a djinn.”

I blinked at him. “What, you mean like I Dream of Jeannie, and the big blue guy in the lamp from Aladdin?”

His mouth tightened. “Not like that at all, even though your people have simplified the idea of the djinn to something as foolish as a being who can grant wishes.”

“So you don’t grant wishes?”

“When called by a powerful enough magician, perhaps. But we do not enjoy the process and will do whatever we can do free ourselves from such bonds.”

Okay. First djinn…and now magicians? My head was spinning. “All right, so you’re a djinn. I can’t really deny that, not when I saw you floating two feet above the floor and watched your friend vanish in a puff of smoke.”

Jace’s…Jasreel’s…brows drew together. “He is not my friend, not in any way you would understand.”

I decided to let it go for now. That other djinn had seemed like a nasty customer anyway. There was a far more important question I wanted to ask. “All right, then…why?”

A long, long silence. He stared at me, dark eyes sorrowful. “You should know…beloved.”

Every single vein in my body seemed to be filled with ice. I tried to draw in a breath, but it got caught somewhere in my throat, choking me. I stared at him, then finally forced the words out. “That was you? The voice was you?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “I had chosen you, and so I would do whatever was necessary to keep you safe.”

In my mind’s eye, I saw Chris Bowman’s limp body being thrown across the yard as if it had been made of rags, saw a bullet stop an inch away from my face, then bounce harmlessly off some invisible shield. Yes, this Jasreel had been there all along, watching over me, then leading me here. But for what purpose? I found it hard to believe that some sort of supernatural, supremely powerful being would go to all that trouble just for a little booty.

“That word,” I said. “Chosen. I heard your visitor mention it, too. What does it mean, really?”

Jasreel stared at me with those sad, sad eyes. How could I be terrified of him, and angry with him…and yet still want to reach out to comfort him? No, that was crazy. Bad enough that only a few hours earlier we’d —

My brain shut down that line of thought with an almost audible click. I could not let myself think about that, or I really would go mad.

“It will be difficult to hear,” he said quietly.

“And it’ll be even more difficult for me not to know the truth,” I replied. “So tell me.”

His fingers clenched on his knees. For the first time, I noticed that although his face and body had shifted to those of what he called his true self, he wasn’t wearing those silk pantaloon things, but a pair of flannel pajama bottoms he routinely wore to bed when he was pretending to be “Jace.” The contrast was jarring.

Then he said, “This world was ours once, uncounted ages ago. When God made man, He — ”

“Wait, what?” I broke in. “God? Like, the God?”

“Yes, the God.” This was accompanied by a flicker of a smile, but Jasreel’s expression sobered quickly enough afterward. “When God made man, the djinn were cast out, and this world given over to mankind. We are not flesh precisely as you understand it, although we can make ourselves corporeal as it suits us. We spent long ages in exile, only coming to this world when summoned, or during brief stolen moments. During that time, the world changed a good deal, and mankind along with it. We watched from our exile, saw how you were destroying this gift you were given. And so, among certain quarters, the decision was made to take back that which had been stolen from us.”

That did not sound good at all. I pulled my robe more tightly around me, although I didn’t think that was going to do much to combat the chill which seemed to be creeping through every limb.

“Many years were given over to the task, but at last the means of mankind’s destruction was perfected — an illness so grave that it would take almost the entire population of the earth with it.”

“You — you did that?” I demanded, sour bile churning in my stomach at the thought that this — thing — had been behind the death and destruction of everyone and everything I had cared about. I got to my feet, not even thinking, just knowing I had to get away from him, had to run —

But he’d risen as well, his hand clamping on my arm like iron, preventing me from fleeing. “No, I did not do that. There were those of us who protested, who said we could not support such a vile act. We were outnumbered, though, overruled.”

His fingers felt as if they were burning into my flesh. “Let go of me,” I gritted from between clenched teeth.

To my surprise, he did release me, raising his hands as if in surrender. “Jessica, I am sorry. The only compromise we were allowed was that those of us who did not support such extreme measures would be able to choose from among the Immune, to find someone who would be under our protection, who would not be subject to the final purge.”

“‘Final purge’?” I echoed, my stomach clenching once again. Just when I’d thought it couldn’t get any worse. “What are you talking about?”

He pulled in a breath, although I noticed he kept his gaze fixed on my face and didn’t try to look away. “Those who created the virus knew that no illness would have a perfect mortality rate. There are now perhaps two million people left alive, scattered across the face of the planet. And so the next task is to eradicate the Immune, leaving behind only the Chosen.”

It was so awful that I truly couldn’t begin to comprehend the scope of what he was telling me. Two million out of seven billion seemed like a paltry number, but obviously the djinn in charge wouldn’t be satisfied with even that many human beings left alive.

My legs gave way, and I slumped back down into my chair. “How many?” I asked. “How many Chosen?”

“A thousand.”

One thousand people, out of two million. All those who’d thought they had survived the worst, who even now were struggling to pick up the pieces of a world that had utterly fallen apart…they would have all that stolen from them.

“What will happen to the Immune?” I asked. I wasn’t sure where those words had come from. It wasn’t as if I’d consciously decided to ask that question.

Jasreel sat down as well, expression troubled. In a way, I was surprised I could read his face so easily, since he wasn’t even human. But he looked human enough at the moment, and he’d certainly done a good job of fooling me these past few months.

“They will be hunted down,” he said at last. “As one of the dissenters, I am not privy to exactly how and why, and truly, I don’t wish to know. I cannot stop it.”

“You’re really that powerless? How many dissenters are there?”

“As many as there are Chosen. One thousand. The djinn do not number anywhere near what mankind once did, but there are still some twenty thousand of my people, far too many for any of us dissenters to even contemplate confronting them.” He sent me an imploring look then, as if pleading for me to understand. “Jessica, we did everything we could to stop this thing from happening. It was beyond our power. All we could do was save that chosen one thousand of you.”

My protests died on my lips then. Yes, he had lied about who and what he was, but this Jasreel had been by my side for the better part of two months now, and I saw nothing in his face in that moment but regret and sorrow. Whatever horrors his people had perpetrated, he’d wanted nothing to do with them.

Which left only one question. “Then…why me? Why did you choose me? I’m no one.”

He was off the couch and on his knees in one fluid movement. So close, and yet I noticed he didn’t try to reach out and touch me. He wouldn’t, I realized then, unless I told him it was all right.

Whether or not that would happen…even I didn’t know for sure.

His voice was pitched low, but no less intense for all that. “Beloved, you are not no one. I recognized your beauty and your strength, and I knew you were the choice of my heart, even out of several million survivors.”

What was I supposed to say in response to such a declaration? I stared at him, at a face that was like Jace’s, but wasn’t, at the broad shoulders, the arms thick with muscle. He looked human, and yet I knew he was anything but a mortal man.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please don’t call me that. I don’t — I don’t know what to think.”

A stillness settled on his features in that moment, as if he’d finally realized that I wasn’t simply going to say, Oh, it’s all right, I still love you, too, all is forgiven. He glanced away from me, over at the fire, and then back. “I realize this is all difficult for you.”

“‘Difficult’?” I repeated. “I think we passed difficult about ten minutes ago.” I pulled in a breath, then pushed the chair back so I could stand up without bumping into him. “I just — I need some time to process this, okay?”

He didn’t get up, but remained there on his knees, still staring up at me with that blank expression on his face. A muscle twitched in his cheek as he said, “You can have as much time as you need.”

“Good.” I sidled away from the chair, moving toward the hallway. “And — don’t come to the bedroom. Go back to your old room. That is, if djinn even need to sleep.”

With that parting shot, I made my escape, all but running to get away from him. Even so, I couldn’t help taking a quick backward glance as I left the living room. He was still kneeling on the floor, but now his head was bowed, his elbows on the coffee table, as if he needed that support to keep himself from collapsing completely.

At that sight, my throat tightened, and the hallway around me blurred, tears welling to my eyes and spilling down my cheeks. I stumbled into the master suite and then fell on the bed — the bed where Jace had made love to me so many times — sobs tearing themselves out of my chest. I didn’t even know exactly what I was crying about. The loss of what I thought I’d had with Jace? The realization that the Dying had come about not because of some horrible accident of nature, but from directed, malevolent intention? Or knowing that the Dying wasn’t even over, and that the survivors, the Immune, would soon be attacked by the djinn, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it?

All of those, and so much more.

Dutchie jumped up on the bed and licked my face, and I gave a strangled laugh, then pulled her close, burying my face in her soft fur. No, ordinarily she wasn’t allowed on the bed, but in that moment, she knew I needed her.

I clung to her the way a shipwreck survivor might cling to a life preserver, and finally let sleep take me to a place where I could try to forget all the horrors I had just been told.

Chapter 18

I stalled as long as I could. I took a shower, dried my hair, even put on some lip gloss and mascara, things I hadn’t bothered with lately, not after I’d swiped some heavy-duty lip balm from REI on our one foraging run there. But all the preparation in the world could only take so much time, and eventually I had to emerge from the master suite, although I noticed that Dutchie had nudged the door open earlier and slipped away.

Or maybe Jasreel had let her out.

Despite my delaying tactics, I knew I wasn’t ready to face him. A cowardly part of me was praying that he’d packed up and left, had gone to “join the others,” as the strange, cruel-looking djinn had told him to do. Where that supernatural meet-up was supposed to take place, I didn’t know. I didn’t want to know.

The smell of coffee told me Jasreel was still here, though. I stopped at the entrance to the kitchen and saw him standing at the counter, staring out at the bleak landscape beyond the false lushness of the garden. The goats were already grazing, which meant he must have gone and milked them, taken care of their water, then let them out. Since the snow from the last storm had all melted by then, save for a few drifts directly under the eaves of the house, nothing was stopping them from cropping at the short, yellowed grass.

“You made coffee,” I said, my tone flat.

“I thought you could use some.”

I noticed he was wearing Jace’s clothes — flannel shirt, faded Levi’s, worn boots — and yet they couldn’t really be Jace’s clothes. This Jasreel was just enough bigger, more muscled, that dressing him would require a whole new wardrobe. No, these had to be counterfeits, copies, garments designed to look like what I was used to seeing him wear and therefore intended to put me at ease, when in fact they were doing the exact opposite. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and although his expression was serene enough this morning, his eyes looked shadowed. So could djinn suffer from sleepless nights, or was this his attempt at evoking some kind of pity in me?

Normally, I would have said thank you. This morning, though, I went to the cupboard in silence, got out a mug, and poured myself a cup. Getting some goat’s milk and a smidgen of sugar to leaven it used up some more time, a few minutes where I didn’t have to say anything. I could feel Jasreel’s eyes on me, watching every movement I made, and I didn’t like it at all.

At last I turned around and made myself face him, although it was one of the harder things I’d done. Now, in the morning light, I could see more of those differences, see how his brows were just slightly more arched, his jaw just a little more square. There were faint laugh lines around the dark, dark eyes, although they were the same, nearly black, and still circled by the kind of lashes most women would kill for.

“Why are you still here?” I asked abruptly, my fingers circled around the coffee mug I held, desperately trying to claim some of its warmth. My hands felt as icy as the world outside the kitchen.

The question seemed to surprise him. His eyebrows lifted, and he said, “You didn’t tell me to leave.”

All right, I hadn’t, in so many words. I’d said he could go back to his old bedroom, which in his mind seemed to have been an open-ended invitation to stay. Last night, I hadn’t exactly been thinking all that clearly.

His voice lowered. “Do you want me to leave?”

Did I? Rationally, I knew I should have ordered him out of the house the night before, but in that moment, all I’d been able to think about was him not following me to the bedroom.

“I — I don’t know,” I said at last, then added, as I saw hope flare in his eyes, “that is, I still have some questions I want to ask.”

Mouth thinning to a compressed line, he nodded. “You can ask me anything.”

Maybe, I thought, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to get an answer I like. I sipped some coffee, letting the heat of it course down my throat and begin to thaw that lump of ice at my core. Who knew I could feel so cold, when before Jace had made me so warm?

“Jason Little River,” I said, bringing up something I’d been pondering while in the shower. “Is he just someone you made up, or is he a real person?”

“He was a real person,” Jasreel said. From the use of “was” and the way Jasreel’s mouth tightened as he said it, I had to assume that the Mr. Little River was no longer with us. “Everything I told you about me was true…about him, that is. He grew up in Taos, went to the university in Albuquerque, split his time between the pueblo and building his own business in town. He was also physically similar to me, and that made it much easier to hold the illusion of his appearance for extended periods.” A pause while Jasreel drank some of his own coffee, which I noticed was pure black. “Jace” had always taken milk, like me. “Jason Little River died two days after the Heat came to Taos. After he was gone, I took his appearance, and his motorcycle, and began the journey here to Santa Fe.”

That part didn’t make any sense. I decided for sanity’s sake that I’d leave aside the part where Jasreel clearly knew where and when the real Jason was going to die. “His motorcycle? What the hell for? Couldn’t you have just…I don’t know…materialized on my doorstep?”

Jasreel didn’t smile. Still in that same quiet, intense voice, he said, “I could have, but that journey was important for me as well. I needed some time to become Jason, to grow accustomed to being him. Showing up weary and footsore here made me more…believable.”

Something about that comment just made me angry, like he’d known I would fall for his act but decided to hedge his bets, just in case. “All right, you suckered me. So why lie in the first place? Why not tell me the truth?”

He set down his mug. I could see the anguish in his eyes, but all he did was ask quietly, “And would you have believed me? If I had to come to you as myself, told you that my race had destroyed mankind but also that you would live because I wished it, what would you have done?”

What would I have done? In that moment, I honestly couldn’t say for certain. When I’d found this place, guided here by the voice, I was thinking more or less five minutes ahead, only wanting to survive another night. I was tired, heartsore, drained. Could I have found it within myself to believe what he told me? Maybe, if he’d given me a little demonstration of that “floating above the ground” trick.

Whether I would have allowed him into my heart and my bed was an entirely different matter.

“I don’t know!” I flung at him. “All I do know is that you came here, and you lied to me, made me think you were someone else…made me love you…and now I have to reconcile that with the truth, with the way you used me — ”

Horrible, choking sobs rose in my throat after that, and I had to stop, to drop my mug on the counter and turn away from him so I wouldn’t have to look into that face, the face that used to be Jace’s and wasn’t anymore, tears rising up to blind me all over again. A mercy, because then I couldn’t see him clearly.

But I could feel him, warm fingers lacing through mine and pulling me against him, his voice rough with sorrow as he said, “Beloved, it was never my intention to hurt you. I thought perhaps it might be easier — ”

“Don’t call me that!” I gasped, pushing at him, trying to free myself. He resisted for a scant second, and then released me, backing away and holding up his hands as if to show he had no intention of attempting to touch me again. Angrily, I wiped at my tears with the back of one hand.

“Very well…Jessica.” He pulled in a breath, and I noticed how his chest rose and fell, as if he were struggling to gain control of himself. Could djinn experience an accelerated heartbeat, or difficulty breathing? One wouldn’t think so, if they truly weren’t completely tied to this plane of existence, or a physical body. But Jasreel was giving a good enough imitation of it now. Then again, he’d already proved that he was pretty good at pretending he was something he was not.

Looking a little less wild-eyed, he went on, “Jessica, I came to you as Jason Little River because I thought it would be easier for you. I thought we could grow to be comfortable with one another first, and then, when the time was right, I would tell you who I was really was, the truth behind the Dying. It was never my intention to hurt you. How could it be, when I swore an oath as I chose you that your life would be more precious than all the riches in the world to me?”

He took a step in my direction, and I retreated several feet toward the kitchen entrance. That stopped him, and he raised his hands again, almost as if he were as much telling himself to halt as he was showing that he didn’t intend to pursue me or reach out for me. As I stood there, halfway toward the dining room, I realized that poor Dutchie, like most dogs who hate hearing their people fight, had retreated under the little round table in the nook and was staring at us with worried mismatched eyes.

For some reason, seeing her reaction to our quarrel made me calm down a bit. Dutchie loved me, but I remembered that she loved Jace — Jasreel — too. And if she loved Jasreel, surely that meant he couldn’t be evil, or anything close to it. I’d seen the way she’d reacted to Chris Bowman, so I knew she wasn’t one of those dogs who indiscriminately liked everyone. Whatever lies Jasreel might have told me in order to ease his way into my life, I knew then that he’d told them out of a misguided attempt to protect me, to avoid frightening me.

I was angry with him, and I was scared, almost as scared as the night my father died, but in that moment, I knew I didn’t hate him. Some part of my soul wouldn’t allow me to hate him.

He’d brought me a Christmas tree. That could have been another manipulation, but I didn’t think so. He’d done that because he knew I wanted it, wanted some part of my life to feel normal, even when hardly anything in it was normal anymore.

Maybe something in my expression shifted. I couldn’t say for sure, but it must have been enough to give Jasreel some hope, because he said, “Do you still wish for me to go?”

I didn’t…but I also didn’t know how I could begin to process all this with him around all the time. “I don’t know,” I replied. “A minute ago, I would have said yes. But — ”

“But?”

It was time to take a deep breath of my own. “I suppose I want some more answers. What was that — the other djinn saying about the Immune?”

If he was disconcerted by my change of subject, Jasreel didn’t show it. He could have simply been relieved that I was willing to go on talking, even if the topic of conversation had moved away from the two of us and where our relationship currently stood, and on to something more neutral.

“His name is Zahrias. He is the leader of our group in this — sector, I suppose, is the best word for it. The region is not quite analogous to your state of New Mexico, but close enough.”

“So this Zahrias came here to, what, warn you?”

“More or less.” Jasreel shifted, and I could tell he’d been about to step closer to me, but had pulled back at the last second. “In general, we djinn are able to look in on human affairs with very little interference. If we suddenly can’t do so with the group at Los Alamos — ”

“Lo,” I said, and he stopped and shot me an inquiring look.

“What?”

“That was the transmission, wasn’t it?” Another spark that could be fanned to anger. Now I thought I understood what I’d heard so briefly on the ham radio. Voice tight, I said, “The people — the Immune — were transmitting from Los Alamos. And you…cut it off.”

“Yes,” Jasreel replied, sounding resigned. “And yes, I disrupted the signal. Only because I wanted more time alone with you. Until Zahrias came to see me, I didn’t know the group there was any kind of a threat. I only knew they must be Immune, and so their time on this earth was limited.”

I decided to put that anger aside to be dealt with later. “So they’re a threat just because you can’t spy on them?”

“It’s more than that, Jessica. The Immune simply should not have the capability to keep us from looking in on their doings. And now that some of the Chosen have disappeared, the ones who volunteered to go where we could not — well, you can see how that would be very troubling.”

From his perspective, I supposed it was. For myself, I was more intrigued than anything else. What were they doing at Los Alamos that would allow them to evade djinn surveillance? I didn’t know much about the town, except that it was still a place for research and had quite a few government contractor–type businesses. We drove up there once when I was in high school, more to go someplace off the beaten path than for any other reason, and it really did feel like I’d just walked onto the set of that TV show Eureka, the one about a town populated by mad scientists.

But I figured the probability of discovering the truth about what the Immune in Los Alamos were doing was roughly the same as waking up to discover this had all been a terrible dream, so I moved on to my next question. “And the djinn? The ones from this sector, I mean. Zahrias made it sound as if they were all holed up somewhere.”

Jasreel gave me an incongruous grin, as if that mental image amused him. “Djinn do not precisely ‘hole up,’ but they are using Taos as their base of operations.”

“Really?” I asked, surprised. A touristy little town didn’t seem like quite the right spot for a bunch of supernatural villains to be hanging out. “Why Taos?”

“Since its population was small to begin with, it did not have many survivors, and the one or two who were left were….” He let the sentence trail off, but I got the gist.

“Disposed of?” I volunteered.

A grim nod. “Yes. Also, because it was a travel destination, it has accommodations for a number of people, restaurants with good stores of food, and so on.”

“They have power in Taos?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

I wondered exactly what he meant by that, but I decided the day-to-day logistics of keeping Taos going under djinn occupation weren’t my top concern at the moment. “And because the Immune in Los Alamos are up to something you can’t figure out, Zahrias wanted you to leave here and go to Taos.”

“Exactly. You and I have been safe on this property, hidden from the world. It’s exactly why I chose this place as our sanctuary, our haven. But if what Zahrias says is true, then it might be best if we left and took refuge with the other djinn and the Chosen in Taos.”

Crossing my arms, I said, “That’s assuming I would go with you.”

Now the expression he wore was one of resignation. “I will not force you. I can say that it would be safer. But that is your decision to make.”

Oh, thanks for putting it back on me, I thought. But hauling me off to Taos without so much as a by-your-leave would have made me far, far angrier. Jasreel was treating me as a peer now, giving me equal say in what we should do next. I could tell that Zahrias’ news about the Immune in Los Alamos had Jasreel worried. For myself, I didn’t think I had that much to worry about. After all, they were human beings. I was one of them.

Or…was I? Maybe they would look on me as some kind of co-conspirator, a betrayer of my kind. Of course, I hadn’t known Jasreel was djinn, but I had no idea whether that kind of excuse would wash with them or not.

“Let me think about it,” I said. “I have to go gather the eggs.” That had always been my chore, just as watering the goats and lugging their pellets from the garage to the feeding trough he’d built next to their lean-to was Jace’s — Jasreel’s — job.

He seemed to recognize that I needed some time alone, because he didn’t protest, only said, “Of course,” and went to get his neglected cup of coffee. I realized then that I’d only had a few sips out of mine. Oh, well. I didn’t want to have to go past him to retrieve my mug, so I wrote it off as a loss and went to put on my coat and gloves.

The djinn didn’t try to follow me.

The cold air was bracing, but it didn’t do a lot to clear my mind or settle the thoughts that kept racing through it. I gathered eggs mechanically, placing them in the basket with practiced care, the familiar stink of the henhouse around me. Glancing down, I realized it would need to be shoveled again soon. If I asked Jasreel to do it, would he? He’d handled the distasteful chore ever since my one disastrous attempt to handle it, but that was back when he was still trying to convince me he wasn’t anyone except a guy from the pueblo, someone who was used to taking on a good deal of manual labor.

Maybe he can just wave his hands and have all this bird poop and dirty straw magically disappear, I thought. That would be convenient.

Problem was, I didn’t know if his powers — whatever they were, exactly — worked that way.

But even as I pondered such trivialities, my thoughts kept dancing around the real question, the one I didn’t know if I could ever answer.

Can I forgive him?

Because it wouldn’t be simply forgiving the lies he’d told me. To a certain extent, I could understand why he’d done that. If he’d been watching me for some time, studying me before he made me his Chosen, then he would have known I wasn’t the type of person who watched the skies for UFOs or believed in ghosts or any of that other “woo-woo stuff,” as my friend Tori used to put it. A djinn? I probably would have burst out laughing — if I hadn’t unloaded my shotgun into him first, just to be safe. True, if I’d done that and he’d survived unscathed, then maybe I would have started to believe in his supernatural origins.

No, forgiveness would have to go far, far beyond that. He’d protested that he couldn’t stop the Dying, couldn’t have kept his people from unleashing their terrible virus on the world. Maybe not; I’d seen this Zahrias, the de facto leader of my little part of the world, and if he was any indicator of the type of people the djinn had running things, then I could understand how pleas for mercy would have fallen on extremely deaf ears. Even so, many would say Jasreel still was guilty by association. It was the djinn who had done this terrible thing, and he was a djinn.

All right, most people would probably think that way. But I wasn’t a lot of people. I was me. I had to make this decision for myself, based on what my heart and my gut and my mind told me.

And what they were telling me was that Jasreel loved me. He couldn’t save everyone, but he could save me. And he had. He’d saved me, and he’d shown, day in and day out, that he cared for me. In little things, like always making sure he helped clear the table, even though the dishes were my bailiwick, and properly sorting his dirty clothes into the correct bins in the laundry room so I wouldn’t have to do it. Bigger things, like that Christmas tree and the aforementioned mucking-out of the henhouse.

The biggest of all…watching over me, keeping me safe, all along knowing that we weren’t precisely equals, that he was a being of vastly more power and experience. And yet he had never talked down to me, never discounted my suggestions, always took me seriously. If that wasn’t love and respect, what was?

Well, it sounded as if I’d answered my own question.

Feeling lighter by roughly a hundred pounds, I headed back to the house and let myself in the back door, through the mudroom. I scraped off my boots, set down the basket of eggs before I took off my jacket, and then went into the kitchen. Jasreel wasn’t there, but I noticed that he’d cleaned out his coffee mug and put it on the dish drain. That wasn’t just sucking up, either; he always cleaned up after himself.

“Jasreel?” I called out, the syllables of his proper name feeling strange on my tongue.

“In the living room,” he replied.

I wondered what he was doing there. Figuring I’d find out soon enough, I headed in that direction. He was standing in front of the fireplace, which we had going pretty much twenty-four/seven these days. In his right hand he held a log, so it appeared he’d gone in to stoke up the blaze. Dutchie was lying next to him, patting at his leg with one paw. Obviously, someone thought it was time for a belly rub.

Smothering a smile, I said, “So….”

“So?” He set the log on the fire and turned toward me, disrupting the dog’s pant-pawing. She gave me a disgusted look and rolled away from Jasreel, toward the hearth.

“So…I’ll go to Taos with you. If you think it’s for the best.”

An expression of such joy spread over his face that, for an instant, all my doubts and worries deserted me. Surely no one who could look like that would ever mean me any kind of harm. He came to me and cupped my cheeks in his hands, turning my face up toward him.

“You’re sure?”

Was I? His fingers were warm on my face, reassuring, strong but gentle. No one had ever touched me like that. No one except Jace…Jasreel.

I nodded.

He bent and kissed me then, and it was the first time I had kissed this version of him, the first time I had felt the contours of this particular mouth, the taste of this tongue. Not so very different from “Jace,” but different enough that I had to remind myself that it was still him, still the man who had kissed me before, who had made love to me on those cold winter mornings and stood laughing in a field after a billy goat knocked me on my rear end.

But then I felt his body go rigid, and he took a step away from me, one hand going to his throat.

“What is it?” I asked, reaching out to hold on to his fingers. They felt like ice.

His hands had always been warm. Always, no matter how cold it might be outside, as if the weather didn’t affect him the same way it affected me.

“Can’t…breathe….”

I put my hand on his chest, felt his heart beating wildly within, felt him laboring to pull in a breath. Which he did, a short, shallow gasp. Better than nothing, but it didn’t explain what was happening to him.

Dutchie got to her feet, nose pointed toward the doorway. A low, penetrating growl emerged from her throat, and her ears flattened against her head.

What the —

I didn’t have time to complete the thought, because in the next second, the front door was flung open, and a group of seven men wearing parkas and heavy boots burst into the living room. Six of them carried guns, and the seventh some sort of strange device, no more than a little black box, really, with lights that seemed to flicker deep within it, as if buried under a layer of dark translucent plastic.

The scream that had been building in my throat died when one of the men with the guns stepped forward and said, “It’s all right, Ms. Monroe. We’re only here for him.” He pointed at Jasreel, who had taken a step backward, toward the hearth. Sweat was beginning to drip down his temples.

“Who — what — ” I swallowed, knowing I had to keep it together, at least until I found out what the hell was going on. I began again. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

He nodded at the men who flanked him, most of whom were large, burly types, the kind of guys who once upon a time probably could have been found drinking beer at some back-road dive bar. They went to Jasreel and surrounded him, then began dragging him back toward the man in charge and the other one, the one holding that strange box. He, unlike his compatriots, was slender, of average height, and wore wire-rimmed glasses. Despite the commotion around him, he didn’t look up from the box he held, kept his fingertips moving over the surface, as if controlling it via touchpad.

The leader, who held himself like a military man and had the short-cropped hair to match, said, “Ms. Monroe, we’re survivors from Los Alamos. We’re collecting as many of these scum as we can” — a jerk of his chin in Jasreel’s direction— “and are putting them on trial for crimes against humanity. Seems the least we can do, in the name of those who are no longer around to seek justice.”

My mouth was so dry it physically hurt to swallow. But somehow I forced myself to do just that, even as I sent an agonized glance toward Jasreel. He had gone pale under his olive-toned skin, his breath coming in short, labored pants. What the hell were they doing to him?

“He’s not guilty,” I managed to get out. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Beg to differ, miss.” The leader of the Los Alamos gang gave a faint nod, and the four men holding him began to drag Jasreel out the front door.

“No!” I began to move after them, but another of the group, one of the two men flanking the guy with the black box, took me by the arm.

“I wouldn’t,” he said in a murmur. “Right now you have the benefit of the doubt, but….” He let the words die away, but I got his meaning. It was Jasreel these men were after, not me. The last thing I should be doing was provoking them.

I gave the fair-haired man, who seemed to be about my age or a little more, the faintest of nods, then held my position, just a few feet away from the guy in charge. “What proof do you have that he’s guilty of anything?”

“His nature is proof enough.” He gave another of those chin-jerks at the man with the black box and the two men with him. For the first time, the one wearing glasses looked up from his device, whatever it was, then gave a faint nod, right before they went out the front door. The blond one gave me a warning glance before he turned and took up the rear, as if to tell me that I needed to stay put and keep my mouth shut.

Fat chance of that. Instead, I followed them. As soon as I was outside, the chilly air seemed to bite at me, piercing the thermal shirt I wore, but I ignored the momentary discomfort. Parked a little ways down the drive were two Hummers, one bright yellow, the other red. Clearly, these were some of the vehicles “liberated” from Santa Fe and the surrounding area.

I could see Jasreel being bundled into the yellow Hummer and cursed mentally. What was I supposed to do? There were seven of them — all right, the guy with the box seemed peculiarly uninterested in his surroundings and kept fiddling with the device, whatever it was, so maybe he wasn’t much of a threat — but the rest of them were all big enough to take me individually, let alone as a group. And all my weapons were currently locked up in the gun safe.

The leader of the group paused and glanced down at me, seeming to really assess my appearance for the first time. He didn’t leer, but I could see the look in his eyes take on a certain glint. “You should come with us,” he said casually. “We’re trying to in-gather as many of the Immune as we can. You’d be safe with us in Los Alamos. We can protect you.”

For a second, I actually considered it. Not because I wanted to go with this bastard and his crew, but because that way I’d be closer to Jasreel. I’d still have to figure out some way to free him, but I thought attempting a rescue would be a lot easier if I were nearby.

No, beloved.

The words were barely more than a gasp in my mind. I couldn’t speak aloud, not with the leader of the band of thugs standing close by, so in desperation I tried to respond the same way. Amazingly, it seemed to work.

But I want to stay with you!

You will be…better able to help me if you stay away from them, and free.

How?

You will need assistance…and you will not be able to get it if you come with me to Los Alamos now. I do not think they intend to kill me right away.

And that’s supposed to be reassuring?

Yes, beloved.

I had to ask. How are we doing this?

The bond between us. They have trapped me here on this plane, cut off my powers, but I can still speak to you thus. At least —

But then the thought-speech abruptly broke off, and I realized it must have been because they’d finally hauled Jasreel into the Hummer and shut the door behind him. So our mental connection was limited — by space, and by physical barriers.

Luckily, the entire exchange had taken place in less time than the blink of an eye.

“Thanks for the offer,” I told the leader, my tone as casual as I could make it, as if I hadn’t just held a desperate mental dialogue with their captive. “But I’ve got goats and chickens to tend. I think I’ll stay right here.”

His eyes narrowed. “You sure? It’s not safe for a woman alone.”

And I’d be so much safer in Los Alamos. Right. Evenly, I replied, “I’ll take my chances.”

A long hesitation, and I worried that he might try to force me into the other Hummer. But then he shrugged and said, “Door’s always open. Come find us there when you’re ready.”

I nodded, and he seemed to take that as the conclusion of our conversation, because he signaled the three men still waiting outside to get in the red Hummer. Immediately afterward, he crossed to the vehicle and climbed in the passenger seat. A slap on the door, and both vehicles moved off, heading down the drive and out through the gate, which I noticed was standing wide open. They must have shorted out the mechanism or something, although that should have triggered the alarm system. Then again, I didn’t know what the black box the weedy-looking man had been holding could do. Maybe it could simultaneously short out the alarm and somehow trap Jasreel here in this world, with no hope of escape. Or maybe one of the men in the Hummers had just stepped out and clipped a couple of wires.

In a minute or two, I’d have to go inspect the gate and see if what they’d done was anything I could fix. In a minute or two, I’d have to take Dutchie back into the house and lock up, and pray that no unfriendly eyes had seen me in my current vulnerable state.

Right then, though, I could only stand there in the driveway and feel the icy tears roll down my cheeks, stinging in the bitter wind that was blowing down from the north. Jasreel was gone.

I turned so I faced west, in the direction the vehicles had disappeared. And although I knew he couldn’t hear me, I still sent the words out to him, letting them ride on the wind.

I will find you…beloved.

Taken, Book 2 in the Djinn Wars series, is available at your favorite online retailer.

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Three Wishes

Debra Dunbar

Dar helped his foster sister become the ruler of Hel, and helped her free the enslaved humans from the elves. It’s about time he helped himself – to a fun week of mayhem in the Windy City. Collapsing a few buildings and corrupting politicians is an ideal vacation for a demon in Chicago, but Dar didn’t count on a beautiful angel sabotaging his fun and putting him to work.

Asta is an angelic enforcer, scanning for demons in her assigned territory and sending them to an early grave. Unfortunately, the latest trespasser from Hel has diplomatic immunity - but immunity doesn’t mean she can’t coerce him into helping her track and dispatch the powerful demon that’s been cycling in and out of her radar for the last few days.

Demons are the sworn enemies of every angel, but Asta must learn to trust Dar or the dark presence that is growing in Chicago will spread - and this particular enemy has the skills and knowledge to send human civilization back to the dark ages.

She has one week left as an enforcer before she returns to her heavenly home – one week to catch an elusive monster, and one week to safeguard her heart from the demon who is determined to seduce her to sin.

Special thanks to Racy Tracy and Ronnie Caliente - my Chicago besties who helped me bring this fantastic city to life on the page.

Chapter 1

Ten years previously – University of California, Berkeley

All that was left of his childhood was an eight-by-ten brown cardboard box.

Carter Phelps blinked to clear the fog from his eyes. For four days, the box had sat at the edge of his bed. Opening it would be like reading the final chapter of a book. Opening it would make him remember how much he’d lost. Opening it would signal the end of all the memories he’d cherished from his youth.

“Time for booze and babes!”

Carter tore his gaze from the box to watch his roommate saunter across the room, a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand, the other noticeably empty of “babes”. Ryan’s huge grin and the open bottle of alcohol could only mean one thing — he’d passed his finals and had turned in the dreaded senior thesis.

A wave of envy and anxiety nearly launched Carter’s breakfast from his stomach. His thesis, half done, still mocked him from the computer screen. If his parents hadn’t been alumni and major contributors to the University, he would have been on academic probation his freshman year, and out by his sophomore. No doubt they’d come through again and he’d walk down the aisle with that precious diploma. He’d still be considered an idiot by everyone who knew him — the disappointing offspring of two brilliant parents. No one believed in him or knew about the ideas that burst to light inside his head — the ones he was unable to translate into words on a sheet of paper.

“Your grandmother died two months ago. Stop staring at that box; open it and get out here — we’re celebrating.”

The closet door swung open as Ryan dug through his clothing, searching for something party worthy. The box. It held everything his grandmother had left to him in her will. She’d practically raised him — a lonely woman who loved children versus a son and his wife who were too busy to care for the unsatisfactory child they’d sired.

Carter pulled the box toward him, and, with a quick slash of the scissors, opened the top. His roommate was right. It was time to put the past behind him and look toward the future — no matter how bleak and lonely that future was.

There were so many items, but his eyes were drawn to the worn pack of playing cards. He could see her hands, rings on each fleshy finger as she dealt. Poker, blackjack, pinochle, rummy, and bridge — by the age of six, he’d been able to beat her at every hand. Her smoky voice echoed in his memory, chuckling and calling him a clever boy. Carter rubbed a spot on his chest and blinked again as he set the cards aside.

Next he picked up a faded picture in a heavy brass frame. Carter traced the image of his grandmother in younger, thinner times, scandalous in tight khaki shorts and button-down shirt, a trowel in one hand. The grandfather he’d never known stood somberly beside her. He was dressed the same, holding a map. At their feet was a hole with partially exposed pottery. He’d heard the tales a thousand times — a wealthy girl at an ivy-league college swept off her feet by a brilliant, intense archeology professor. They’d spent two decades together on digs, dragging their infant son with them, before his grandfather had died suddenly. Carter’s father had inherited the best of both parents — looks, wealth, and brilliance. Carter had inherited nothing.

Beneath the picture, nestled carefully in a faded silk scarf, was a bottle. The bottle. Carter’s chest tightened as he lifted it out. Purple and smoky gray, the colors seemed to waltz around the base, lightening as they pressed against the cork that stoppered the gilded top.

“Don’t touch it,” his grandmother had always warned. “Some things are better left at rest.”

But she was dead, and the bottle called to him with a song so sweet.

“Clever boy,” it whispered to him. His heart skipped. Only one person in his life had ever thought so. Now, of all the millions of times he’d felt stupid, was the perfect moment to hear that reassurance.

Carter looked down at the dried, ancient cork wedged in the neck of the bottle. “Ryan? You got a corkscrew somewhere?”

Chapter 2

Humans looked so tiny when viewed from eleven-hundred feet up. They were little dark specks inching along the concrete and asphalt like pepper grains in a gentle breeze. From this distance, their actions didn’t spark improper desires; their troubles didn’t weigh so heavy on her heart. From this distance, they didn’t matter at all. This was just a job — a job that was one week from ending. One more week and she could go home, away from these beings that twisted her up with their lives.

Leaving should be a joyous occasion, but, instead, the thought filled her with a series of conflicted emotions. It had been difficult to keep a professional demeanor during her time here. She’d gotten attached to the city, to its residents. She’d miss them, even though keeping her distance had become increasingly difficult. The structure and rules of home would be reassuring, but she feared they’d also be . . . boring.

A bitter gust swayed the skyscraper, and Asta stepped closer to the edge. Early June rocketed between chill and humid warmth, as if the city couldn’t quite give up its harsh winters for the oppressive heat of summer. Here, the weather gave only the briefest nod to spring and fall, launching dramatically from one extreme season to another.

It’s one of the things she loved about Chicago — its honesty, its raw passion. Humans, whose sin rivaled Satan herself, walked arm-in-arm with holy saints. There were times when she felt herself sinking into their midst like quicksand. The top of these lofty buildings was the only place she could find refuge from temptation. Asta breathed the cold air, feeling it wash away the lingering scent of humanity. Her toes curled over the ledge, balancing her body against the strong wind. One more week.

One week to indulge, with the knowledge that the end was in sight, to do all the things she’d dreamed of as she walked the streets of the city. One week to sin.

Sin. Such a frightening word, but she’d never forgive herself if she left without sampling some of the forbidden. She’d never be back. It was now or never, and after a century of longing, it was time to indulge a little.

There. Her body tensed as a familiar note hit her ear, as discordant as claws tearing through skin. Everything else fell away as she concentrated on the sound, memorizing every nuance and tracing it to the source. The sound had been flickering in and out of her awareness for the past few days, but this time it danced too close. Allowing a smile to curl her lips, Asta stepped off the edge of the skyscraper and felt the ground rush toward her.

Chapter 3

Dar slid the fat envelope toward the sweaty man and watched him stuff it into the pocket of his trench coat, just like politicians had done for centuries.

“Did you get the paperwork?”

“Yep.” Dar grinned. “Bridge repair and I-94 resurfacing. Two million. Bakerson Brothers Contracting is grateful for your confidence in us.”

The Mayor scowled. “Three bridge failures and eight sinkholes in the last week? If this isn’t a better job than the last guys, I won’t be in office for long.”

“Oh, I can guarantee our work,” Dar vowed. Well, kind of guarantee. Until the next demon came along, anyway. Bakerson Brothers had paid him handsomely for his “lobbyist” work. Originally they just wanted the I-94 repaving contract, but when Dar had told them he could get them several bridge repair jobs in addition, they’d jumped at the chance. Not that the city had originally thought they’d needed bridge repair. It had taken Dar about two days to collapse the three overpasses, and then work his charm and influence on the mayor to pad the contract and award it to Bakerson. Bribe and threat — the two best tools of a demon.

The Mayor slipped away around a corner, glancing furtively to make sure no one was nearby. Dar waited a few minutes then followed, cheerfully whistling as he openly counted the money he’d skimmed from the envelope prior to delivery. It would be the perfect end to a perfect day if someone tried to rob him. No matter how many jumped him, they’d pay — although not with their lives. The demon had no moral issues against murder, but his ability to walk among the humans unharassed by angels relied upon carefully toeing the line. Immunity was such a fragile thing. Bridge destruction and corruption were allowed, but killing a human was most definitely not, and Dar enjoyed playing among them too much to give it up over one impulsive act.

He might be a demon, but he wasn’t a fool.

Although a few passersby looked on with curiosity at the wad of bills in his hand, no one made a move. Shame. Dar paused at the corner of Chestnut and Noble, deciding how to celebrate a successful evening. Drugs? Prostitutes? Bar fight? Steal a car and go on a wrong-way high-speed joyride? These were all things that should have filled Dar’s heart with anticipation. Decades ago, he would have given every soul he Owned to have the liberty to do such things without fearing for his life. Now though . . . now such activities barely stirred his interest.

I’m bored. The thought halted him in his tracks.

Boredom was a death sentence for his kind, usually only striking ancient ones or melancholy plague demons. He was still young, just over a thousand years old, and an odd combination of destroyer and deceiver — demons not usually prone to ennui. Yeah, he got the blues occasionally, especially when some sappy song came on the radio or the deli was out of corned beef, but not like this. Never like this.

It was that damned immunity. Somehow, all the things that had made his life fun had gone away once he no longer feared an angel would decapitate him and turn his remains into a pile of dust. Beating the shit out of someone during an armed robbery lost all appeal without the life-threatening aspect. What he wouldn’t give for an angel swooping down on his head right now. What he wouldn’t give for a little adrenaline-fueled chase through the city.

Incoming.

He felt the angel’s energy signature sweep over him, watched the celestial being soar down Michigan Avenue with a shadow of dark wings. The humans ignored the oversized bird overhead, but every demon within five blocks wouldn’t have been able to miss that energy signature. Silly things. Dar wasn’t sure whether it was pride that made them announce their presence like a bullhorn, or just an inability to be stealthy. Whoever this angel was chasing would be long gone by the time she arrived. A better method would have been to teleport as near her prey as possible. Flying around like a superhero wasn’t going to nab her anything.

Shame to let all her effort go to waste. Maybe he should give her something to chase? Something to almost catch before he slipped away into the darkness. It would be fun, and if the impossible happened and he got cornered, he could always break out his household mark and reveal his immunity.

The thought of the angel’s fury over a demon wasting her time when he was off-limits nearly brought him to his knees with laughter. Bar fights and kinky sex could wait. There was an angel to taunt, and she’d landed just a few blocks away.

Asta’s feet lightly touched the sidewalk as she folded and dismissed her wings. The head of her choir would have a fit if he knew how often she flew in the city. Even though the humans couldn’t see her wings, it was still frowned upon to reveal them in this world. Wings were personal, private, and very fragile. It would be like streaking down Michigan Avenue during rush hour. Still, there was a sense of reckless freedom in her disobedience. The infraction bordered on sin, and the thought sent a forbidden thrill through her.

She’d been here too long and should be glad she was heading back to Aaru soon. There, she could regain her balance and realign her vibration pattern in accordance with her place on the path to enlightenment. Here, there was too much temptation, too much sensation. Just too much . . . everything. And oh did that everything seem irresistible now that her return to Aaru was so close.

It was that temptation that filled her thoughts now, stronger than it ever had over the century she’d spent guarding the humans. Time to cut loose and party a bit before leaving. Flying, a rather tenacious clothing addiction, and that newfound love of coffee were her only sinful indulgences so far. What would a few more matter? Alcohol? A spicy Pad Thai? A ride on the Ferris wheel? A kiss — although who she was going to kiss was beyond her. Humans — yuck. Definitely not a human. Maybe she could convince one of the other enforcers to give it a try. Or a gate guardian? They always seemed to enjoy stepping over the line. Yes, all this and maybe more. One week to be just a little bad then she’d repent and confess all. It’s not like a few sensory experiences were going to cause her to fall, after all.

Humans edged past her, laughing and chatting as they enjoyed the warm early summer breeze that tunneled down the streets. The setting sun slanted its golden rays along the edges of the skyscrapers, lighting up mirrored windows that refracted the light like a prism. The smell of spicy Korean food wafted from a nearby restaurant, a delightful accompaniment to the soft notes of jazz from the street musician. Asta longed to sit at a café and watch the humans go by, to pretend for a moment that she was one of them, but there was work to be done.

Infernal demons. They ruined everything with their trespass. Although, if it hadn’t been for the demons crossing the gates, she would never have had this assignment, these precious moments of twilight in a beloved city.

The demon she’d originally been tracking blinked out of her awareness, his discordant song fading before vanishing with a flash. He was here then he wasn’t. Either this demon was good at masking his energy signature or he was transporting himself in and out of her range in some unusual fashion. To fade away like that — she’d never experienced that with a demon before. Who was he, and why did he persist in flitting in and out of Chicago like an evil, hyped-up hummingbird?

None of that mattered at this particular moment. That demon was gone, but another was nearby, broadcasting a signal so strong it nearly knocked her over. His melody rasped along her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. He teased from a block away, edging a few steps back and forth, beckoning to her. How ridiculously suicidal of him.

Asta flattened her back against the sharp stucco of a building and pulled her energy tight inside. It was no use. She’d been flying around like a fool just a few moments ago. If this demon hadn’t sensed her by now, he was an idiot. No, he clearly knew she was here. He was taunting her, calling her to him.

Crazy demons. Ah well, chase this one down, rip his head off, then maybe find a club to dance the night away. One more thing she could cross off her sin list for the week.

Ducking her head, Asta weaved between buildings and down side streets, trying to keep the demon well within her range. She didn’t want to move too fast, to scare him away, but neither did she want to lose track of him as she had the other one. Rounding a corner, she got close enough to get a visual on her prey.

Wow. He’s kinda . . . hot.

What? Where had that come from? She’d clearly been down here too long if she was thinking a demon was attractive. True, the human form he’d assume was nicely put together. The demon walked down the sidewalk with a confident swagger and bold set to his shoulders. From the backside, he was visually appealing, but she knew inside he wouldn’t be. Demons were the embodiment of evil, no matter how attractively they packaged their inner monsters.

Still. . . . He was handsome in a way that brought admiring glances from passersby, although that might have been the beautifully tailored dove-gray suit he wore. No, it was him — the dark hair sprinkled with silver, the fit figure inside that gorgeous suit. More than his looks, there was an attitude that clung to him, radiating a cocky sense of self-assuredness as he strolled along. He acted like he could have any man or woman he passed, take any item that struck his fancy. The world belonged to him. He was average height, and although he seemed to have plenty of muscles under that suit, and plenty of demon-power beneath that, he didn’t seem the type to bully his way through life. No, this demon was sneaky. He might foolishly be leaving a glaring trail of demon energy in his wake, but she doubted that was his usual style. This one would hide in the shadows and wait for the right moment to dart out and take what he wanted. He’d rather run than fight. The end game was more important than stupid pride.

Why was that so very attractive to her? Demon. Demon. Demon, she chanted to herself. He was dangerous, amoral, and breaking the law with his very presence. If she didn’t kill him, countless humans would die by his hands. Her weird attraction was a product of her end-of-assignment blues. Or possibly the coffee. She’d have to read up and see if one of the side effects was a sudden attraction to bad-boy demons.

Her mark strolled north on Ashland, heading into an area known as the Ukrainian Village. Trailing him for a few blocks, she followed him into a giant Walgreens drug store where he spent an inordinate amount of time looking at prophylactics before pocketing an array of cold medication and chocolate bars. What the heck was he doing?

What the heck was she doing? One quick jump and she’d be on him. Even with her sub-par entrancement skills, she could hide her attack from the humans in the store. Jump him, rip his head off, then he’d be dead and she could go do something fun. Inexplicably, she held back, watching the demon pocket a bottle of sexual lubricant and stuff a packet of socks into the front of his trousers.

Asta clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. Oh spirits-on-high, the socks made him look like his reproductive organs were huge and ready for action. It would be hysterical if they detained and frisked him. She watched as he stuck another pair of socks down his pants then manipulated the bundle into shape. Eying his crotch, he jumped up and down a bit. Asta choked back another laugh as a packet of socks migrated down his pant leg and out the bottom by his shoe. Stars, this guy was hysterical. The other ones hadn’t been funny at all. Maybe she’d watch him just a little longer to see what else this crazy demon did . . . then she’d kill him.

Sauntering past the cashier and through the glass double doors, the demon continued up Ashland, taking random detours down Division and Milwaukee as he scrawled profanity on a fountain in a public park and vandalized a variety of signs. Was he a demon, or an adolescent human out past curfew? When was he going to start being . . . demonic?

And what had he just put over the antenna of a parked Nissan Sentra? Digging in his pockets, the demon pulled out a handful of something and began to decorate cars, signs, doorknobs, and fencing with . . . condoms. Any vertical or protruded surface now sported a lubricated, ribbed-for-her-pleasure condom, little wrappers littering the sidewalk and street gutters.

Okay, this was more fun than a half-price sale at Marshall Field’s. Well, not quite, but it was a close second.

A few blocks later, the demon turned and walked into a bakery. Not just any bakery, but Alliance Bakery. The charming retro neon sign blinked invitingly, and the canvas awning proclaimed the availability of macarons, croissants, and wedding cakes, but it was the sweet, rich smell of sugar and butter mixed with the aroma of coffee that had Asta pressing her nose against the glass. It had been a while since she’d walked the streets in this section of town, filling her senses with what, for her, was forbidden. She was a bit surprised to see that Alliance was no longer an old-fashioned Polish bakery, but instead had filled their display window with an array of colorful French pastries. Éclairs and fruit tarts crowded around intricate fondant-covered cakes. And what were those brightly colored round things?

And where was the demon?

Berating herself for her inattention, Asta scanned the area, breathing a sigh of relief when she realized he was still inside, broadcasting his energy like a homing signal. She should move, get away from the door so he didn’t knock her over when he left. That wouldn’t exactly be stealthy. Still . . . all those pastries.

The door opened, and she jumped, hastily moving aside. He turned, his eyes meeting hers.

Oh shoot. Busted. But she couldn’t turn away if she’d wanted to. The front of him was even more entrancing than the back. High cheekbones with an angular jaw in a tanned face. A sharp nose, its lines softened by a full, generously curved mouth. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing a golden vee of skin. But it was his eyes that held her in place — gray with flecks of bright silver. A corner of his mouth curved upward in a sardonic smile, as red lit his eyes with a flash.

“Excuse me.” His voice was like dark honey. She could do nothing but stare at him openmouthed as he turned and strolled casually down the street, a box in one hand and a coffee in the other.

Idiot. What was she doing? She was an angel, an enforcer who had been skillfully ending demon lives for one-hundred years. Hundreds of demons had met their ends at her hands, and here she was, stalking one around town like a teenage groupie, gawking at him like a fool as he knocked her aside exiting a bakery. It was probably a good thing she was leaving in a week if this was how she was going to start acting every time a demon entered her territory.

“You coming or not?”

Asta felt her face heat up, and she balled her hands in sudden anger — not at the demon, at herself. She’d appeared a powerless fool, and now he was taunting her. She fought the anger and shame as he shrugged and turned.

“Suit yourself.”

The demon flagged down a taxi, forcing Asta to follow from the air. She considered giving up the chase and heading back to her perch to lick her humiliating wounds in peace, but pride had always been a sin she’d been able to conquer, maybe with a struggle, but conquer nonetheless. And to be honest, she found this demon odd, intriguing.

No, fascinating. Evil had never been so appealing before. Evidently, she lost her head when evil came packaged in a nice suit with a wicked smile.

There was no sense in hiding from him now. Perhaps if she made her pursuit obvious, he’d get the idea and run. Surely he sensed her as she flew down the streets, but no, he gave the sky no more than a glance as he paid the taxi driver and entered a swanky hotel. Up and up he rode to the top floor. Asta used her own method of travel and flew to the rooftop.

Just a few feet of concrete between her and the demon. What was he doing in there? She could sense him moving about, but there was no destruction, no hoard of prostitutes, no killing. After an hour, the demon left, glancing toward her hidden form on the rooftop before taking a taxi toward Wicker Park — only about ten blocks north of where he’d been before.

She followed. Of course she followed. It was if she was tethered to the horrid being. Once again, she pondered her own folly. Why hadn’t she killed him?

Because he’s different. And that was enough for her. For a century she’d watched over humans, keeping a professional distance while she yearned to be a part of their lives. For a century she’d swooped in and decapitated demons, turning their bodies to dust as their spirit-beings flew wingless toward their judgment and afterlife. Same old thing day in and day out while she wanted so much more. Well, starting today, she was having more. Deviating from the plan had never felt so good, and watching this demon was fun. Way more fun then she’d had in a long time.

Besides, she was leaving in a week. There was no harm in indulging in her curiosity for an evening. She could always kill him later. Or maybe tomorrow. Or maybe never.

Night had settled onto the city like a dark shroud, bringing a damp, cool breeze from the lake, even this far inland. Whatever this demon was up to tonight, he was now moving through a revitalized area full of brownstone buildings . . . without incident. For a demon, he’d been surprisingly tame. Shoplifting at the convenience store and removing a handful of traffic signs were the extent of his evil so far. Not the immorality she was used to. Where was the murder, the arson, the rape? This demon just seemed to be meandering around the city without any nefarious goal.

Asta followed as he turned a corner onto a busy street humming with action. Al fresco diners lined the sidewalk, filling the air with conversation and the clink of glasses. The demon walked past them to stand in front of a corner building, as if contemplating whether to head into the Barre studio for a workout or the upscale Mexican restaurant.

Still hot. Still looks downright gorgeous in that suit. Ugh. Where did these thoughts come from?

There was a cocky humor in the way he moved and looked that stirred far more sinful thoughts than the espresso she’d had this morning. He smoothed the dark wavy hair back from his face and scanned the street, as if looking for someone. Me? Asta had a moment of panic. Silly angel. He already knew she was following him. She’d made no effort to hide her energy once he’d plowed into her outside the bakery. Still, she couldn’t help but duck behind a parked sedan, peeking around the bumper at him. As she watched, he took off his jacket and swung it over his shoulder, arm muscles straining against the crisp lines of his shirt.

And there was the demon energy he broadcasted — like sandpaper against her skin, like the discordant notes of speed-metal to her ear. Yes, he was appealing in a very forbidden way. A bad, bad boy she would love to taste before returning to an eternity of rightful balance in Aaru.

He turned toward her, looking down the sidewalk, and she caught a view of the crisp pleats along the front of his wonderfully styled pants. Thank goodness he’d taken those darned socks out. Asta choked back another laugh at the thought then hesitated, indecision weighing like a rock in her stomach. This demon hadn’t done anything terribly wrong — nothing worse than her flying around the city. Would it be so horrible if she let him go? Maybe he was a tourist from Hel, soaking up the culture of a big human city. Maybe he’d just enjoy a brief vacation then return home without any murder or mayhem.

Or not. He was a demon. His very presence warranted execution. Violating the treaty by crossing from Hel into the land of the humans was a crime punishable by death. The demons knew it, and they still took the risk. Well, this was the penalty they would pay. Besides, even if he hadn’t done anything terrible tonight, he still might. And he might have done so in the past. He had to die.

No matter what the rules were, she was unable to make herself do anything beyond watch him walk into the restaurant and head toward the rear, where a large sunroom-like structure offered some protection from the elements. Asta darted around the corner, eyeing him through the wrought iron gates as he exited the glass-enclosed room to take a seat at an outdoor metal table for two. He’d barely sat down before a waiter brought a huge yellow drink along with a basket of chips and some kind of dip. Then the demon did something as mystifying as when he’d put the socks in his pants — he had a friendly conversation with the waiter.

The two laughed and made broad hand gestures, and then the waiter left, still smiling and shaking his head as if at a good joke. Weren’t demons supposed to strike fear into the hearts of humans? He should have snarled at the waiter, castigated the man, and left him trembling, and begging for his life. Instead, the waiter was at ease with the demon, chatting with him as if they were old friends.

For the next half hour, Asta did nothing more than watch the demon sip the endless stream of margaritas served in gigantic salt-rimmed glasses. What was the appeal of alcohol? What was the appeal of the hundreds of other beverages besides coffee? She’d always been so tempted to try and see but, up until today, had held firm to her purity standards. Flying was enough of an infraction without succumbing to the temptations of food and drink. But now . . . one week was all she had left. If she spent all eternity in Aaru without ever tasting a margarita, she’d regret it. Some food and drink wouldn’t violate more than basic purity standards. Other Grigori did it. Gate guardians did it all the time. She’d be forgiven.

Besides, the demon made it look . . . desirable. He’d take a sip, lick the salt off his upper lip then lean back into his chair with a satisfied smile. He was just enjoying a beverage. There was nothing particularly demonic about that.

Again she wavered. She could let him go, maybe give him a warning. Then he’d be someone else’s problem. He’d broken the treaty — a treaty that was written after a war she was too young to remember. And judging by his energy signature, this demon was too young to have been in the war. These were rules neither of them had any input into, rules that Asta wasn’t sure she agreed with. Angels were taught to obey, to respect the wisdom of their elders, to follow the rules, but these rules seemed so . . . arbitrary. This demon hadn’t done anything wrong. Why did he deserve death for a deal made by angels and their adversaries nearly three-million years ago?

It would surely come back to bite her, but Asta couldn’t continue to deliver preemptive justice. If he were like the other demons, she’d have another chance to kill him. Until then, she had to live with her own conscience, no matter how different her ethics might be from the other angels.

A warning. She’d scare the hellfire out of him with a stern warning then let him go.

Chapter 4

Dar smiled benignly down at his third margarita. What the fuck was that angel thinking about? He’d given her plenty of opportunity to swoop in and attack, but she’d followed him around the city like a winged stalker. He’d even taunted her right outside the bakery, and all she’d done was look at him with those big brown eyes, her sensuous lips parted as she stared. Fuck, she was gorgeous — far more beautiful than any of the humans he’d known. Far more than any of the demons either. Those legs, that warm-brown skin, the sultry eyes and pouty lips — shit, it was all he could do to keep from jumping her in the street and dragging her off to bed.

The only thing holding him back was the fact that she’d probably kill him. Angels — they weren’t exactly beings that a demon wanted to mess with. Most encounters between the two wound up with the demon dead. But there were exceptions. His sister was banging an angel. He’d love to follow her example, especially if the angel in question was this one following him all over the city.

And now she watched him from just ten feet away. He’d been so sloppy with his energy that probably every angel in a thousand miles had sensed him. Why hadn’t she attacked? What was she waiting for?

Too many humans nearby? Angels had the ability to entrance and alter memories, but maybe she was worried about them being killed in the crossfire. He’d not been up close and personal with many angels, but from what he’d been told, they weren’t opposed to a few bystander fatalities in the pursuit of the greater good. This one could be different. This one might care about human diners being killed in an altercation.

Dar downed his drink, throwing some cash on the table as he rose. Walking out of the restaurant, he paused, looking casually up and down the street. Yes, she was still there, staring at him in a rather disconcerting fashion. With a grin, Dar turned toward her, whistling softly as he walked. Her head swiveled, eyes tracking him as he passed. He felt her gaze on his back as he ducked into a side alley and behind an Asian bistro.

One, two, three, four. . . .

Timing was everything, and she wanted to make sure she truly put the fear of all creation into this demon. What kind of idiot walks right past an angel without even flinching? Her heart had nearly stopped as he’d turned toward her, but he’d not even broken stride. Cocky bast— mongrel. Cocky mongrel. How dare he?

He dared because you’ve been trailing after him like a weak cherub, barely able to fly. It wasn’t her best night. She hadn’t been particularly angelic this evening. Time to rectify that — well, partially rectify that. She’d scare this guy, put some respect into his eyes, then get him out of her territory where he could become someone else’s problem.

The demon was behind a building. With a blur of speed, Asta ran around the corner ready to pounce and nearly collided with a huge garbage dumpster. It took up over half the alleyway, and the smells wafting from it were a far cry from the tantalizing ginger and curry the diners inside were enjoying. Black trash bags were stacked against the full container, but there was no demon in sight. Asta tilted her head, listening intently. The song of his energy still rang strong. He was here . . . somewhere.

Well, there are his clothes, at least. She stared down at the neatly folded suit and shirt, carefully placed on the cleanest section of an upright pallet. Why did he take his clothes off? Was there a reason he’d decided to run around naked? Perhaps he’d known there was a fight coming and hadn’t wanted to risk the nice suit. That was a motivation she could completely understand.

The light over the steel door leading to the kitchen flickered and went black, plunging the alley into darkness. The surge of demon energy that short circuited the light confirmed his presence.

Two can play this game. Asta formed a fist and one by one opened her fingers to reveal a globe of light. It wasn’t quite as strong as the streetlights, but it lit the recesses of the alleyway far better than the doorway light had. He was here somewhere. In with the garbage? Asta couldn’t help but smile. It was a good thing he’d taken his suit off. Would have been a shame to ruin it with leftover Hunan sauce.

Climbing up the side rails of the garbage bin, the angel peered inside. He wasn’t sprawled out on top of the trash, which meant her next move was to grab garbage bags and pitch them over the side. The thought gave her pause. She was wearing linen pants and a silk shirt. If any of these bags leaked, her outfit would be ruined.

Maybe she should take her clothes off too. She giggled. An angel and a demon brawling naked in an alley? No. Just no. Although, she did really like these pants. Wrinkling her nose, Asta reached in and pulled out a bag, carefully holding it at arm’s length as she tossed it to the ground beside the dumpster.

Disgusting. Didn’t these humans have regular trash collection? This had to be some sort of health-code violation. Aaru only knows how nasty this would smell in another month when summer hit the city with skyrocketing temps and humidity.

Something moved, and Asta froze, a black trash bag in one hand. Was that. . .? No. No, it was just one of the bags shifting. That was it. Just a bag shifting, or maybe the demon hiding down another layer. Taking a steadying breath, Asta tossed the bag aside and reached in for another.

The dumpster seemed to be a bottomless chasm. Asta found herself half upside down in the thing, looping a foot around one of the side rails to keep from falling in. She’d given up on keeping her outfit clean, hoping the drycleaner on Fifth Street could somehow salvage her clothes. Stretching as far as she could, the angel grabbed another bag, nearly falling as she tossed it out.

It would have been easier to stand in the bin and toss the bags out, but the occasional movement across the bottom of the container kept her safely on the outside. It better be that demon down there, because the alternative was freaking her out.

Still no demon. Asta lit another globe of light, sending it into the far recesses of the container, just in case he had given up his human form for a smaller one. Nothing. His energy signature called so strongly to her that she could have sworn he was right next to her. She’d emptied out the only hiding place large enough to hold a demon in human form, so that left only one other spot.

Asta hopped off the dumpster and tossed the bags back inside. The smell of rotted food had intensified, nearly suffocating her. If she’d planned on killing this guy, she would have just incinerated the entire alley. Problem solved — demon dead, and a sanitary disposal of far too much trash. But this was just meant to be a warning. One more place to look, then she’d need to get creative.

Demons could take many forms. Dropping to her knees and wincing over the probable ruination of her pants, Asta crept carefully around the dumpster, scanning for the demon’s energy signature. Jagged bits of asphalt dug into her knees, alternating pain with the disgusting squishy feel of rotted food. Yep, ruined. She really liked these pants, too. They’d always looked so crisp and fresh, the silk lining caressing the skin of her legs as she moved. Dapper Drycleaning might be good, but it would take a miracle to get nasty food stains out, let alone the fraying caused by the pavement, and she wasn’t all that good at recreating this designer stuff. Stupid demons. She was tempted to change her mind and kill him just to avenge her poor innocent trousers.

Something moved in front of her, and the angel jumped as a huge rat scampered across the alley and under the dumpster.

Rats. Every hair on her body rose, and she couldn’t help a shudder of revulsion. It was terribly unevolved of her to have such a visceral negative reaction to a lower life form, a mere mammal, but Asta couldn’t help herself. It was ridiculous for an angel to be afraid of a rat — to be afraid of anything — but she was.

A scratching noise came from beneath the dumpster. Asta froze, her stomach turning. Just a rat, just a rat, just a rat. She was an angel, for Aaru’s sake!

Red eyes peered at her from the darkness. The scratching grew louder.

Ignore it. She was here to hunt a demon — a demon whose energy signature she heard like a siren song from underneath the dumpster. She just had to get by the rat.

Rats. As in plural. Red eyes blinked into life by the dozens. Asta’s breath locked in her throat, and she scrambled backwards on her knees as they crawled from under the dumpster. She just had to go through them, stand up and walk right through them, and she’d be within striking range of the demon. But that would involve standing up. Visions of rats biting her feet and ankles, hanging from her clothing, filled her mind. At least on her hands and knees, she could kick and grab them.

The eyes moved closer, dark shapes coalescing into distinct forms with pointy noses and twitching whiskers. She could hear their claws clicking on the pavement, the faint squeaking. Involuntarily, she found herself moving backwards, scooting on hands and knees away from their advance.

A rat toward the back stood on his hind legs, towering over the others by at least a foot. He was monstrous, and the glow in his red eyes was eerily familiar. This was the demon she’d spent all night following — the crazy margarita-drinking, tube-socks-in-his-pants demon.

Why don’t you kill them? Shoot them with your energy and explode them to bits? The demon’s voice filled her mind, a mocking laugh accompanying it from his rat-form.

He spoke to her? Beyond pleading for their lives or cursing her with their dying breath, demons never spoke to her.

Go on. Kill the rats.

“I’m not going to kill the rats.” Why was she replying? Could this evening get any more surreal? Here she was, faced with creatures from her worst nightmares, having a conversation with a demon she’d inexplicably decided not to kill.

Why not? Kill the rats and come get me. Just kill them.

She couldn’t. As horrible and disgusting as these creatures were, they were innocent animals. They were creations of this world, part of a song and story beyond her comprehension. To kill them just because she was scared would make her an abomination. It would make her just as base as a demon.

Not that she was going to explain all that to this . . . this monster. No, she needed to stop with the chitchat and get on with scaring the guy right back to Hel.

“It’s you I will kill. Your body will be dust on the ground, but your head I will save as a trophy.”

That speech sounded ridiculous, as if she’d lifted it from a comic-book villain. She’d have to do better than that if she really wanted to frighten him.

Awww, baby. I’d totally save your head as a trophy too. Kiss, kiss.

Asta was suddenly aware that she was on her hands and knees in front of the demon. It was mortifying. He’d mocked her, after leading her all over the downtown and hiding behind a bunch of rats. She’d relish slaying him, would love nothing more than to fly his head to the top of the tallest building in the city and display it on the antenna. If only he deserved it. If only he’d killed someone, then she wouldn’t think twice before ripping his head off. Making fun of her — deservedly so, she had to admit — wasn’t something that should carry a death sentence

And again, there was that nagging part of her that found him just too intriguing to kill. A vision of the demon sipping a margarita and laughing with a human waiter flashed like a film playback in her mind. No, she wouldn’t . . . couldn’t kill him, but he didn’t need to know that.

“I’m not sure you’re worth the effort. Shoplifting. Drinking alcohol. Petty vandalism. You’ve got no control over your energy expenditure. A blind newborn could have tracked you from across the planet. Your head would be a poor trophy, not worthy to grace my collection.”

There. That was better. Still not up to the textbook of scary angel, but better.

So says the angel flying around downtown with her energy falling about her like rain. A Low could have sensed you from across the planet. Obviously you weren’t worth any effort to run from.

Jerk. Nasty, horrible jerk. Why was she letting this guy live? Oh yeah, because he’d made her laugh. Well, she wasn’t laughing now, surrounded by rats with a demon insulting her.

Asta forced herself to move forward, within inches of the rats. There were more than a dozen. Where had they all come from? She flinched as they flanked her, but she forced herself to continue toward the demon.

Almost close enough to kiss me, sweetheart. Just a few more steps.

“The only thing your lips are going to kiss is the pavement, right after I separate your head from your body.” What a royal pain this demon was. She’d beat some sense into him, maybe haul him outside the city limits, then warn him about the repercussions he’d face if she ever caught him in her radar again.

He laughed, such an odd sound coming from a rat. No, it’s you I’ll be kissing. Your lips, then your neck as I work my way downward over every inch of your luscious golden-brown skin.

Okay, that was downright creepy, and more of what she expected from a demon than the silly pranks with condoms. “Ewww. I don’t think so, you nasty rat.”

Come on. Like you’ve never wondered what it would be like. Have you ever been kissed, angel? Have you watched the humans caress each other and wonder how it would feel? Sin a little. I can assume a very pleasing form. You can kill me afterward, and no one will need to know.

The idea should have turned her stomach, but Asta thought of those humans she’d seen in passionate embraces over the last century. That connection, that explosion of feeling — it seemed to move beyond crass sensation into something divine. Her traitorous mind substituted the human female for herself, arched backward, supported by another’s arms, every nerve ending alight, floating away in sinful sensation. Yes, she was tempted, but not by this creature. Or was she?

A century among the humans in this dangerous corporeal form had clearly been too long. A wild week sampling food and drink was one thing, but sexual stimulation was another. No, she had to draw the line somewhere. Just one more week, and then she would be free from such temptation, free from such thoughts.

Then she’d never get the chance. Never ever have the opportunity to kiss someone. Shaking her head to free herself from the thoughts and disturbing images, she scrambled to think of a suitable rebuke.

“You’ll be kissing my toe as I soccer kick your nose into the back of your head.” Soccer kick? Yeah, she’d been hanging around these humans far too long.

I might like that. I’m a demon, after all. Rough stuff really turns me on.

“Well, get ready to get turned on.”

Wait, that probably wasn’t the right thing to say. The rat-demon confirmed it by laughing. Great, now he probably thought she was even more of an idiot.

With a deep breath, Asta gritted her teeth and began moving through the throng of rats. They shrieked at her as she shoved them aside, biting her hands until she felt blood drip through her fingers. She could do this. They were just animals. She could prove to the odious demon that she wasn’t a silly fool by crawling through a hoard of rats and putting her fist into his smug face. Easy.

Not so easy. Rats tugged at her pants, tore sharp teeth into her arms and waist. Still, she pushed down the panic and moved forward. Just a few more feet. The demon’s grinning face and beady red eyes were right in front of her. Just a few more feet and she could lay her hands on the arrogant sot.

A rat grabbed her hair, tugging until she felt strands tearing free from her scalp. Not my hair! There was minimal physical pain, and no damage to her spirit being, but the thought of a filthy rat chewing on her hair was more than the angel could take. Asta jumped to her feet, screaming and whirling as she grabbed the rats off her hair and clothing and flung them against the wall. Their bodies made a sickening thump as they hit, but she had no time to feel regret for either her irrational display or the death of innocent, blameless creatures.

My hair, my hair! She spun until she was free of them then leaned against the dumpster, breathing heavy. Red eyes surrounded her, and Asta glared at them, her composure shot. One move and she’d blast them all into oblivion, her moral code be damned.

The demon shed his rat form, rising to his feet and shooing the rats away from Asta. They fled obediently, darting into nooks and crannies in the building wall and along the fence line until the only two beings in the alleyway were Asta and the demon.

She should have blown him to bits, should have dove at him, wrestled him to the ground and ripped his head from his neck, but all she could do was try to catch her breath and keep from bursting into tears. Some angel she was, some powerful enforcer. A century of exemplary service wiped out in one evening.

“Get out of my city and stay out. If I catch you here again, I’ll kill you.” Her voice wavered, giving the ultimatum an edge of desperation.

The demon cocked his head to the side, a surprised look on his face. “Oh now, surely you’re not giving up so quickly. We’ve got all night, and I’d hoped you’d play a bit longer. No more rats. I promise.”

Play? She’d freaked out, dancing around like a junkie on crack. She’d probably killed several of those rats. Tonight had to have been the worst night of her two-and-a-half-million-year life, and she wasn’t about to compound the damage by playing his game. She was done. He’d won.

And he’s naked. That stupid, snarky voice inside her head teased her.

He was. Asta got an eyeful of what had been under that expensive suit. The gray eyes were shadowed, glinting with red lights. Full lips curved into a smile that was both mocking and bold. Her eyes roved downward over broad shoulders and muscular arms. Not the slim form that usually appeared to advantage in suits — this demon was ripped. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on his toned stomach and narrow hips. She looked lower, down to . . . hmmm. He hadn’t needed those tube socks at all.

Oh no. Not going there. Not going there at all.

“Like what you see?”

Asta felt her face heat up. “Do you lack the basic skills to make clothing, or are you making some futile attempt to seduce me? Because, I assure you, your efforts are wasted.”

Well, not totally wasted. How warm was his skin? How smooth? If she tasted . . . nope. Time to end that line of thinking right there.

He shrugged, keeping his distance. “I lack the skill to make clothing. Although I make up for it in other areas. Want me to demonstrate?”

Yes. No. “Put your clothes back on.” She gestured to the neat pile.

“No way. I like the way you look at me when I’m naked.”

Argh, she was ready to punch him, even though he was right. She couldn’t keep her eyes from drifting downward to his. .. It wasn’t like seeing a human naked. He was a demon, and the presence of that spirit-being inside made the flesh all the more appealing.

“Besides,” he continued. “I get the feeling you’re going to smash my face in or rip one of my arms off. No sense in getting my clothes all bloody. You should probably get naked too, although I think those pants are beyond salvage. Pity. I like the way they hug your ass.”

The reminder of her ruined clothing irked her even more than his comment about her backside. This demon had to go before she did something drastic, like rip his head off or.... No, not going there at all, no matter how nice he was from the neck down. The neck up, too. Sheesh, what was wrong with her? Perhaps the coffee was a gateway sin, leading her recklessly down the slippery slope of damnation?

Or she just hadn’t been intimate in a very long time. Yeah, that was it. Desperation was making this demon appear a viable partner.

“You’ve got five seconds to get out of here before I lose my temper and kill you. This is your one pass. Get out of this city, because if I sense you here again, nothing will stop me from turning you into a pile of sand. Got it?”

Worst threat ever. She’d made it sound so halfhearted that she wouldn’t be surprised if he laughed at her. Instead, he took a few steps closer — close enough that she felt the heat from his skin along with the scrape of demon energy against her senses.

He leaned forward, his face almost touching hers as he whispered in her ear. “You’re not getting rid of me so easily, sweet cheeks. I’ve got immunity. See?” The demon revealed a household mark in his energy signature.

Asta jerked back and stared at him openmouthed. Then she dove at him, spinning him around as she slammed him against the wall. Before he could react, she pressed herself against him, her arm circling his neck in a choke hold.

Holy carp in a pond, he was as solid as a slab of concrete. His rear smashed against her upper thighs, making her lean forward at the waist to hold the rest of him immobile against the concrete block wall. Her breasts were crushed against the angles of his shoulder blades, her cheek brushing the softness of his black hair. She shifted slightly, adjusting her grip, and reveled at the feel of his flesh against her. Even through her clothes, she felt his heat, making her imagine she was naked too. How would it feel if their positions were reversed, and it were him pressing her against the side of the building, her hands pinned above her head as his mouth traced the line of her neck down to that sensitive spot where it joined her shoulder. . . ?

“Hot damn. If I’d known all it would take for you to fuck me was a little— gargh.”

His words cut like a knife through her ridiculous fantasy. “Shut up.” Asta tightened her grip around his throat. “I don’t believe you. No one has immunity. No one. You’re going to get out of my city and stay out, or I’m going to kill you.”

Well, no one used to have immunity. Frowning, Asta contemplated the slim chance he was telling the truth. Things had changed in the last few years. There was an Iblis — a demon on the Ruling Council of Angels who represented Hel. After millions of years of nothing but violence between their two races, it seemed there were now all sorts of complicated exceptions to the already complicated rules. Demons lied far more than they told the truth, but just in case this one was having a rare moment of honesty, she’d check his claim.

Unfortunately, checking his claim would involve even more intimacy than pressing herself against his naked body.

Sandwiching him harder against the wall, the angel dove her spirit-self into his body, exploring and reading who he was beneath the human form. It should been like frisking someone for weapons, searching for ID. It should have been simple, impersonal, except, in reality, this was more like a strip search — a very hands-on strip search. She’d never been this close to a demon’s spirit-being before. She’d never been this close to an angel’s either unless they were joining. . . . Oh my, not going to go there.

But she was. She just couldn’t help herself from taking liberties that were terribly inappropriate given the circumstances. The similarities between him and the other angels were surprising, but not as much as the differences. She could tell he was strong and loyal, sly and devious with a dark and bawdy sense of humor. He wouldn’t hesitate to sell out anyone for personal gain. She’d found what she was looking for, but couldn’t help exploring further, couldn’t help falling into him as she did. Edges of her spirit-self joined with his in a swirl of light. Suddenly realizing what she was doing, Asta yanked away, loosening her grip on the demon’s physical body as she retreated.

“Damn, girl. I usually get dinner and a movie first. I had no idea I was going to wind up getting to second base with an angel up against the side of a building in a back alley. And that autoerotic asphyxiation thing really did it for me, too. You wouldn’t happen to have a cigarette handy, would you?”

Gah, he was horrible. “I wasn’t . . . I didn’t. . . . I was just checking to see who you were.”

“Very thoroughly, too. Feel free to check again any time you get the urge.” He turned to face her, still scant inches away, his back against the building. “I’m Dar. Second demon in the household of the Iblis, who is also my sister. You know, you could have just asked. You didn’t have to grope me to find that out, although I really enjoyed it. Want to do it again?”

“Yes. I mean, yes, I see who you are, not ‘yes I want to do it again’.” Asta took a step back. Once again, she was sounding like a total idiot. “You sneaky little rat, leading me around all night when you were off limits.”

“Yep. Fun, wasn’t it?”

Her temper sparked, mostly fueled by the embarrassment of feeling him up like a horny teenager. “I don’t care whose household you’re with, you’re going to die. Sooner or later you’ll slip up, and I’ll be there to dust you when you do. If you’ve got an ounce of sense in your tiny little brain, you’ll go back to Hel tonight.”

He grinned, and although it was the type of grin a tiger gives its prey, Asta’s shiver was not from fear. “See you in the morning, sweetheart.”

He dropped, snapping back into the rat form, and in a blink, he was gone.

Morning. Asta eyed the black of night and wondered whether she hoped his words were true or not. Just in case, she’d better grab his suit, still folded on the pallet. It was far too high quality an outfit to leave beside a dumpster. Scooping it up, she smelled sandalwood and pepper, dark chocolate with a hint of citrus. The fabric was soft and smooth, and she couldn’t help burying her face in it for a brief guilty moment. It seemed this demon was here to stay, which would make her final week here very interesting. Interesting and most likely very detrimental in regards to her eternal salvation.

Chapter 5

Best. Fucking. Vacation. Ever.

Dar grinned, throwing a beer bottle at the packed cruise boat heading down the Chicago River. It missed the bald man he’d been aiming for and exploded on the deck, showering nearby passengers with a spray of cold beer and chunks of green glass. Morning had dawned with an unseasonable warmth, but temps had dropped to sixty degrees this afternoon as thick clouds moved in. The Heineken shower wasn’t going to do anyone’s body temperature any good. It would have been more fun to give the bald dude a concussion, but this was still an enjoyable activity to round out his day. Two politicians led into corruption, a new pothole on East Wacker, and a really pissed off angel he’d been following around since sunrise. Yep. Best vacation ever.

Turning away from the boat of angry, wet tourists, Dar headed down Michigan Avenue. There was a lot going on — bands, parties, and Friday night happy hour. Some convention had taken over the top floor of The Wit for a private party. The olive green suit he had on today wasn’t as nice as the one he’d left in the alley, but it would still be appropriate for a corporate function. He wasn’t invited, but crashing a party was at the top of Dar’s list of fun things to do. The only thing holding him back was the faint, intermittent energy signature that hinted another demon might have beaten him to the fun. Back in Hel, Dar would have joined in, but here demons guarded their territories fiercely. Two would definitely be a crowd, although if there was another demon prowling around, his angel was bound to be there too. Hmm, crashing a party was sounding more appealing than ever.

There was no guarantee the demon at the party wouldn’t want to tear his heart out for more personal reasons beyond encroaching on territory. Dar belonged to the household of the Iblis. Being second in command to Satan tended to put a big bull’s-eye on a demon’s back, in or out of Hel.

Pretending to talk on his cell phone, Dar lingered and watched humans stream into the building. Damn it; was the demon there or wasn’t he? The energy signal was fleeting, flickering in and out, as if the creature straddled two worlds. Fuck it. Dar shoved the phone into his pocket, resolved to take his chances. He’d just started toward the revolving doors when a familiar woman caught his eye.

Not a woman, he corrected himself, an angel.

A grin curved his lips. An angel with warm-brown skin, a poof of coffee-colored hair that lightened to dark gold at the tips, and the longest legs he’d ever seen. She might look like an angel, in the metaphorical sense as well as a species designation, but she’d hardly behaved like one today. He’d caught her flying twice, vanishing her wings with a guilty snap each time she’d sensed him. Then she’d lingered outside a coffee shop, pacing back and forth in front of the entrance for half an hour before sneaking in to get an espresso. Just before lunch, she’d slipped into an exclusive boutique in the Gold Coast district and exited with a shopping bag. Yes, his angel was a naughty girl.

She’d come, as he’d expected, drawn by the demon signature Dar had sensed, even though she’d tried to avoid his presence all day. Dar let his energy out, not caring if the other demon sensed him or not, and was rewarded by an irritated twitch of the angel’s head.

She stood before the revolving door as if she wasn’t sure how to navigate it. Her fingers flicked against her legs, drawing his eyes to their long lengths.

This had started out as a fun, annoy-the-angel prank, but it had quickly turned into something else. She’d been intriguing last night — endearing even, with her fear of rats — and today he’d found her to be smart, with surprising compassion. She’d watched the humans go about their day with such affection in her eyes. She’d held the door for a man with a huge box, smiling in pleasure at his thanks. She’d erased graffiti from several bus shelters, snatched a reckless cat from certain death beneath a taxi’s wheels. She’d tripped a pickpocket, returning the stolen wallet to its owner without anyone the wiser.

In flight, her wings had reflected the light, rivaling the sun with their brilliance. Each time they’d burst from her back, tearing her shirt with their width. Each time she’d somehow repaired her shirt to its undamaged state as she landed and hid her wings. The humans were none the wiser as she flew around the city, sat beside them on park benches, browsed the sale racks at Carson Pirie Scott. Were they all like this? The few angels he’d met so far had been insufferably pompous. Whatever few sins she indulged in, he doubted pride was one of them.

Yes, this angel was very intriguing . . . and she looked completely ridiculous standing there chewing her bottom lip as the humans parted around her to enter the building. Silly angels. Holding his energy tight within to conceal his location from the other demon, Dar walked forward and grabbed the edge of the revolving door.

“Going in?” He flashed her his most charming smile, faltering as she stared at him with unblinking brown eyes. Okay, maybe it wasn’t a charming smile. At least she wasn’t running away screaming like human females sometimes did, or threatening to poke his eyes out as she’d done this morning.

“Yes. Thank you.” The angel’s voice was coolly professional. Dar waved her in, trying to keep his grin from becoming even toothier.

The angel swept into the space between the doors with an inhuman smoothness of movement. And stopped. Okay. Guess he was supposed to push the door for her too. Holding back a laugh, Dar shoved the door forward, hitting the angel on the ass, propelling her forward.

“Hey!” She stumbled, grabbing the glass in front of her for balance as she glared back at him.

“Where the fuck are you from, angel? Don’t they have revolving doors in Aaru? Or maybe you’ve spent the last hundred years as an enforcer in Po-dunk, Iowa?” He shoved the door once more.

The angel ignored him, staggering into the lobby as the doors forcibly ejected her. He choked down a laugh and followed her to the elevator.

“Going to the penthouse party?” Of course she was. She braved his odious presence in entering the building, so she must be after the other demon — the one at the party.

Silence.

“Do they have elevators in Iowa? Maybe you’d like me to help you with this one. See, you push the little button here to go up, and then, when the doors open, you get in. Push the button for the floor you want to go to. When you’re halfway there, push the other button with the picture of the fireman’s hat on it.”

That got her attention. The angel’s lips twitched before she shot him a narrow-eyed look. “I believe pushing that button will do nothing but halt the elevator and summon the rescue staff.”

Dar followed her in and punched the button for the twelfth floor. “Ah, they do have elevators in Iowa.”

“I’ve never been to Iowa.”

Her hands clenched then tapped a steady tempo against her leg as she stared resolutely at the illuminated numbers above the door.

“So, my beautiful, less-than-righteous angel, what brings you to Chicago? Are you here chasing all the demons attending that whosiwhats convention?”

The angel punched the button to halt the elevator and spun about to face him, her beautiful eyes widening. “Do you know of a plot? What demons are attending this convention, and what are their intentions?”

Dar shrugged. “It’s a cybersecurity conference. You figure it out.”

In a flash, he was pinned against the elevator wall. Now this was fun. Her long fingers around his neck were surprisingly warm, and her eyes had flecks of gold in their brown depths. For an angel, she had a remarkable command of the human form. He could even hear her heart, smell what clearly must be human perfume wafting tantalizingly from her skin. So shoplifting dresses, drinking espresso, and feeling demons up in dark alleys weren’t her only vices. Hmmm.

“You will tell me everything you know about the demons at this conference.”

Fast. Smart. Gorgeous eyes. Sucks at compulsion.

“You will come with me tonight to listen to the blues band playing off of State Street later.”

For a June evening, the air inside the elevator had become decidedly chilly. He obviously wasn’t good at compulsion either. Ah well.

Dar reached out to wrap his arms around her waist. “No? Maybe? How about you think on it and start the elevator back up. Otherwise the rescue staff is going to come, and they’ll think we’re in here fucking.”

That got her moving. The angel gasped and jumped away from him. “You will ignore me and discontinue speaking with me.”

Right. He had to give her points for continuing to try. Enough practice and maybe she’d eventually be able to compel a gnat, or maybe a tapeworm.

“Not a chance.”

She let out an exasperated breath and smoothed back her dark curls. “I’m working. I’m an enforcer. This is what I do. I catch demons in my territory and kill them. Now please shut up and go away so I can do my job.”

“But if I go away, then how will you ever find out what’s happening at the conference? No, I think you’re best bet is to keep me close and try to seduce me into telling you all I know.”

Dar had no idea what the fuck was going on at the conference, if anything. The other demon was here — maybe. This was a party for the conference attendees. Put two and two together, and the demon probably did have something planned. Or not. Whatever. It was a good lie to keep this angel by his side for the next few days.

She shimmered, a blur of golden light before regaining control of her form. Dar’s gaze roved down her neat figure to the strappy leather sandals, inhaling as the faint notes of jasmine drifted by. Any angel that took this much care about her appearance and the realism of her human form had to be at least moderately familiar with the sin of vanity. Hmm, what other sins did she enjoy?

“All right. Stay close, but at least do the shut-up part. I have a demon to hunt. Later we’ll talk about the conference.”

She was back to tapping her fingers against her leg. Dar bit back a smile and followed her out of the elevator, trying to stay as close to her as he could without climbing up her pants. But as fascinating as this angel was, the buffet right at the front of the room stole the demon’s attention. Gluttony had always been his favorite sin, and this party was a delight to every sense. Dar surfed beside the long table, snagging an array of sushi, lamb meatballs, buffalo burger bites, and exotic cheeses. Oh, the cheeses. He was tempted to steal an entire tray of Manchego and stuff it into his pockets for later, but restrained himself when he saw the human off to the left making to-order crepes. Three crab and lobster crepes later, Dar managed to catch up with the angel. She was prowling the room, staring intently at each human she encountered. Thankfully, she had that angel mojo going on, or they would have thrown her ass out as a freaky stalker by now.

“Did you get a crepe? I shit you not; they are better than the cheese. They’re better than the lamb meatballs, and that’s saying a lot. You’ve got to have a crepe.”

“I don’t eat,” she hissed, turning her back on him.

Dar dodged around her. “But you do drink. I’ve seen you drink.” Reaching out, the demon snatched two glasses from a waiter’s tray. “Here. It’s a champagne fruit thing. Much better than the coffee stuff you snuck around drinking this morning.”

She went to wave the glass away, then obviously thought better of it. Taking the drink, she held it awkwardly away from her body, intently scanning the crowd.

“Look, I think the demon left. His signature was blinking in and out of here until we got to the party. I haven’t sensed him since then.”

The angel rounded on him, sloshing the drink over the edge of the glass as she gestured widely. “I know that. Where did he go? We were in the only elevator in the building. These windows are sealed shut and show no sign of breakage.”

“Wrong. There’s actually outdoor seating on a patio. Although I doubt he jumped from the 27th floor. And there is another elevator, although it doesn’t go all the way to rooftop. He’s not here now. He went down while you were throttling me in the other elevator, or jumped from the balcony, or took the fire stairs. Doesn’t matter. Drink your champagne, and I’ll get you a lobster crepe. It’s free, you know.”

“I didn’t sense him taking the stairs down. I didn’t sense him going anywhere. He’s got to be here somewhere.”

Dar rolled his eyes. Angels were so oblivious. This one had been here a century and still seemed to know as much about demons as a postage stamp.

“Some of us are good at hiding our energy signatures. I know a demon that could walk right by you on the street and you wouldn’t notice her. I’d be willing to bet he’s gone, and I don’t bet frivolously. Maybe he’s just really good at cloaking his energy. Maybe he has an elven magical item that transports him through another dimension, or maybe he snuck out. I don’t fucking know where he is. Call it a night. Punch the old time clock and hang up the whole enforcer thing for the evening. Eat a crepe. Drink champagne. Then come listen to some blues with me.”

The angel’s breath hitched, and he could see the idea appealed to her. Then she shook her head with a look of regret. “No. I’m working. Do you think he’s using an elven magical item? Would that possibly account for the in-and-out phasing of his energy I’ve sensed the last few days? I’ve never experienced a demon doing that before.”

Dar stared at her for a moment, realizing he’d never get her to eat or — or do other things — while she was obsessing over work. Might as well humor her and hope she’d relax later, maybe after a few glasses of champagne.

“It could be a magical item, or someone is summoning him. Although I doubt he’d be phasing in and out if he was summoned. That’s usually a here-or-not-here kind of thing. It could be a botched summoning, though. Maybe some inept fool is trying to summon him, and he only gets partially to this plane before bouncing back.”

“Over and over?” The angel’s eyes narrowed.

“A really persistent, inept fool. I’m sensing the same energy readings you are. I’d vote for magical item, but only idiots hang their hat on one theory when others are still within the realm of possibility.”

“When several theories make the same predictions, the simpler one is most logically the truth.”

Oh, for fuck sake. “Occam’s razor. Yeah, yeah, but excluding other theories is often an Achilles’ heel for you angels. You all lack creativity, broadness of thinking, and faith.”

“I have creativity,” the angel interrupted, bristling. “I have faith. And how dare you doubt my intellect.”

“Oh, it’s not your intellect I’m doubting, it’s your imagination. Right thinking, meditation, vibration patterns, and all that sensory deprivation crap — it’s warped your ability to think outside the box. That’s why I’m going to get you a crepe right now. You’ll think better after you’ve eaten a crepe. And possibly some cheese.”

The angel scowled. “I don’t want a crepe; I want to catch this demon so I can go listen to blues music.”

Score! Well, almost score. At least she was considering the blues music, even if she’d resisted the crepe. “Wanna hear my theory?”

“I know I’m going to regret this, but yes, I’d like to hear your theory, genius.”

Dar sipped his drink. “Wait until we have more information, and then I’ll tell you. In the meantime, at least try a lamb meatball and drink your champagne. It’s free. Never let free food and booze go to waste. Then we can go to the blues club. How does that sound?”

Longing flickered across the angel’s face then she shook her head. “Sounds like you don’t know squat. Sounds like you’re stalling for time. Sounds like you don’t know your posterior from a hole in the ground.”

Dar couldn’t help but grin. “I’ll admit I sometimes mistake my ass for a hole in the ground. Still, I do know something about demons. You’ve had what, a hundred years here? I’ve been surrounded by demons for a thousand years. You might want to consider me your best available reference instead of questioning my ability to find my asshole.”

When had this become his business? Like he gave two shits about some demon having a jaunt from Hel and prowling around at a tech conference. All he knew was that messing with this angel was the most fun he’d had in centuries, and if tagging along with her on a demon hunt was a way to prolog the fun, then he was onboard. “Come on, beautiful. Take the night off, and I’ll help you chase this asshole tomorrow. You won’t regret it.”

“I’m working. I’m not going to give in to the sin of sloth and run off with you to party it up.”

The angel huffed and walked off, taking a surreptitious sip from her drink. Dar choked back a laugh and followed at a respectful distance, scanning for the demon energy. A swell hit the room like a wave, peaking then receding, and the angel took off, knocking humans aside as she raced toward the raised stage at the back of the room.

He was here. She’d caught the jarring notes of his song and tracked him with confidence for a few feet before the signature ebbed, falling to absolutely nothing. No! How could this be? Was it magic, as the tempting rat-demon had said, a faulty summoning, or something she’d not even thought of? There were a dozen humans in the vicinity the demon-song had come from. Concentrating, she scanned each of them, looking for a demon mark that would indicate ownership. If one of these humans had summoned a demon, they should still bear his energy signature.

Nowhere. Wherever the demon had been, he’d vanished without a trace. Her gaze came to rest on a man speaking to two women, waving his hands for emphasis. Suddenly he turned, and his eyes met hers. None of these humans bore a demon mark, not even this one who was now smiling at her and coming her way.

He stopped when he reached her. “Are you enjoying yourself? Can I get you another champagne?” He had dark blue eyes that met hers from under thick, nearly white brows in appreciation. His head dropped to take her in from the feet up, and she saw the short, golden-blond hair that covered his scalp in thick fuzz.

“Welcome to the Genus Micro party. I’m Carter Phelps. You are. . .?” He glanced at her chest, and she began to take offence before she realized he was looking for her nametag.

“Iowa, and I’m Dar.”

By all that was holy, it was that blasted demon again. She’d never encountered anyone quite so annoying. Or attractive. But mostly annoying. Another glass of something carbonated was thrust into her hand as the demon took the half-empty glass and drank the contents in one gulp.

“My name’s not Iowa, it’s Asta.”

The human male ignored Dar and raised his glass to her. “Asta. What a lovely, unusual name. Is your company considering Genus Micro for their security needs?”

“No.” This was ridiculous, conversing with these humans when she had a demon to catch. And a blues club to visit. If only she could catch this guy, then she could have the fun she’d been craving without all the guilt.

The human laughed. “I love your honesty! I know we’re beyond many small businesses’ budgets, but you should consider the costs if you fall prey to a cyber-attack. It’s not just the big dogs that are getting hit lately. Let me show you what we can do for your company.”

What in the world was he talking about?

“You’re not going to show her anything, buddy.” That demon — Dar — took a step forward, angling his body to squeeze between them. “Take a hike; this one’s mine.”

His? Where in all of creation did he get that idea?

The human ignored Dar, turning his back to him and placing himself between Asta and the demon — which put him uncomfortably close. “We can talk about your needs, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Asta got the feeling he was discussing more than his software. Dar evidently got the same vibe because he bristled, elbowing the man in the ribs. “You lay one hand on her ‘needs’, asshole, and I’ll shove an ice sculpture where the sun don’t shine.”

That seemed pretty extreme, especially given her ability to easily defend herself against a human. Still, the sight of Dar in a beautifully tailored olive suit, his eyes glinting red with jealousy stirred something deep inside — something a little bit wicked.

“Yes, that sounds nice. I’d love that.”

“No, it doesn’t sound nice,” Dar snapped, clinking his empty glass against hers. “Drink up, babe. We’ve got a blues club to go to, and I’m sure this dickhead has customers to schmooze.”

Asta took a quick gulp of the champagne to hide a smile. Dar and this human were on the verge of coming to blows — over her. What a bizarre situation for an angel to be in. “I’m working, Dar. Rain check on the blues club.”

“Fuck that.” Dar glared at her, a bit of an elbow war going on between him and the human. “Drink, and then we’re leaving.”

“I’ve got a splendid idea,” the human snapped, somewhat out of breath from his mild tussle with Dar. “Why don’t you go to the blues club by yourself, or with some other woman, while Asta and I work?”

That wasn’t a splendid idea at all. The thought of Dar going to the club without her, or with some human female, made her want to reverse her decision and take the night off as he’d suggested. Asta stared down at the champagne glass, realizing she’d drunk almost half the contents. She couldn’t — work was the reason she was here. Work came first.

But work didn’t include standing around while this human tried to sell her software and get her up to his hotel room, either. Game over. Time to focus and see if she could pick up the trail of this elusive demon — the one that wasn’t following her all around the city.

“I don’t want this.” She thrust the glass back toward Dar. Might as well get out of this building and see if she could pick up the demon’s song outside. If he hadn’t been summoned and wasn’t using a magical device, he had to have left somehow. There were only so many exits. If she circled around through the alleys, there was a chance she might catch his trail.

“I’m sorry,” she gave the human a kind smile. “I really need to get going. I’ve got some . . . research I need to finish tonight.”

“See you tomorrow at the conference?” There was something in his blue eyes that spurred her protective instincts — something shy and scared. He might be attracted to her, but in spite of that, he seemed vulnerable.

“Yes. I’ll be there.” It wasn’t quite a lie. If there was something demons were planning in conjunction with this conference, she’d need to be there. She turned away from the human and nearly ran into Dar, who was standing practically on top of her. He’d still not taken the drink she was pressing into his chest.

“Not a champagne drinker? Let’s go over to the bar and see what else they have. Then we’ll get out of here and have some fun.”

“I don’t drink.” Asta pushed him away, extending the beverage toward him. It slipped slightly in her hand, liquid sloshing over the edge. The demon grabbed for it, enclosing her hand in his. The room seemed to slow to a halt, and Asta felt a shock of contact. It was like electricity shooting through her skin. She’d touched him last night in the alley, wrapped her hands around his neck in the elevator, had her other hand flat against his chest — why did her fingers entwined in his make her feel like she’d been hit by lightning?

“But you do drink. I’ve seen you do it twice. Is lying another one of your sins? I had no idea angels were so fallible. How do you feel about the sin of lust? It’s a favorite of mine, although I’ll admit I could use some practice. Lots and lots of practice. Maybe you can help me with that one?”

Demons.

A slow grin curled up one side of his mouth, and silver gray eyes danced with a flash of red. He’d stalked her all day, watching her, teasing her with his presence, had practically came to blows with a human over her, and now he had the gall to proposition her — an angel.

“I’m not sleeping with you, never, ever going to have sexual intercourse with you, so get that out of your little pea brain right now. Got it?”

“Does that include blow jobs? Is mutual masturbation off the table, too? I’ve got some really kinky shit I can do with vegetables and electrical cord — does that count as intercourse?”

What in the world would he possibly be doing with vegetables and electrical cord?

“No, I mean yes. Would you just get the fu— the heck out of my way? I’m serious. I need to work.” Asta’s frustration peaked until all the emotions she’d bottled up boiled over. It might be unfair, but she wanted to punch Dar right in his beautiful face.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was warm and seductive, a boyish smile giving his words a hopeful touch. “One kiss. No tongue. Well, maybe some tongue, but not a lot. One little kiss and I’ll leave you alone for the evening.”

“You. . . .” Her voice choked, unable to find the words to even complete a sentence.

The demon didn’t seem to have the same problem. His grip on her hand tightened, his thumb lightly caressing her knuckles. “Yep, me. I’m a demon, after all. I’m guessing you’re not going to come see that blues band with me tonight, so I might as well have a little kiss to think of while I’m whacking off all alone in my hotel room.”

Argh! He’s such a pain in the posterior. Dar leaned close to her, and she shoved. It was like trying to push a brick wall. He might be younger and a few inches shorter than her, but he was solid. “I’m done playing. Leave me alone, right now.”

“Or what?”

She felt his breath against her face, saw the silver in his gray eyes. Again she pushed to no avail.

“Is this guy bothering you?”

The bouncer’s concern faded into a buzz of sound, and everything became tinged with red as the glass shattered in Asta’s hand. Giving up on shoving, she reached for Dar, but he jumped backward, away from her.

This was it. She was done with this pesky, annoying demon. He might look good enough to ruin her vibration level in that suit, but she was going to smash his face in. No matter how he tempted her with his food and music suggestions, she wasn’t about to ruin a perfect service record by ditching her job in the last week.

He’s tempting you with more than food and music, a little voice admonished. It was true, but her curiosity over what it would be like to kiss him didn’t negate her strong desire to beat him to a bloody pulp. She could hardly do that in the middle of a swank reception — or in front of the bouncer. No, better to be subtle and take the demon to where no one could observe, and then punch him senseless. Irritating, annoying demon.

Liar, that voice deep inside chastised. Dar’s teasing had been more flattering than irritating, as had his persistent nearness since sunrise. He was clever, funny, and she was pretty sure his outrageous flirting held more than just a demon’s drive to drag others into the pit of debauchery. She saw it in his eyes, the attraction combined with respect. Yes, she liked his attentions, but he was still pissing her off, and physical confrontation held an edge of sexual excitement that she didn’t fully want to admit to at the moment.

They continued the dance, him backward with each step she advanced, always evading her grasp. Reaching the hallway, he darted into the elevator, inexplicably holding it open for her to join him.

It was full of humans. They were fairly intoxicated. Asta considered enthralling them then bashing the brains out of the smug demon next to her, but her skill in that area was tenuous at best. In her state of anger, it was unlikely she could entrance an insect.

Once outside, Asta followed Dar around a corner and grabbed him, flinging him against the wall with all her might. The demon’s back crashed against the stucco. He left an imprint of his shape as he peeled himself from the building. Before he could move more than a foot, she was on him again, flinging him to the other side of the alley. This time, he managed to hold onto her, and she stumbled forward, tumbling over him with the force of her momentum. They rolled, coming to an abrupt halt against the curb, the demon on top.

“Forget the blues band, how about we head to Millennium Park for an outdoor concert? Or we throw coins in Buckingham Fountain? Or ride the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier?”

The Ferris wheel. Her anger evaporated, and she felt a sting of tears. It had been constructed soon after she’d arrived from Aaru, and she’d always wanted to take a ride. Stupid job. Stupid demons. Why couldn’t she take one damned evening off and have a little fun before she went home?

“Hey. It’s okay.” Dar’s voice was soft and gentle. She closed her eyes, unable to look at him until she got a grip on her emotions. “Really. We can do it some other time. It’s not like you’re leaving tomorrow or anything.”

That made her want to cry even more. She only had a few more days, and this demon was only reminding her how much she’d missed out on in her hundred years.

Her eyes flew open as she felt him shift off her. Extending a hand, he pulled her to her feet, sliding his hands around her waist. “I don’t understand. Is it the Ferris wheel? You don’t like them? Is this like the thing with the rats? We don’t have to do that. Tell you what, we’ll combine work and pleasure. I’ll tell you all about the demon plot while we sip martinis at a bar.”

Asta hesitated. He was being so kind, so un-demonic. She did want to ride the Ferris wheel with him, sip a margarita while she eyed this handsome demon over the salt-crusted rim. He’d say all sorts of outrageous things, and she’d laugh in spite of herself, throwing right order and her vibration levels to the winds. The idea appealed more to her than he’d probably ever know, but he was a demon, and she was an angel. And there was work.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lose my temper. It’s just been a really stressful hundred years.”

He smiled, and she barely resisted the urge to reach out and stroke his face, to rub her thumb along his bottom lip.

“Come out with me. I’m pretty sure you deserve one night off after one-hundred years.”

“I can’t. I really, really want to, but I just can’t.” She didn’t need to feign the regret. I’m making the biggest mistake of my life.

“You’re making the biggest mistake of your life.”

She jumped at his words, wondering if he could read her mind, or if her emotions were that transparent. Dar sighed, tightening his grasp of her waist. “You angels are fucking slave drivers when it comes to duty and responsibility. Well, if I can’t spend the evening with you, I’ll have to go with plan B.”

Before she could even wonder what plan B was, his lips were against hers. It wasn’t the sort of kiss she’d ever expected from a demon — not that she’d ever envisioned herself kissing one. His mouth was gentle and tender, barely a caress. His lips explored hers, then he lifted his head from hers, tugging her bottom lip with a hint of teeth.

“Goodnight, Asta,” he whispered.

It had been over too fast for her to stop it. She’d been too surprised to resist. Liar. All she wanted was for him to kiss her again. That wasn’t something she was willing to admit, so, instead, she summoned up the dredges of her long-cooled temper and pushed him aside. “Go to Hel.”

“Eventually. Right now I’m having too much fun.”

She shook her head, unable to resist returning his smile. Looking down, she saw their tussle in the alley had torn her pants. Another pair of pants ruined by this infernal demon. If he stuck around the rest of the week, she probably wouldn’t have a stitch of apparel left intact. The thought should have pissed her off, but, for the first time in the last century, she found she really didn’t give a flying leap about the state of her precious clothing. It’s not like she’d be taking it with her to Aaru, and the last twenty-four hours with this demon had been far more exciting than even a Versace dress could ever be.

‘Goodnight’, he’d said. He was done playing and was ready to let her focus on her work. The thought was like a cold breeze across her skin. She didn’t want him to leave, and she sure as heck didn’t want to work. She’d rather go with him to see the blues band.

“Tomorrow we’ll discuss what you know about the demon plot. Meet me at the convention center, and you can help me find this guy.” It was the perfect excuse to spend more time with him.

His smile broadened, becoming rather predatory. “I’ll be there, and I’ll help, but it’ll cost you.”

She doubted an evening in a blues club was all he would want. Or a somewhat chaste kiss in a dark alley. Was she really willing to take this further? Could she lie to herself about her motives as the level of sin passed minor into mortal?

One week. Less than one week, and she’d be gone. If her path to salvation was so fragile that she couldn’t push the boundaries a bit, then so be it.

“We’ll discuss terms tomorrow. Now get out of here, so I can do my job.” She’d meant to sound firm, resolved and strong. Instead, the words were those of someone who’d just dropped her ice cream into the gutter.

“Okay.” His eyes were warm as they met hers, and she felt her resolve waver. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She’d expected more sass, more innuendo, but he complied with her demand. Asta felt deflated and curiously disappointed as she realized he’d never even mentioned their kiss.

Chapter 6

Dar climbed through the broken window of the drycleaner and eyed the endless loops of plastic-clad hanging clothes. It was time to step up his game. This angel seemed to admire a well-dressed demon, and he enjoyed fine clothing. He’d left his suit last night in the alley, and it had been stolen by the time he had returned. Besides the one he had on, his only other clothing was a pair of khakis and a few t-shirts. If this angel liked suits, he was going to give her suits. Really, really expensive suits.

What better place to score some nice threads then a pricey dry cleaner? Humans dropped off clothing and sometimes didn’t pick them up for weeks. A lost outfit or two wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. Theft wasn’t on the forbidden-activity list, but he’d pushed this angel pretty hard. It wasn’t beyond reason to think she’d decide any infraction of human law would warrant punishment. The idea was rather exciting. Hmm, what would an angel’s idea of suitable punishment be?

Damn. That line of thinking was making him want to head back down State Street and see how far he could take things with her. He’d promised to leave her be tonight, and as hot and bothered as he was, Dar knew the best way to reel this angel in was to let her miss him a little. Instead, he’d do a bit of five-finger discount shopping, find a hotel more suitable for seducing an angel than the dump he was holed up in, then plan how he was going to get her up there.

After masturbating like a crazed monkey.

Damn, she was beautiful. And the fact she seemed reluctant to kill him was a plus. It would have been simple for her to lie and claim he’d violated the terms of his immunity. It would be her word against a deceased demon’s. The mystery of why she hadn’t killed him was just as intriguing as her mile-long legs. And their back and forth today.

Dar snorted with laughter as he remembered the look on her face after he’d kissed her. This angel liked him. He’d seen the way she’d watched him last night, felt the way she had moved her body against his — and had definitely felt the way she’d explored his spirit-being. She’d been a hair’s breadth from losing control, and he’d gone to sleep last night with a serious case of blue balls. Hopefully tonight she’d sleep just as restlessly, tossing and turning as she dreamed of him.

She was gorgeous. Plus she radiated fiery emotion, sweet kindness, unexpected humor — he’d never thought angels could be so volatile, so mesmerizing.

Ain’t love grand? Well, maybe not love, but this weird fascination with someone powerful enough to kill him was pretty close. Now, to find the right outfit for wooing an angel.

Not these shitty wedding dresses with their eighty yards of fabric and fake pearls. There had to have been a thousand of them spinning by as Dar cycled the loop of clothes around. Why did humans think such a voluminous dress would be suitable for pledging eternal love? Humans should get married naked. In fact, the guests should be naked too. Or forced to wear French-maid outfits.

Finally, the endless procession of wedding dresses, and equally vile prom dresses, passed by and the men’s clothing began to circle around. He’d need a suit that was dapper, that reflected his sly nature. He needed a suit that wasn’t quite designer, that was edgy but with classic lines. Actually, he’d need several of them.

By the time Dar left the drycleaners, he had four suits, a handful of lightly starched shirts, and two pairs of jeans. It was a lucky break that some dude was insane enough to actually send his jeans to the drycleaners, otherwise he would have been stuck looking like an advertising executive for the next few days. Shoplifting wasn’t beneath him, but he doubted he’d have time for visiting the mall beyond swiping a few extra pairs of shoes. There was way too much on his agenda already.

Starting with a better hotel than the one he’d crashed at last night. One near the convention he’d be forced to attend while courting Asta.

Sauntering through the gilded sliding doors of a suitably ritzy looking hotel, Dar punched the up button at the elevator and whistled as he waited. There was a sign by the concierge welcoming Cybercon attendees. Well, that was easy. With the conference in town, it would be a walk in the park to score a top room. The elevator door opened, and Dar surveyed his options. With a quick bit of demon know-how he’d bypassed the security controls and found himself on the restricted twenty-fifth floor.

There weren’t many rooms up here, since they all took up nearly as much real estate as a two-bedroom apartment. Dar ran his hand along the locks as he walked, figuring out which ones were coded for a current guest and which were empty. Ah. Bingo.

Dar flicked on the lights and caught his breath. Wow, this was swank. The Chicago skyline framed dark blue couches, which faced a television nearly engulfing the entire wall. The kitchenette was an actual full-sized galley kitchen. The demon dumped his stolen clothing onto the round dining table and walked through the enormous suite. Every outside wall was an endless window, even the bathroom boasted a breathtaking view.

“I’ve got to get her in here somehow.” It was a ridiculous thought, but not out of the realm of possibility given the last twenty-four hours. If last week someone had told him he’d be groped-up by an angel, or be kissing one, he would have thought them insane. She was an angel, and she’d already indulged in several minor sins. More importantly, she hadn’t ripped his head off when he’d kissed her. It was a promising start down an unknown path — one that excited him more than anything had in the last century. Dar walked back into the living area and snagged a bottle of gin from the bar — that was far from mini — and settled in to watch the sunrise over Lake Michigan and plan.

Asta went back to the party after pacing the perimeter of the hotel and exploring every stairwell and side street searching for a trace of the demon. Where had he gone? Few demons had the ability to teleport. Even if this one had the skill, or some magical device that allowed him to transport himself in and out of Chicago, the way he faded in and out of the edges of her awareness didn’t seem like teleportation. It was almost as though he were hiding behind something. But what? And how?

It was a mystery. And she just didn’t care. Her prey was gone without a trace, and she’d passed up a fun evening to prowl around the streets and come back to this boring roof-top party.

It hadn’t been as boring with Dar there. Again, she thought of his jealousy over the human. He’d insisted she needed to try a lobster crepe. The stupid demon she was chasing was gone — her evening was pretty much ruined along with her pants. Might as well do something wicked.

The crepe chef smiled at her, giving her that once-over that human men always seemed to do. She smiled back, thinking if Dar were here, he’d be threatening to shove various foodstuffs in the man’s rear end for looking at her that way. What was he doing? Had he gone to that blues band without her? Something like regret coursed through her. Here she was, chasing after a demon that clearly had vanished when she could be enjoying herself with Dar.

She’d gone insane. Why should she be longing to ditch her job and listen to music with a demon? Why should she get a sick feeling in her stomach at the thought of him off without her? This was her job, her duty. She’d see him in the morning. Sheesh, girl, grow a set.

Oh my stars; this crepe thing was amazing. That first bite burst through her senses — crisp, paper-thin wrapper barely containing thick chunks of sweet lobster meat in a decadent cream sauce. The whole thing would have been sickeningly rich if not for the balancing mix of pepper and lemon. It was her first food, and it was possibly the most incredible thing she’d ever experienced.

And she wished Dar was there. He’d understand her reaction. He’d revel in it. He’d give her a gleeful I-told-you-so then make her try a meatball. He should be here, but she’d sent him away so she could work.

And now her longing and regret turned to a completely unfamiliar paranoia. Did Dar and the other demon know each other? Were they together right now, mocking her ineptitude? No — she’d not gotten that impression from Dar. He was irritating, teasing, tempting, but he’d seemed curious about the demon she was tracking, and far more interested in her than this cyber whatever tomorrow. Dar couldn’t be in league with him, could he?

Demons lie. They betray. They are foul beings who de-evolve with every decade. Creation would be a better place if they were exterminated — wiped from existence. As much as she was attracted to Dar, she could never forget what he was and that he’d sell her out for the right price in an instant. Don’t trust him. Have your fun, but never let your guard down for him. He’ll betray you in a heartbeat.

Maybe, but there was another voice in her head that countered her fears. The one who formed you was an Angel of Chaos — one of the rebels who fell. Surely some good must remain in the demons, some remnant of the angels they once were.

Asta shook her head to rid herself of the pesky voices and took another bite of the luscious crepe. She was the youngest of the angels. She’d never met an Angel of Chaos. All she had to rely upon was the word of those Angels of Order who remained in Aaru. Yes, the demons she’d killed in the last century had been up to no good, but who was to say they were all like that?

This was her job. They were violating the treaty by their very presence here. Regardless of whether the war in Aaru was justified, or who was right, these demons were trespassers. And the penalty was death. Except for Dar, who, thankfully, had immunity. Thankfully, because there was no way she could ever bring herself to kill him.

“You came back.”

She spun around and saw the human who had approached her earlier.

“Carter Phelps?” He extended a hand towards her. “Look, things are winding down here, and my staff can handle the rest of the evening. Would you, uh . . . would you like to have a cup of coffee next door?”

He looked so sweet standing there with his outstretched hand and earnest gaze. There would be no harm in having a cup of coffee with a human, and he might be able to give her some insight on what demons could possibly want with a cyber-security conference. She’d given up on an enjoyable evening, might as well get as much work in as she could. With any luck, she could catch this demon and spend the rest of her time here having fun with Dar.

When Asta didn’t respond, he spoke into the awkward silence. “Just business. Just a cup of coffee, and we can talk business.” A nervous smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

“Okay.” Asta shook his hand and felt a twinge of guilt as the man’s eyes sparkled in excitement. Great. Now she had a lewd stalker demon that she was having very improper thoughts about and a human admirer.

Phelps made small talk about the weather and various sports teams as they walked to the café. Espresso in hand, Asta sat across from him at a little table and listened, her eyes glazing over. This human was . . . boring. Although that was kind of unfair. He was probably perfectly nice; it’s just that after verbally sparring with Dar all day, this one-sided discussion about the White Sox seemed rather flat.

Time to change the subject, find out what she could from this man and let him down gently. “I’m not very knowledgeable about cyber security. Can you tell me about your company?”

A bit of an abrupt change in conversation, but Phelps didn’t seem to notice. The man practically glowed with pride. “We help companies, both large and small, guard against security breaches. Last year, over thirty major firms had their data warehouses breached with the Whippet virus, and nearly a hundred-thousand credit cards were subject to identity theft. Every one of our clients remained secure from the virus. Companies and institutions that subscribe to our software have remained safe from over ninety-nine percent of attacks in the last three years.”

This was a bit more interesting than baseball. “Wow.” Asta didn’t have to feign admiration. “And all the other companies at the conference do the same thing?”

Phelps grinned. “They try. Some have other specialties, but none of them have our record of success.”

It wasn’t just a sales pitch; this man truly believed in his product and clearly loved his line of work. Now, how to subtly ask him what the ramifications would be if a demon collapsed the conference center on their heads, or blew up the building. There had to be some reason beyond general murder for a demon to target this particular conference.

“Tell me about your company.” The man leaned forward, taking a quick sip of his coffee as he watched Asta intently.

The angel floundered. She’d never been good at this sort of thing. For a brief moment, she thought of Dar and envied him his quick-on-the-feet lying skills. “Um, well we’re a small division of a larger company, fairly autonomous since we operate remotely. We’re tasked with guarding . . . locations — entryways and that sort of thing. We make sure the wrong sort aren’t where they’re not supposed to be and deal with the situation if they are.”

The man gave her a warm smile. “So a different sort, but nevertheless a similar business to mine. Security guards, bouncers, and the like.”

“Yes.” Well, sort of. Celestial security guards and bouncers, but the similarity was there. Of course, trespassing humans didn’t generally get their heads removed by a bouncer.

“Beyond financial data and customer records, you still might find our products of value. If you do any security for high-profile individuals where the risk of an assassination attempt or kidnapping might occur, we can safeguard your plans, routes, etc.”

Assassination and kidnapping. Could that be what the demon was planning? A conference such as this might attract high-level politicians, military leaders, or other influential individuals.

“How long have you lived in Chicago? I mean, I assume you live here. I can’t think you’d travel out of town to a conference on something you profess not to need.” He flushed red from his neck up to the roots of his blond hair and stared down at the contents of his coffee cup. Smooth talking was definitely not this man’s strong suit.

Asta smiled, comparing his flustered interest with Dar’s bold confidence. “I haven’t lived in Chicago my whole life, but I’ve been here long enough that I feel like I can call it home.”

Phelps returned her smile, the red dropping to a light shade of pink. “I grew up in southern California — well, my parents lived there. I actually spent a lot of time with my grandmother in New York. Back and forth like that, I ended up with platinum status by the age of ten from all the frequent flyer points.”

She gave a polite laugh, but saw the sadness in his eyes — a sadness she understood all too well. “I didn’t really know my parents. There was a big war right after I was born that split my parents up. My sire died in battle when I was very young. The head of my choir — I mean, my village — took charge of my upbringing.”

“Wow, I had no idea.” Phelps shook his head. What country are you from?”

Asta thought frantically through the various human skirmishes in the last three decades. “Rwanda.”

Phelps caught his breath and reached out a hand to clasp hers. “I read about how terrible things were there. I’m glad you made it out alive. You must be very grateful to your village leader for protecting you. How did you manage to get out of the country? Your accent is perfect, so I assume you must have immigrated when you were young.”

Now things were getting tricky. How did demons do this? All these lies to keep straight and remember — it practically gave Asta an anxiety attack trying to spin a believable story to this man, let alone try and get back on topic.

“There was . . . a missionary group that sponsored me. They had someone who brought me here. I was an adult, but young compared to the others. I just . . . well, I learn languages easily.” Aaru help her if the man asked her for details about life in Rwanda, or specifics about the missionary group. She needed to change this topic from her childhood before she completely tripped herself up in lies. “You don’t happen to know if someone famous is going to be at the conference this week, do you?”

It was the worst segue ever.

Phelps nodded knowingly. “Ahh, testing your own security, I see. Now I know why you’re at the conference. Don’t worry; I haven’t heard anything about someone famous attending. Whoever your client is, his or her identity hasn’t been leaked.”

Either that theory was bust or this human just wasn’t connected enough to know about a high-profile attendee. She’d most likely exhausted everything this man knew. No sense in leading him on further. Asta pushed back her chair and started to rise.

“Tell me about the village leader who raised you. What was he like?”

Shoot. Asta looked around frantically, wishing that Dar would burst through the café door and give her an excuse to leave.

“He’s kind but has high expectations. I know he’s proud of what I’m doing here, and he thinks I have potential. I try to live up to his expectations, but I often fail. He’s surprisingly patient about my shortcomings.”

Sheesh, how to describe an ancient archangel? Gabriel was all those things, but putting how his patronage had affected her into words wasn’t easy.

Phelps nodded. “My grandmother was the only one who seemed to be proud of me, the only one who saw my potential. She died when I was in college, but I’d like to think she’d be proud of what I’ve done.” A shadow passed over the man’s face. “I hope she’d be proud. It was all for the greater good, after all.”

This was surreal. For a hundred years, she’d guarded these humans, but she’d never sat down and had this type of conversation with one of them. How odd that his and her upbringings had similar themes, as different as they were.

“She sounds like a wonderful lady. You were lucky to have had her.”

The man’s eyes misted, and he took a quick sip of coffee. “Yes. I received some memorabilia from her estate after she passed — nothing of significant worth, but of great emotional value. I carry the items with me when I travel, to remind me of her faith in me. It gives me something to strive towards as I work.”

Yes, very similar themes, although she carried no mementos of Gabriel with her. In Aaru, nothing physical survived more than a few weeks. Mementos and trophies had to be kept elsewhere or they deteriorated into nothingness.

“I’d love to show them to you.”

The proposal sounded innocent enough, but Asta knew a trip to his hotel room to see such personal items would cross a line. A century of keeping her distance shouldn’t be compromised, no matter how much sympathy this man generated in her heart. She smiled to lessen the sting and shook her head, scooting her chair backwards and rising to her feet.

“I’m sorry, but I have a long night ahead of me. Thank you for the espresso, Mr. Phelps. Can I ask a favor of you? Could you let me know if you see or hear anything that might impact physical security at the conference?”

He stood and reached out to shake her hand. “Of course. Do you have a card with your phone number?”

Drat. She seriously needed to get a cell phone or something if she was going to be interacting with humans, although with less than one week left, it hardly seemed worth the effort. “No, but you’ll be able to contact me. I’ll be at the conference all week.”

That was totally the wrong thing to say. He was glowing again, and not from embarrassment this time. Darn it all. He thought she was implying she wanted to see him again, and probably in a romantic fashion.

“I’ll definitely make every effort to seek you out.” The man’s smile nearly reached his ears. “And, Asta, please call me Carter. My father is Mr. Phelps. I haven’t earned that privilege yet.”

Now she was going to have two beings trailing around after her — one human, the other a demon. Ah well, nothing she could do about that now.

“Thank you, Carter. Have a pleasant evening.” Asta fled the café and walked along State Street, pausing at the bridge. What was she doing? Letting a demon kiss her and now leading a human to think she might want a romantic relationship with him. This had to be worse than drinking coffee and hoarding designer clothing. Her vibration levels would take centuries to recover from tonight’s activities.

Breathing deep and watching the Chicago River flow out toward Lake Michigan, Asta shook her head. Her path to enlightenment may have suffered a minor set back, but it was only temporary. She’d catch the nefarious demon who was plotting against the conference in her territory, sin just a little bit more, then leave it all behind.

Chapter 7

This convention had more humans packed into a geometric area than Dar had ever seen. He felt like someone had stuffed him into a can of spam, tightly pressed against other men in suits, and women in smart attire. With all the people, and computer equipment humming away, it had to have been at least a hundred degrees in the room. Even a twenty-foot ceiling couldn’t compensate for the broiling temperature. Dar considered ditching the jacket, and possibly the rest of his stolen attire, and wandering around naked, but he’d probably get thrown out in under five minutes. He should have stolen one of the wedding dresses instead. At least he could have lopped off the bottom part of the skirt and allowed adequate airflow. What idiot decided this was appropriate apparel for a man?

At least there was tons of free shit here. So far he’d managed to fill the little canvas bag he’d been given with several USB sticks, half a dozen rubber stress toys, thirty pens, and a little device that sprayed water while whirring a fan. That had come in handy, but the battery hadn’t lasted more than twenty minutes — which was about the time it had taken him to move ten feet in this fucking place.

She was here — his angel — somewhere at the opposite end of the giant room. Who knows where the fuck the other demon was. Two hours and he hadn’t sensed him at all.

He shuffled forward another few feet and cursed under his breath. How the angel thought she was going to catch her prey in this room was beyond him. Narrowing his eyes, he looked upward, wondering if she’d taken to wing to avoid the crowd. It’s what he would have done. Actually, he would have just started blasting his way through the humans. Or morphed into his rat form and taken a short cut between everyone’s legs.

It was a reasonable idea, Dar thought, before moving another few feet. Humans seemed irrationally afraid of rodents. A two-foot long rat running around the aisles would clear the place pretty damned fast. If this crowd didn’t start moving soon, he was going to do it.

A large man to Dar’s left stumbled, knocking the demon sideways. People staggered like a line of dominos ready to fall. Damn it all. This sucked. Forget the rat form, the blasting idea was starting to sound better and better.

“Sorry.”

Dar looked up into very familiar blue eyes that widened in shock as they met his. Wyatt — his sister’s human toy. Why she allowed her humans to run around like this was a mystery. He should be back in Maryland, locked in a cage or duct taped in the basement, but no, here he was with his own tote bag bulging with goodies.

“You’re not allowed to harm me.” Wyatt tried to back away from Dar, but didn’t get far.

“I don’t intend to harm you.” The demon huffed. “Although, if these people don’t get moving soon, I may start indiscriminately ripping off limbs. What the fuck is with this crowd?”

“We’re in line for the Genus Micro freebie. Everything thins out once you’re past their booth.”

Genus Micro. That had been the company who’d put on the swank reception last night. Dar suddenly became more tolerant of the horde. If last night was any indication of their marketing budget, their swag was going to be worth waiting for.

“I didn’t see you at their reception at The Wit last night,” Dar commented. If he was stuck here with Wyatt for the next hour, he might as well make small talk.

“Uhhh, yeah.” Wyatt laughed. “I wasn’t exactly invited. I’m kind of the competition, although, compared to Genus Micro, I’m small potatoes.”

Dar craned his neck and saw a woman in an evening gown handing items out to the throng of humans. Almost there. “So I’m assuming you plan on sneaking around their booth, gathering what intel you can, and stealing their ideas?”

Humans weren’t so different than demons, and Wyatt had proved in the past that he wasn’t above breaking laws to further his own interests.

“Sort of.” Wyatt shot Dar a defensive look. “It’s not a crime to check out the competition.”

The crowd parted, and Dar sprang forward, practically tackling the scantily dressed blond woman handing out the freebies. She jumped back, dropping her bowl and spilling the plastic-wrapped items on the floor. The throng of humans went wild, suddenly resembling children diving for candy from a piñata. Dar elbowed several in the head and kicked a few in his haste to retrieve as many of the items as possible. If they were really that valuable, perhaps he could sell them. No need to stand in line. Just ten bucks gets you this plastic thingie right now.

Breaking free from the scrambling humans, Dar examined his score and scowled. More USB sticks. What the fuck was everyone salivating over these things for when at least ten other booths were giving them away.

“It’s what’s on them that’s important.” Wyatt’s smug voice was right beside him. “Cobra Mini, the low-end version of their virus protection software. It retails for over five thousand per license.”

Dar whistled. That was the low end? Shit, he was totally in the wrong business. Forget blowing up bridges and bribing politicians, the real money was in computer security. If only he knew what the fuck that entailed, he could make a fortune.

“Can I sell them?” Dar opened his jacket and revealed the dozen little plastic sticks overflowing from his inside pocket.

Wyatt laughed. “Do it fast. Genus updates their software monthly, and the freebies won’t get the new versions. They’ll be worthless in two months.”

Damn. Although there had to be some sucker out there who would pay a few hundred for one of these. Dar would be long gone before they realized he’d sold them an old version.

“I think that’s an angel over there.”

Dar looked up at Wyatt’s urgent whisper and saw Asta holding up one of the Genus Micro USB sticks and eyeing it with curiosity.

“I know. Isn’t she hot? She totally wants me.”

Wyatt snorted. “Yeah, wants to see your head nailed to the wall. You better get out of here. I don’t want to have to explain to Sam that I watched her brother get killed in the middle of a convention hall.”

“I haven’t done anything to violate the terms of my immunity. Besides, she’s hunting another demon.”

Wyatt looked about in alarm. “There’s another demon here? Should we vacate the building?”

Dar shrugged. “I don’t know if he’s going to collapse the ceiling or set the room on fire or what. He’s been really stealthy. It’s almost like he’s jumping in and out of the room, like he’s only partially here. I doubt he’d be able to pull anything that dramatic without being fully present for more than a few seconds.”

“A few seconds is sometimes all it takes,” Wyatt grumbled. “Do you think he’s got an elf button or some magical device?”

It was kind of nice having a conversation with a human who actually understood these things. Sam had taught her toy well. “None that I’ve ever experienced. The way his energy signature fluctuates, it’s like a botched summoning. He’s ghosting in then gone. I can’t imagine a demon doing that voluntarily. You wouldn’t be able to get anything done. Plus it would be annoying as all fuck.”

“So someone here is a sorcerer trying to bring in a demon from Hel?” Wyatt looked around. “We’re all a bunch of geeks, excluding the hired booth models. How would we tell a sorcerer apart from the rest of us?”

“I don’t know. It’s not my problem; it’s hers. This demon isn’t stepping on my toes, and last time I checked, I wasn’t an angel to go chasing down every demon who crossed the gates from Hel.”

“So why are you here?” Wyatt arched an eyebrow. “You don’t know anything about computers beyond Internet gambling and surfing for porn. I can’t imagine there’d be anything at a security conference to tempt you.”

“I’m here for her.” Dar nodded toward the angel. “I’m going to tempt her into sin — well, more sin than she’s currently indulging in. Which is quite a lot, let me tell you. Did you know she shoplifts clothing? She stole a biker jacket from AllSaints this morning, had three coffees, and licked a Danish. I’ll bet I can actually convince her to eat something. I’ll bet I can get her to do a whole lot more than that, if you get my drift.”

“Right.” Wyatt shook his head, looking skeptically at Asta. “Just because your sister has managed to seduce an angel doesn’t mean you’re going to. No offense, dude, but she hasn’t even looked once at you.”

“Yeah? Watch.” Dar made a quick motion with his hand, and the slick salesman at the Genus Micro booth suddenly found his pants around his ankles. Like steel to a magnet, everyone’s eyes turned to stare at the man’s crimson briefs — everyone but the angel.

Asta’s eyes pivoted around, glaring right at Dar.

“Okay, she’s looking at you, but, in my experience, that particular expression doesn’t lead to sex in the near future.”

“Sure it does. Fistfights always lead to sex. You’re clearly lacking in your knowledge of how to woo demons.”

“She’s not a demon,” Wyatt argued. “You should be helping little old ladies across the street, or picking up litter from the highway medians if you want to woo an angel.”

“Even better.” Dar leaned in close to Wyatt. “I’m helping her catch a demon. I’ve got inside knowledge of a demonic plot to destroy the city. She’ll bag this bad guy then fall into my arms in gratitude — my muscular, buff, and tanned arms.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Liar. Seriously, Dar, if I can see through your bull, an angel will be able to.”

“She’s coming this way.” Dar cut off Wyatt with a hand on his shoulder. “Ssssssh. Ixnay on the emonday.”

“Why did you pants that man?” Asta demanded. “Have you found the demon yet? And what are the red items everyone is snatching up from the floor?” Her words were abrupt, but there was a warm glint in her brown eyes, and a hint of a smile on that luscious mouth. Yes, his lovely angel was trying to keep to business, but her mind was clearly thinking of something else, too.

“Wow, she is hot. I mean, she’s hot for a human, but she’s really hot for an angel. They’re normally kind of statue-looking and blurry.”

Dar winced, wondering at Wyatt’s intellect. Complimenting an angel on their manifestation of the human form was one thing, stating they were ‘hot’ by addressing them in the third person right in front of them was another.

“And he is an idiot,” Dar told the angel. “I mean, he’s really an idiot for a human. They’re normally kind of clever in a lower-life-form kind of way.” Her eyes danced with humor as they met Dar’s, and he couldn’t help but catch his breath at the shared moment between them. “He’s an idiot, but he’s also right. You are hot. One smoking-hot angel.” Dar punched Wyatt good-naturedly in the shoulder. “And she’s my angel. I saw her first, so back off, buddy.”

“I am no one’s.” Asta waved her hand dismissively. “Last I checked, I hadn’t been presented with a breeding contract, or any sort of exclusivity proposal. So, currently, I would consider myself unattached. And, just for your information, I would never consort with a human, especially one marked by a demon. He’s claimed.”

“I’m so relieved to hear of your single and available status.” Dar put his hand on his chest. “And I’m also glad I’m not a human. There’s still a chance you might consort with a lowly demon.”

“Is it snowing in your homeland? ‘Cause that’s the only way I’m consorting with you.” Asta smiled smugly. “Oh, and I have your clothes from the other night at my place. Do you want me to drop them by your hotel room?”

Wyatt made a choking noise, and Dar stifled a laugh. The angel probably had no idea what she’d just implied. “Just keep them at your place. It’ll be good to have a spare set there. I’ll make sure to bring over a toothbrush and razor next time.”

“Toothbrush and razor? What are you talking about?” Asta tilted her head, wrinkling her forehead in adorable confusion. “And back to my original question: why did you disrobe that man?”

“To get your attention.”

Asta bit her lip, obviously trying to hide a smile, the gold flecks glowing in her eyes. “A little unorthodox, but you get points for creativity. And now you have my attention. Have you located the other demon? I’ve searched this hall all morning and haven’t sensed him. Not that sensing anything is easy with all the electronic equipment and the number of attendees. Did you know, it took me twenty minutes to get down this aisle? The crowds here are insane.”

“I haven’t sensed the demon either, but I did bring you something. Here.” Dar handed her a white bag. She took it, holding it gingerly between thumb and forefinger.

“Please tell me this isn’t bird poop. Or worse, demon poop.”

Now that would be funny. “Look inside. Go on.”

She opened the bag, holding her breath as she looked. With a sharp inhalation, the angel dug her other hand into the bag, withdrawing a brightly colored, circular-shaped pastry.

“Hey, can I have one?” Wyatt looked longingly at the bag.

“No, you can’t. They are only for my angel. I don’t buy expensive food for humans.”

Asta gave Wyatt an apologetic look but didn’t offer him one. “What are they? I saw them in the window at Alliance Bakery. Are they some kind of donut?”

“Donut? Babe, I would never present you with lowly donuts. These are macarons. I figured if you’re going to be chugging coffee like a third-shift convenience-store clerk, you might as well indulge in quality pastries, too.”

The angel took a bite, making appreciative noises as she chewed.

“That one’s salted caramel. The one with the black specks is lemon poppy, and the green is pistachio. The brown is milk-chocolate passion. Save that one for last, because I’m pretty sure you’ll have an orgasm while eating it. I wouldn’t want you to collapse on the floor and crush the other macarons while in the throes of ecstasy.”

“Mummffm, mumm.”

Dar was fairly certain that hadn’t been a declaration of love — or lust — but from the rate she was devouring the pastries, he knew his impulsive trip this morning had paid off. Score one for the demon, he thought smugly.

“Wow, those are good.” The angel crumpled up the bag and placed it neatly in a nearby trash can, licking the crumbs from her fingers. “And I am suddenly very energetic.”

Sugar rush. Dar bit back a smile and nodded. “Just think of how much you’d be able to accomplish if you made macarons part of your daily morning routine.”

She eyed him suspiciously. Her form shimmered briefly before returning to its perfect state. “I’ll consider it. Now, what is this red thing the humans want so badly that they’ll risk wearing holes in the knees of their pants to obtain?”

“Porn. Here, let me have yours. Or better yet, we can watch it together tonight in the privacy of my hotel room.”

Asta lifted an eyebrow. “Porn? It’s an Internet security conference. Why would anyone here be interested in images of human reproduction attempts?”

“Humans are always interested in sex. We probably don’t go ten minutes without thinking about it. Well, at least the guys don’t. But that doesn’t—” Wyatt grunted as Dar elbowed him in the stomach.

“See the woman handing them out? She’s going to be banging at least two-dozen lucky guys tonight.”

“Liar.” Asta rolled her eyes and threw the USB stick. It bounced off Dar’s forehead and onto the carpet. “Tell me the truth.”

“It has computer software on it. The humans find it particularly valuable, but only for the next month. After that, they’ll find the next version particularly valuable.”

“Waste of my time,” Asta muttered, turning to leave. “I’m going to keep looking around to see if I can pick up any traces of the demon.”

“Ask me what else I know. Go ahead, ask.”

She sighed but turned back to face him. “You don’t know anything, Dar. All you’ve done this morning is run around, collect silly cheap trinkets, and ogle the booth models.”

“And buy you pastries. I did buy you pastries. And I never even got a ‘thank you’ for that either. Angels: so ungrateful and impolite.”

The angel took a deep breath. “Thank you very much for bringing the macarons. They were delicious, and I enjoyed them greatly. And you were right about the lobster crepes last night. I went back while I was looking for the demon and tried them. They were amazing. I’m afraid I was quite a glutton and ate two.”

She went back and ate something — ate something he’d been urging her to try. Dar’s heart skipped a beat. What else would she enjoy? Peking duck? Mushroom risotto? Twenty-year-old scotch? Maybe more than a kiss? It was all he could do to keep from grabbing her and dragging her off to his hotel room.

Instead, he grinned like a fool. “I’m holding you to that rain check on the blues club, you know.”

“What blues club?” Wyatt asked.

He might as well have not spoken for all the attention either paid to him.

“Nope.” Asta wagged her index finger at Dar. “I seem to recall you telling me, with a liberal sprinkling of profanity, you weren’t taking my rain check. We’re in negotiations, demon. Nothing for free. Tell me what you know about any plot on the convention or any demon activity in my city, and I might be willing to eat more pastries.”

Dar barked out a laugh. As if that were an even trade. He’d have to think of something clever for his made-up information. Turning to Wyatt, the demon raised his eyebrows. “See? She wants me. I’ll be getting me some angel love by the end of the week, or my name isn’t—“

With a squeak, Dar found himself sitting on one of the rafters. Aside from Wyatt, the humans below were blissfully ignorant of the angel’s meteoric rise with him in tow. Wow, she was fast.

Reclining casually against a thin suspension wire, Asta gave him an easy smile. “Now that we’re away from that human’s prying ears, let’s negotiate. What do you want in exchange for information and your assistance?”

A fifty-foot drop wouldn’t be fatal, but it wouldn’t be enjoyable either, especially if he landed on that pointy booth below. “How about we do this at a lower altitude. Like ground level. I’ll even spring for coffee.”

The angel tilted her head and furrowed her eyebrows. “But this is so much more private. Come on. Tell me your outrageous demands. I’ll protest, and then we’ll eventually come to an agreement.”

Screw that. He’d be happy to make outrageous demands; if only he wasn’t gripping the beam with all his strength and trying to keep from hyperventilating. “I have good reason to believe there’s a sorcerer involved who is attempting to summon the demon.”

Asta narrowed her eyes. He’d just volunteered that? Last night he’d alluded to a botched summoning, but for him to give information without any kind of demand? Angels always bartered favors and information, and she’d been told demons were the same. Why was this information free?

“How do you know this? Who is the sorcerer, and what does he intend to have the demon do?” Might as well go with it. Maybe this information would also come without strings. Could be her lucky day.

The demon swallowed hard, his knuckles white on the beam. Was he lying? In her experience, when someone had sweat beading on their forehead, they were usually lying.

“I’m not saying anything else until I’m in the convention café, in a chair with a cup of overpriced, crappy coffee in my hand.”

“Fine.” Grabbing him by the shoulders, she dropped from the rafters, dumping him into a chair by the food concession area. He sat with a hard thump and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“I don’t know exactly what the demon has planned. We just gotta find the sorcerer, and then we’ll have the demon.”

“And how do you propose we do this?” Asta wasn’t sure if this fell in her jurisdiction or not. Technically, she was just supposed to take out any demons who crossed over from Hel, not interfere in human activities. Even if this sorcerer was summoning a demon, she might not be able to act until the demon had actually appeared — and then she’d only be able to deliver justice to the demon. Human justice was outside her authority.

“You take that side of the convention hall, and I’ll take the other. Look for a guy with a pointy hat, a wand, and possibly a lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.”

Okay, that was the funny Dar from last night. Thank goodness he’d stopped sweating like he was on the verge of a heart attack. “I think I would have noticed that particular human on my search this morning. Get serious, or you’ll find out how those little red plastic things feel crammed up your nose.”

“Promises, promises. Angels are such teases.”

Asta made a quick move, and Dar held out his hands, batting hers away as she thrust the USB sticks at him.

“A sorcerer probably won’t stand out in a crowd, but in order to summon the demon, he’ll need to have some obvious tools. There will be a circle of salt and a summoning triangle within it at the very least. Depending on who he is summoning, he’ll have protective runes around the perimeter. He’ll probably be summoning from a scroll, since doing it from memory is dangerous.”

She steepled her hands and rested her chin on the fingertips as she regarded him. “Seriously? How would that not cause notice among the other humans? Honestly, a salt ring with runes is going to stand out just as much as a man with a pointy hat.”

“It doesn’t have to. The circle and runes could be disguised in the pattern of a carpet, mosaic, or wood parquet floor. Salt could be worked into a pattern of tiles. Even the actual summoning can be buried beneath a song melody or background noise. It doesn’t have to be loud to work.” Dar leaned forward. “And from how this demon is reacting, I’m guessing it’s not an optimal summoning. It makes sense that the sorcerer is trying to disguise his actions, and there’s a break in the ritual or pattern somewhere that’s causing the in-and-out cycle of energy we’ve sensed.”

Funny, silly, and a whole lot of crazy, this demon was also smart. When it came time to get serious, he really had a brain in behind that handsome face.

Asta tilted her head and regarded the demon. “How do you know all this?”

“I’m fucking brilliant, that’s how.” Dar stood and headed to the concession area, making disgusted noises as he looked through the selections.

Seems his brain wasn’t serious for long. She hated to admit it, but that was actually part of his charm. Everyone in Aaru was so darned somber; it was refreshing to work with someone who wasn’t. Asta followed him and picked up a cellophane-wrapped sandwich. “Is this good? Should I eat this?”

Dar snatched it from her and threw it across the room. “Not unless you want to be hugging a toilet the rest of the day.”

There was something in his voice that made her wonder if the humor was forced. “Have you been summoned before?”

The demon gave up on the snack foods and grabbed a bottle of water instead. “A few times. Being summoned sucks.”

“What’s it like?”

He took a long sip of his drink before answering. “Being ripped away from whatever you’re doing and dumped in a tiny, cramped space with some bearded guy, or worse a bearded lady, ordering you to do shit for them. Whatever they want is usually boring. Then they send you back to Hel without even a ‘thank you’. Like I said, it sucks.”

Asta caught her breath imagining how horrible it would be — minding your own business, drinking coffee and enjoying the sunrise only to be yanked away and forced to do another’s bidding.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry. How many times. . .?”

Dar gave a bitter laugh and tossed the half-full water bottle into the trash. “Too many. Sometimes I’ve been lucky enough to talk my way out of a deal. A few times lucky enough to manage to kill the sorcerer.”

Asta winced. If he did that now, she’d have to kill him for breaking the terms of his immunity. It didn’t seem fair. These summoned demons weren’t here voluntarily and were performing their vile deeds under a human’s direction. The thought opened up a whole new moral dilemma for her.

“I’m not sure I can kill this demon if he’s being summoned. Perhaps I’ll just subdue him and send him back through the gates.”

Dar snorted. “Yeah. Great idea. Do you plan on killing the sorcerer too? Because that demon will be summoned back by the end of the week if you don’t.”

“I can’t kill a human. It’s not within my authority to punish native species. I’m an enforcer, not an angel of judgment.”

“So humans are the only native species here? Because you sure as hell didn’t have any problems killing those rats last night.” He tempered the harshness of his words with a rakish grin. “Not that I see that as a character flaw or anything. Willingness to kill with wanton abandon is totally sexy in my book.”

Asta dropped her eyes. “Rats count, just as much as humans. I didn’t mean to kill them. I’m just . . . I’m afraid of rats.”

She heard his sharp intake of breath, his soft, quick laugh. “You’re an angel, and you’re afraid of rats.”

Asta glared, feeling defensive at his mocking tone. “I know it’s silly, but I am. And I truly regret killing them. I mourn the loss of their lives and feel the tarnish their deaths caused to my vibration levels. I strive to do better, but it’s hard here in this physical form, surrounded by all these sensations.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it. Seriously, I don’t have any problem with you killing them. I’m just surprised.”

“Like I said, it’s silly. They’ve got those beady eyes and sharp teeth. Plus I get shivers when their claws make that scrabbling noise. I just envision them swarming me, crawling all over my skin and biting me.”

Dar grinned. “Sounds like foreplay. Sure you wouldn’t like it? I mean, maybe if just one rat was doing the crawling all over your skin and biting, you’d find yourself closer to orgasm then panic.”

This was ridiculous. Here she was revealing her fears and moral dilemmas to a demon — this demon. Actually the whole experience was bizarre. Angels didn’t have conversations with annoying demons. They didn’t agree to a working relationship with one, no matter how short it might be. And they certainly didn’t find themselves enjoying the quick-witted teasing of demons. Time to get back to the topic at hand. Whether she actually killed this summoned demon or some other alternative, she needed to catch him first. Demons in her territory were inexcusable, those with immunity notwithstanding, and Asta wasn’t about to sully her exemplary record so close to her return to Aaru.

“Is there an energy signature to the summoning circle? If the runes are charged, the magic should be giving off some kind of energy. Can you recognize it?”

Dar scowled. “All right, we’ll go back to work, but I’m claiming both a rain check on the blues club and on the idea of me nibbling your soft, warm skin. All work and no play makes Asta a very dull angel.”

“Blues club, but no on the biting. No biting allowed. Biting makes Asta a very pissy angel.”

His grin was slow and seductive. “Might be worth it. And I think I like pissy Asta, although I like sense-of-humor Asta best of all.”

“Work. Back to work.” Stars it was hot in here. She fanned her face and tried to remember what she’d originally asked.

“You’d probably be better able to sense a summoning circle than me. Either way, we’d need to be fairly close. There’s a lot of energy flying around, especially at a tech conference. It’s hard to filter out all the noise and narrow in on the summoning area. If we could get a general idea of where it is, we might have an actual chance of pinpointing the exact area and possibly the caster.”

It was odd to see him switch gears so fast, from irreverent playboy to smart and quick. This demon wasn’t stupid. He was intelligent. And he couldn’t be trusted, no matter how charming he could be. Asta took a deep breath, resolving to force herself to keep things solely on work, lest she forget exactly what lay behind his charismatic face.

“Caster? Would the sorcerer have some residual magic clinging to him from the summoning?”

Dar nodded. “But we’d have to locate him fast. These things fade quickly.”

Asta considered his words, tapping her fingers on the table. Dar plopped down in a chair, propping his feet on the table, inches from her fingers. “Tough one, huh?” His voice was soft with an odd edge to it. “An awful lot for one angel to do — a huge conference room filled with people and electrical false leads.”

“We’ll both just have to keep alert for the demon signature while we hunt for the summoning area and the caster. Between the two of us, we should be able to catch this sorcerer, and the demon, by the time the convention closes.” And then go listen to some blues music. Maybe ride on the Ferris wheel. Maybe do other things.

Dar rocked backward on his chair. “We? I’ll admit I’ve enjoyed following you around and harassing you for the last few days, and kissing you was pretty much the highlight of my vacation so far, but this sounds suspiciously like work. I’ll have you know, I’m highly allergic to work — especially uncompensated work.”

Negotiation time. Here we go. Asta bit back a smile. “I’m not having sex with you.”

“You’ve already mentioned your reluctance, and I’ve got to say that your resistance is quite a turn on. I’ll settle for an evening out with me.”

Asta narrowed her eyes. “Evening out doing what?” Ooh, she hoped it involved a Ferris wheel.

Dar grinned, and his resemblance to the mythical Cheshire cat was remarkable. “My choice. You need to agree to go along with any of my proposed activities, or I’m not helping.”

“No sex.” Sheesh, that sounded pretty half-hearted. She might as well have added ‘unless you ask really nicely’ at the end.

The demon looked toward the ceiling and shook his head. “You’re really hung up on the sex thing, aren’t you? Angels are such damned prudes. Okay. No sex, and no activities that would violate the terms of my immunity. Is that good enough for you?”

Bummer. She’d hoped he’d push the issue a bit more. Although, his terms definitely left a lot of wiggle room. Asta bit her lip and thought about all the things this demon could demand of her tonight. Still, she was an angel, and not without brains. If she couldn’t work her way out of anything she found terribly objectionable in this vaguely worded contract, then she deserved whatever she got.

“Deal.”

“Swear it.”

Demons. Nothing ever seemed to be on a handshake when it came to them.

“I vow that I will participate in activities of your choice with you tonight as long as it does not violate the terms of your immunity or involve sexual intercourse.”

Dar’s eyes flashed red as he smiled. “Agreed. No sex, even if you beg me on bended knees.”

Asta snorted. “Yeah. That would be the day pigs sprout wings.” Could happen. Demons were particularly good at manipulating the physical plane, and she wouldn’t put it past Dar to slap some feathery protuberances on a swine just to weasel her into bed. And a certain part of her kind of hoped he did.

Chapter 8

Dar’s feet were ready to fall off. Six hours of walking around a convention were five hours more than he’d ever wanted. The good news was, he was loaded down with bags full of freebies. The bad news was, there had been no hint of the demon. He’d taken to going from booth to booth, staring at their carpets and back panels, eyeing the geometric structure of their lighting. None had provided the appropriate circle and triangle pattern needed for a safe summoning. It was possible the sorcerer was reckless enough to do without protection runes, but there was no way he’d be stupid enough to yank a demon into this realm without the requisite circle and triangle to contain the being.

Or maybe he’s not doing the summoning here. Or maybe he knows there’s an angel breathing down his neck, and he’s waiting for Asta to take a hike. Or—.

“There’s a woman by the Environmetrics booth that has a sigil tattooed on her neck.”

Dar jumped two feet in the air, spinning as he landed, nearly colliding with Asta. “For fuck sake, woman, never sneak up on a demon like that. You’re lucky I didn’t go all ninja on your ass.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and pursed her lips.

Cute. Especially how her arms pushed her breasts up. If he tilted his head right, he could almost see a bit of top-boob.

“Ninja. Riiiiight. Come look at this tattoo.”

Anything was better than wandering around this convention hall one more time, but her request sounded very much like a command, and Dar wasn’t fond of commands, even if they came from a beautiful angel.

“Carry one of these bags for me. They weigh a fucking ton.” An order from her would be acceptable if he were to give one in return. Surprisingly, she took the bag without argument, weaving her way through the crowd.

“What’s in this thing anyway?” she called back to him, turning her head over her shoulder and sending her brown curls dancing across her back. “It weighs a lot.”

“Stuff.” Dar had no idea what he’d put into the bags. Anytime there had been a freebie offered, he’d taken it. Anytime there had been something not offered, he’d taken it. It was a strange compulsion for him to gather trinkets and little items and hide them away. His home in Hel looked like it should be featured on a hoarders show. The rat in him could never resist anything brightly colored, shiny, or intriguing in any way. One human’s junk was a demon’s treasure.

“Here. The redhead.”

Dar thrust the other bag into Asta’s hand and waltzed to the human in question. She was breathtakingly tall, taller even than Asta. The woman towered a good four inches over Dar with her modest heels. Auburn hair was pulled into a soft braid that draped over one shoulder and revealed the blue tattoo at the back of her neck.

It was a sigil, and Dar recognized the mark right away. With a muffled laugh, he made his way back to the angel.

“Uh, no. If she’s our sorcerer, and she’s summoning that demon, you might as well call it a night and go for drinks.”

Asta frowned. “Why? Do you recognize the sigil? It didn’t appear to be one for any of the angels I know, and I thought it might be a demon mark.”

“It’s mine.”

The angel stopped breathing for a second, her brown eyes wide. “Yours? What do you mean; it’s yours? Why would that human possibly have your mark on the back of her neck?”

Dar wiggled his eyebrows at the angel. “I may be a demon, but I don’t kiss and tell. And I certainly don’t fuck and tell. Even if the fuck in question was a particularly wild week in Jamaica during spring break five years ago. Oh, you have no idea what young college women do when under the influence of quality reggae music and good rum. It was a week to remember, even though there were moments when I feared for my life. Whew, humans can give us demons a run for our money when it comes to crazy. Good times. Seriously good times.”

Asta craned her neck and stared at the woman. “You’re telling me you made such an impression on that woman that she permanently affixed your sigil on her skin? Just with sex? No untold riches, career success, promises of immortality, or anything like that?”

Dar smirked. “Yep. Just sex. Because I’m that incredible in the sack, baby. You should try me out. Sample the goods. Take me out for a test-drive.”

The angel shook her head, taking another quick look at the woman in question. “She’s got to have the IQ of a hamster. I can’t see any other explanation.”

“Hey!” He couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m very fond of hamsters. Although I prefer angels. At least, I think I’d prefer angels. I won’t know until I’ve actually had one.”

“As soon as I meet an angel with the IQ of a hamster, I’ll send him your way.” Asta sighed, her shoulders drooping. “We’ve been at this all day with no hint of the demon. Part of me wants to call it a night, but I’m afraid the moment we leave, the demon will show up.”

She was probably right. He’d begun to suspect the demon was laying low until she left. Or there was no demon. Dar was starting to think that whoever they’d sensed last night was long gone. The best way to rule one theory out was to test it, and that would conveniently play right into his main goal. “Tell you what, you get outa here, get a cup of coffee, and shoplift some clothing. I’ll hang here for another few hours until the convention closes, just to make sure our guy doesn’t appear. Then we’ll go on our date.”

Asta shifted the two bags into one hand to free the other and rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s my job. I’ll stay.”

Dar gave an exasperated sigh and swatted her hand away, kneading her shoulders and neck. “I mean it. Run this stuff by my hotel room; take advantage of the huge Jacuzzi tub. I’ll call the room if I sense the demon. Chill out, raid the mini bar, watch some television, and meet me at Grand and Dearborn at six. Deal?”

Tub. Jacuzzi tub. In the last century, she’d taken a few midnight dips in the lake, and stolen a few quick swims in private swimming pools, but the thought of stretching out in hot bubbling water. . . . Mmm, hot water. She relaxed a bit just thinking about it. Well, to be honest, she also relaxed a bit due to the demon’s skilled fingers working out knotted muscles. Wow, she must be frazzled if she was letting a demon put his hands on her neck, let alone enjoying it.

She chewed her lip. “Well . . . I really shouldn’t.”

The demon spun her around, nudging her gently toward the exit. ‘Go. Now. The Jacuzzi tub awaits.”

Asta glanced back with narrowed eyes. “Okay, but if you sneak in on me when I’m bathing, I’ll fry you to a crisp.”

Dar raised his right hand, although the glint in his eyes was downright wicked. “No peeking. I promise.”

“Asta! Hi, I’ve been looking all over for you.”

She turned. There was Carter Phelps, flushed rather red, trying to simultaneously smile at her and glare at Dar. Great. She so didn’t need this right now — a cockfight between a man and a demon. She was just too exhausted for their jealous antics.

“I was thinking of what you said last night, and I had an idea,” Carter announced.

Last night. And now Dar was bristling too, his eyes practically boring holes into the human. How to diffuse the situation?

“You’ve identified a security risk?” There. That should clue in the demon-half of this testosterone battle that her meeting had been business related, but not alienate Carter — or give him the ridiculous idea that anything was going on between herself and Dar.

The human looked sheepish. “Well, no. The other thing we discussed. There’s a huge charity event in San Diego next month, and as a major donor, Genus Micro gets to pick the charity. I was thinking maybe you’d like to attend? The money could go to a cause that benefits Rwanda and the situation there — you know, to help out your family and others that weren’t as lucky to escape the genocide as you were?”

The demon made a sharp choking noise. “Rwan-what? What the fuck?”

Asta quickly shifted her weight, bringing a sharp, tall heel down firmly into Dar’s instep. He yelped. “I would love to go, but I’m leaving after this week for home . . . uh, returning to Rwanda to stay. I won’t be back here for a very long time, if ever.”

“Oh.” The human looked devastated, and Asta felt a twinge of guilt. Better to end this fantasy of his now than have him pining over her for however long it took humans to get over crushes. “I’ll still . . . maybe you can recommend a charity, and I can let you know how much money we raised? Oh, and I’m continuing to keep an eye out for the security concerns we discussed.”

Even more guilt. She needed him, needed the knowledge and insight of a bigwig at the conference to clue her in on what possible motive could be driving a demon plot, but she didn’t want to lead him on. What a mess.

“Thank you. I’m actually a bit tired and heading out now, but I’ll touch base with you in the morning?”

He practically glowed. “That would be great. Can I walk you to your hotel? Where are you staying?”

“Not a chance, dude.” Dar grabbed Asta’s elbow and practically knocked the human aside. “I’m walking her out, so you just keep your grubby charity funds away from her.”

Carter rolled his eyes and gave Asta what she supposed was a smile of sympathy. “I’ll have an espresso waiting for you. No sugar, no cream, a twist of lemon — just as you like it.”

Dar yanked her arm, almost throwing her to the floor. For some reason unknown to her, she allowed him to haul her through the convention. The whole way, he muttered something under his breath about how macarons were better than espresso.

Once clear of the main conference hall, she pulled free and planted her feet. “Seriously? What is your problem? He’s one of the movers and shakers here. We need him for insight into what the demon’s motive could be, and an early warning of possible issues. Don’t drive him away.”

“That’s hardly likely,” Dar snarled. “It would take an atomic bomb to get him away from you. He knows how you drink your espresso? You went back to the party last night and picked him up. I’d expect the seduction method of information gathering from a demon, but not an angel.”

“I didn’t seduce him,” Asta declared hotly. “We went for coffee next door and talked. That’s it. He has a bit of a thing for me, but I’ve done nothing to encourage it.” Nothing to discourage it either, she thought with another helping of guilt. And why did she care what Dar believed?

Dar’s eyes narrowed, and her anger kicked in.

“Take a hike. I don’t need you, and I don’t need your Jacuzzi tub either.” She spun around to leave, but he grabbed her arm. She allowed him to halt her, even though she was strong enough to break free.

“I’m sorry.”

It was insane how those two words deflated her anger like a balloon on a nail.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never worked with an angel before, and I judged you by demon standards of behavior. Please forgive me? And please use my Jacuzzi tub?”

Asta sighed, suddenly realizing she was still toting around his heavy bags of stuff. What was it about this demon? He could be such an irritating jerk, and then he’d worm his way into her heart with a sincere apology. What demon apologizes?

Wait, heart? Oh no. That was so not happening. But she was exhausted, and the hot, steamy tub just a few blocks away called to her.

“Apology accepted. I’ll drop off your stuff and take a bath at your place, even keep my vow on our night out tonight, but you need to promise not to harass Carter. Don’t prank him, don’t speak to him, and especially don’t engage in a fistfight with him. Deal?”

Once again, the demon raised his right hand — the one not gripping her elbow. “Deal.”

Carter. She’d called that stupid human prick by his first name. And the way her voice caressed the syllables made him itch to plant his fist in the man’s face. Still, it was him she was going out with tonight, not Carter. He just needed to play his cards right. Rwanda his ass — the angel had lied like a demon in addition to her other sins. Yes, he just needed to be the right combination of ballsy and patient, and she’d be his. The thought stirred not just the one-eyed trouser snake but something deeper inside him. Love was a shameful emotion for demons, one they denied with great vehemence, but Dar had felt that emotion before and wasn’t embarrassed to admit it — at least to himself. As amazing as youthful infatuation had been, it was nothing like what this could be if he just allowed it to happen — if the angel allowed it to happen.

His mind whirred with thoughts of how he could stealthily seduce her. Plotting out the evening in his mind, Dar strolled back into the convention center — always scanning for demon energy. Tonight would be amazing, but he sensed that the way to Asta’s heart was through her work. Helping her catch this demon would do more to further his suit than an exquisite dinner. Sorry, guy, when it’s a choice between betraying a fellow demon and scoring an amazing angel, you lose.

There was one more hour before the conference closed for the night and everyone went to their respective parties. Dar thought for a second about Asta opening the door to his hotel room, discarding her clothes in a line as she strode down the hallway to the bathroom, climbing naked into a steaming tub of water. There was that other motive behind his offer to her — well, beyond the idea of Asta naked in his tub. The angel was trying her best, but she still leaked power. Any demon in a one-block radius could pick up her energy signature if they were suspicious and wary. Dar suspected the demon they were chasing might be more willing to make an appearance if the angel wasn’t in the same room.

Sure enough, as the conference was winding down for the evening, Dar picked up the energy signature, stronger than it had ever been. Holding his own energy tight, he weaved up and down the aisles, tracking the moving target until it halted right where his morning had begun — at the Genus Micro booth.

No circle, no runes. The convention was closing soon, but there were over twenty people meandering around the booth. Dar walked through, making a habit of shaking hands with whomever he met. That’s when he found himself face to face with Carter Phelps. The man had his hands full of USB sticks — blue this time instead of red.

“Dar, right?” The human was clearly fighting between the urge to pummel him into the ground and remain professional. Professional won. “Did you get one of the Cobra Mini samples earlier today? We’re out, but I might have one or two I can scrounge up somewhere.”

Professional, but if looks could eviscerate, then Dar would be in bleeding bits on the floor. The man clearly had a big-time hard-on for Asta. Too bad. Dar had gotten here first, and he was the superior species in this fight. Still, from what he’d heard, angels did have a soft spot for humans and often took that affection down a sexual path. He just needed to make sure Asta didn’t make that choice.

“I managed to grab one this morning. They’re far too basic for our needs, though. I was hoping to speak to you about some of your other, more robust, product offerings.”

Phelps clenched his teeth, and again professional won. “Absolutely. We’ve got three other products for larger companies with complex security needs. I’d be happy to put together a more detailed proposal after an appropriate needs analysis.”

Keep your friends in a bear hug, and your enemies close enough to fuck them in the ass. This guy had designs on Asta — that alone was worth some personal time. He also was a mover and shaker at the conference. If Dar wanted to win his angel, he’d need every bit of intel he could gather to catch the other demon. This man could help.

“What are those?” Dar nodded at the blue sticks. “More of your Cobra Mini giveaways for tomorrow?”

Carter’s smile seemed a shade devious. “No. We’re bringing out the big guns for tomorrow. Ouroboros is our newest product. It’s a learning program designed to keep you one step ahead of the hackers. A lucky hundred will get one of these — six months’ free protection.”

Dar’s eyes zeroed in on the items. If the red ones would bring a few hundred on the black market, how much could he make on these? The demon’s thoughts immediately focused on how to steal as many of them as possible. Perhaps he could watch where Carter stored them and sneak in later to steal the lot. Hmm, another reason to make nice with this guy.

“Want one? I’m going to save one for Asta, but I can spare another for you.” It was a grudging offer, business interests warring against fierce sexual competition. “Here. This is our top-of-the-line product. Take one.”

Why yes, he would take one. Dar reached out an eager hand to grab the stick and brushed his fingers against Carter’s.

The residual demon energy snaked faintly through him — sulfur and grapefruit with a raspy, pebbled feel to it. It was a signature of power — one from a demon that wouldn’t easily make it through a gate undetected. What. The. Fuck.

In spite of the energy, Carter was not the demon. He was human, but definitely a human who had been in close contact with a demon. But where had the demon been? One of his employees? One of the many attendees who’d strolled into the booth today? Or was Carter the sorcerer?

If he was, where the fuck was the demon? It hadn’t been summoned into the hall. Had Carter left and done his magic elsewhere? Dar pocketed the USB stick and glanced at his watch. Two hours until he met Asta. Time enough for a little snooping.

“Phelps, do you have time to chat about your products? I know we’re both chasing after the same woman here, but I’m willing to put that aside for business. I’ve been contracted by a German holding company that had a rather embarrassing breach in a major division this year. I’m sure you understand that I can’t reveal their name, but I’m very interested in what your company has to offer.”

The man’s eyes lit up, although there was still a wary narrowing around the edges. He quickly shoved the remaining blue sticks into a cabinet and locked it. “Absolutely. It’s difficult enough to regain customer trust after a breach, but a second one would spell the end for a business. Your company is right to look to the best.”

And here comes the kicker. Dar only hoped what Wyatt had inferred earlier was true. “I’ve got to be straight forward with you — we’re also looking at a competitor of yours. Wyatt Lowry came highly recommended. He’s a one-man shop, without the vast customer base that you have, but he’s really brilliant.”

Bingo. Carter Phelps stiffened, his lips thinning to a grim line. “I’m brilliant too. And no other company has a reputation on par with Genus Micro.”

It was a petulant statement, as if he’d spent his life around those who doubted his brilliance, as though he had to defend his intellect every second of every day. Still, the man’s tone wasn’t defiant or bold; it was weak and full of doubt. The man had defended his mental abilities for so long, he’d begun to doubt them himself.

Not exactly the MO for a sorcerer. How the fuck had this guy managed to summon a demon, let alone control one? He should have been a blood splatter on a hotel wall. Maybe Dar had it all wrong, and the residual energy was from a customer or employee. There was only one way to find out.

“Well, of course you’re brilliant! Cobra, and now this. I’ve got to say, Phelps, this Ouroboros you’re releasing might just be the product we’re looking for. Let’s get a quiet drink somewhere and see what we can do about my client’s problem.”

The man nodded eagerly, his business interests temporarily pushing aside any romantic rivalry. “Sure. I’m staying at the Four Quarters over on Wacker. Let’s pop over there and continue our conversation.”

“In order to get your opinion on what solution Genus Micro would offer, I’d need to reveal some rather confidential details,” Dar cautioned.

“I understand.” Phelps seemed to struggle then made a frustrated noise. “I have the top-floor suite. We could speak there without worry of anyone listening in.”

Dar tried for a friendly, relieved smile. It was probably the same as his predatory smile, given the human’s wary expression. “Perfect. I’ve got a hard stop at five-thirty — a rather lively evening planned with a certain lady, if you know what I mean.”

Carter looked furious. “You’re not going to get anywhere with her. She’s better than some two-bit consultant. Still, I’ll make sure you’re on board with Genus Micro by the time you meet your date.”

‘Date’ sounded like he’d spat something foul onto the floor. Dar smothered a grin. He really needed to cozy up to Phelps and get information on who he’d been in contact with that might be the demon, but he couldn’t resist the urge to stick it to him. Yeah, buddy, I’ve got a date with the beautiful angel and you don’t.

There was an awkward silence as they left the closed convention and walked several blocks to the hotel. The streetlights echoed the radiant gold and red of the sunset over the city edge. The river reflected the glow in the small wake that followed the tour boats. On the opposite side of the bridge, joggers danced down the riverside promenade, muscles straining in the evening light. The Four Quarters had a dock on the river for those who wanted to enter from the promenade or via small craft. Dar followed the human around the front of the building, past the valet service, and through the massive glass doors. The concierge greeted Phelps by name as they made their way past the open-layout dining area and lounge to the huge bank of elevators.

Carter Phelps’s penthouse suite at the Four Quarters was as plush as the one Dar was staying in. Outside the panoramic windows, cars snaked by. Dots of light moved along in the distance framed by the sunset-lit waters of Lake Michigan. Sweet, but it probably didn’t have the amazing tub that Dar’s had.

The human was stiff and formal as he ushered Dar onto the plush sofa and offered him a drink. The demon watched him chip ice then looked around for anything that might clue him in to what supernatural force Phelps had been in contact with. Nothing beyond the smallest trace of demon energy. The room was as sterile as any other hotel suite. Carefully coordinated design elements, entertaining area, and small dining area bisected by a miniscule kitchen. The dining table was covered with a variety of brochures, pamphlets, and stacks of paper. A laptop blinked beside it. Dar began to feel there was nothing here to give him a clue, but he might as well play the game ‘til the end.

“My client was vulnerable to four significant attacks last year.” Dar announced, still scanning the room. “Of that, three we were able to do damage control before the public found out, but this last one . . . financials and critical customer information is probably now in the hands of the highest bidder.”

Phelps glanced up from the mini bar and winced, looking both sympathetic and antagonistic at the same time. It was a disturbing combination of expressions. “We’ve had several clients turn to us after similar scenarios. Data shows after implementing a Genus Micro solution, their vulnerability is less than one percent. During the last three years, none of the clients who implemented our suite of products had any compromised data.”

Dar nodded as the man rambled stiffly on, citing all sorts of statistics. Where was the demon? Employee who’d visited here? Valued client that had close contact with him? Phelps had a residual energy signature, but nothing more. Although there was no sign of a summoning circle or any kind of magical device, the energy signature was faint but steady — as if the demon were watching from behind some kind of gauzy curtain.

Taking the offered crystal tumbler with murmured thanks, Dar continued scanning the room as he sipped his drink. It was a typical upscale hotel suite. Sofas loaded with pillows, color-coordinated abstract paintings, geometric lamps with pleated shades — nothing suggested a summoning had occurred here, let alone any other kind of demon meeting. Still, there was that annoyingly elusive trace of energy. Had the demon left an item behind? Was he hiding in the bedroom closet? What the fuck was emitting that energy?

“What kind of presence do you have in Europe?” Dar asked, standing and walking casually to the window, as if he wanted to admire the view. “My client is a bit suspicious of U.S. companies, and having references from an EU country would help to close the deal.”

He had no idea what the fuck he was talking about, but he’d heard enough boring elven crap over the last thousand years to fake it.

Phelps rambled off some names while Dar thought through likely scenarios. Wherever the demon was, it wasn’t here. The energy just wasn’t strong enough for him to be hiding under the sofa or in the bedroom. That left either an imprinted item, or this pesky human as a sorcerer. There wasn’t a summoning circle, but he’d hardly expected one burned into the carpet. If Dar were to do something dangerous and rather unlawful, he’d hardly do it in his hotel living room.

“Damn! Sorry, the glass slipped.” Dar held his hands to the side, dripping whisky on the carpet as he looked mournfully down at his stained, white shirt. “Can you grab those testimonials for me while I try and salvage this shirt?”

“Of course.”

Dar blotted at the shirt a few times with a napkin, waiting for Phelps to start going through the stack of brochures before heading down the hallway. Bathroom first door on the left, so the bedroom would be the second door. If the guy was a sorcerer, this was probably where he’d be doing his summoning.

The room was luxurious. A California King bed with a padded headboard was flanked with ebony bedside tables. A few items of clothing were folded neatly on the mussed bed, and an open suitcase sat on the wing-backed chair. Looked like Carter Phelps was refusing room service. Other than general disarray, nothing screamed demon. Nothing seemed particularly out of place in a hotel bedroom except for the items displayed on top of the dresser in a careful manner. It was almost as though the man had set up a sort of shrine, although why an old pack of playing cards and a chipped mason jar belonged in a shrine was beyond Dar’s comprehension. The picture he could understand; humans had great reverence for visual reminders of those they loved, but the other objects were just bizarre.

Still, the demon energy was strongest in this room, so Dar made his way to the display and carefully looked through the mismatched array of items. Behind the brass-framed picture was something that took the demon’s breath away — an antique stoppered bottle.

Dar didn’t dare touch it. Purple and shades of smoky gray swirled in a fussy pattern around the base. Gilded handles curved from either side. It was old, and he would have recognized its purpose even if he hadn’t felt the stamp of demon energy on the bottle.

Oh shit. Spinning on his heel, he exited, slipping into the bathroom to hurriedly sponge the spilled whisky from his shirt. By the time he returned, Phelps had put together a neat packet of information, his card paper-clipped to the top.

“I wrote my cell phone number down.” He pointed to the card, his tone frosty. “I’m happy to fly over to Germany if they’d like to meet me or have me demonstrate the product. Otherwise, I think our references will speak for themselves.”

“Thank you.” Dar glanced at the top sheet and tucked the packet under his arm. “I hate to run like this, but it’s never wise to leave a lady waiting.”

“Of course.” Phelps sneered. “You might want your clients to install that copy of Ourobouros by the end of the day even if they’re still undecided on your proposal. I’ve heard rumblings that there’s something big coming out of Southeast Asia.”

“I’m not surprised.” There was a poignant moment of tension between the two as Dar headed toward the door. Cameras, sensors — the room was loaded with security devices. He’d expected no less. “I’m grateful for your assistance. I’ll be in touch on behalf of my client.”

“Right.” Phelps’s voice radiated disdain. “Have your client load the software — or not. It’s your choice. And it’s your cross to bear if they fall to a cyber attack next week.”

The warning was clear, but Dar didn’t give a shit. He nodded deferentially and strode out of the penthouse suite, taking the elevator to the lobby.

Pocketing the business card, Dar tossed the rest of the paperwork in the trash bin. Interesting. Asta would be very pleased at what he’d found out, although he had no plans to tell her until after their date night. Angels were workaholics, and there’s no way he was going to let some other demon interfere with what he was hoping would be the first of many entertaining evenings with her.

Chapter 9

Asta smoothed her hair, checking that all the wild curls were neatly tucked into the barrette at the nape of her neck. Walking in these pointy-heeled shoes had taken months of practice. Running, jumping, and climbing in them was even trickier. But they were so beautiful with their shiny cream tops and red soles — worth every agonizing effort. And they made her legs look insanely long.

So did the dress. Soft chiffon folds came to mid-thigh, while the snug white underskirt barely covered her rear. The whole outfit narrowed, hugging from her hips and waist on up. Strapless, the top portion had a vee neck that revealed a significant amount of cleavage. Asta had spent several minutes trying to yank the top up only to realize that covering her chest meant her rump would be exposed.

Human women showed a lot of leg and breast tissue, so the dress was hardly indecent by their standards. It’s not that she had any issues about nudity — or near nudity — it just seemed wrong that her appearance was causing such havoc with the human males. The angel bit back a smile. It definitely was wrong that she was enjoying their attention, and probably just as wrong that she’d been wondering all evening what Dar would say when he saw her.

Lolita’s was lit up with yellow neon, humans lingering outside with black plastic boxes in hand. Of course there would be a wait. This was the new hot spot downtown. Asta wondered if Dar had thought to make reservations. Demons probably didn’t think about such things — not that angels did either. Wondering at their odds of getting a table without her having to work her angel-mojo, Asta halted. An available table was the least of her worries. She couldn’t even get inside.

Stupid revolving doors. What idiot thought these things were a good method of entering a building? She stood watching as the door made its circuitous route. Could she time it so she actually managed to get in between the sections? The last time, she’d been knocked backwards onto the pavement. That wouldn’t be a graceful entrance given her current dress and sky-high stilettos.

“Need help?”

She recognized his voice even before the faint energy trickled across her skin with its siren song. How did he do that? Thank Aaru all demons weren’t as stealthy as Dar, or her job would be nearly impossible. As she turned, she realized that with her heels, she towered over him. In flats, she was the same height as the demon, but the shoes she loved so much put Dar’s chin right at her bosom — a fact he’d quickly realized and had taken advantage of.

“Want me to get the door for you?” he asked her breasts.

“Did you make reservations? Otherwise we can skip the revolving door and just head over to Taco Bell.”

The demon chuckled and brushed a curl from her bare shoulder, his fingers lingering against her neck while his eyes explored the skin north of her cleavage. “Of course I made reservations. I didn’t want you to give me any excuse to not eat tonight.”

“I swore I’d play your game tonight as long as you help me catch the other demon. I’ll eat anything you put in front of me.”

Why did that cause the demon to nearly fall over laughing? Did he have something in particular he wanted her to eat, the thought of which was giving him such amusement?

Oh. Yeah, that probably wasn’t the best thing for her to say given his proclivity toward the sin of lust.

Wiping his eyes, still chuckling, Dar strode forward, stopping the revolving door to the angry protests of those trapped inside. “Then let us dine, my angel.”

Asta took a deep breath and walked past him, putting her palms on the front of the glass as she’d seen the humans do. Hopefully he wouldn’t bump her out as he had the other evening. With these shoes on, she’d probably land face-first on the plush carpet.

“Ready?”

She should have known he’d squeeze into the tiny space behind her, pressing the full length of his form against her back and rear. Asta tried to scoot forward, only to find herself sandwiched between the demon and the glass. The humans yelled at them to move, but Dar held still, his body warm and powerful.

“Maybe we should just stay here a while.” His hips shifted and Asta felt something stir to life, hard and firm against her buttocks.

She’d told him no sex, but rubbing against her in the doorway wasn’t off limits. And it was most definitely brought with it welcome sensations. “We need to move,” Asta said with regret. She tried to push the door forward, but Dar had it wedged in place. The trapped humans began to pound on the glass.

“I love pissing them off,” he whispered against her hair. “So much anger over such a minor inconvenience. The gifts of Aaru seem to have turned them into a bunch of minor demons, don’t you agree?”

It did seem a fair comparison at the moment, but Asta hadn’t squandered her century here. She’d seen sparks of divinity in the human race, and no demon was going to convince her otherwise.

She shifted to look at him over her shoulder, rubbing herself along his body in the process. Oh stars, this felt good. If only those darned humans weren’t causing such a racket. “You’re being inconsiderate.” Her voice was breathless. “They have a right to be angry. And they’re still very early in their evolution. Give them another ten-thousand years or so, and I think you’ll find they’re more angelic.”

“Fuck, I hope not.” He pressed her harder against the glass, moving the door forward a few inches. “Besides, I won’t be around for ten-thousand years. Demons don’t usually live that long. Lives as exciting as ours tend to terminate fairly early.”

On that depressing thought, the demon moved the door forward, holding her waist to steady her upon exit. There was no reason demons shouldn’t live for billions of years as their angel counterparts did. Live fast and die young seemed a poor bargain, but Dar didn’t appear to be bothered that his lifestyle resulted in a significant reduction in life expectancy.

Dar confirmed his reservation with the hostess, taking the black box she handed to him. “Shall we sit at the bar and have a drink before dinner?”

She shrugged. “It’s your night.”

Why was she being so rude? She’d made this bargain; there was no reason for her to lose her manners over it. And so far the evening had been very stimulating – especially their moment in the doorway. “Yes, I’d love a drink before dinner,” she amended with a smile. The evening would be far more pleasant if she put two-million years of dislike and distrust aside and just went with it. Besides, she actually liked this demon. He was clever and funny, and his pursuit of her was very flattering. Screw all she’d been taught in Aaru. Screw a hundred years of dedicated service and proper vibration levels. This was her last week, and this was a date with a demon. She was going to throw caution to the winds and enjoy every moment of it.

One glare from Dar and a couple of businessmen grabbed their drinks and vacated two adjacent seats at the bar. The demon waited until she’d sat then leaned over the edge to flag down the bartender.

“I’ll have a coffee,” Asta told the smiling blond woman.

“Oh, no she won’t.” Dar raised an eyebrow, his gaze traveling down the angel’s body. “The lady will have a Moscow Mule, and I’d like a gin and tonic with a twist.”

“What’s a Moscow Mule?” Asta had a sneaking suspicion the bartender wouldn’t be bringing her an equine imported from Russia.

“You’ll see.”

The mule didn’t come with four legs and long ears; it came in an icy-cold copper mug. Asta sniffed it suspiciously then took a tentative sip.

“Ooh! Ginger, lime, and some kind of fermented grain. Very refreshing.”

Dar’s expression was smug. “See? You should trust me. Only the best for my angel.”

Trust him? The odd thing was, she did. In spite of all the warning bells that had been going off in her head since the day she’d met him, she did trust him. Especially when it came to food and drink. She took another sip.

The mule was amazing. Asta had begun experimenting with a handful of beverages once she’d found out how addicting espresso could be. It would take her years in Aaru to break herself of a newfound soda craving, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to get over her love of coffee. This mule drink could prove to be a new vice, although it would be a short-lived one. One week. Less than one more week.

“Did you enjoy my hotel room? The tub? Is there anything left in the mini bar?”

How embarrassing would it be to admit she’d spent nearly an hour in the enormous tub, wings submerged in the scorching-hot water? “It was okay. Nothing in the mini bar appealed to me.”

The demon’s eyes seemed to dissect through her indifferent statement. It was almost as though he’d seen her naked and half dozing, the water steaming around her.

“I think something appealed to you. You clean up real nice, angel.”

Asta shook her head at his contrived drawl. “I took a bath. That was it.”

A bath was all she’d had time for. Asta had made a detour to her special spot, the place she kept all the forbidden things an angel shouldn’t be hording. Once there, it had taken her nearly an hour to decide which clothing to wear. And for what? She pouted a bit that he hadn’t even commented on her dress. “So, what do you think of my outfit?”

He smirked, his facial expression that of a lion about to pounce on a gazelle. “Where’d you steal this one from?”

Asta’s face heated, and she stuttered as she collected her thoughts. “I don’t steal! Sometimes I borrow, and when I do, I always find a way to compensate the store. This is an Evelyn Macon original. I made sure she won a scratch-off lottery ticket that was more than the retail price on the dress.”

The demon’s grin threatened to encompasses the lower half of his face. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, shoplifter.”

Jerk. She realized her fascination with human fashion and their interesting, short lives wasn’t in keeping with what an angel should be spending her time doing. One more week, then all would be cleansed away by the purity of Aaru.

“It’s a beautiful dress.” He leaned in close. “In spite of my pickiness over which suits I steal from the drycleaners, I’m not much of a clothes horse. Honestly, you’d be far more attractive naked and sprawled across my bed.”

“That’s not part of our deal tonight,” Asta interjected. “So just wipe that thought right out of your mind.” Not that she could wipe that thought out of her mind. It was there forever now, branded into her brain.

He leaned even closer, so near, his breath caressed her cheek. “I can’t. Not with all this warm-brown skin on display. How do you manage such a convincing human form? Other angels I’ve met look like bleached statues.”

“I’m very young, not even three-million years old.” Why was her voice so breathless? “Umm, so I don’t have the ability to enthrall the humans as other angels do. Blending in with them is essential if I’m going to do my job.”

Dar laughed. “Three million is ancient to us. Most demons that make it through infancy don’t survive more than a few millennia. The big dogs are maybe ten-to-twenty-thousand years old max, and there are only a handful of ancients left that were alive during the war.”

Asta tilted her head, regarding him in surprise. “Wow. I’m the baby up in Aaru — the youngest of all the angels. I was created just as the war started.”

The demon choked on his drink. “You’re fucking joking me. Three-million years and no angels have been getting it on? That’s one hell of a dry spell. You all must be ready to gnaw your wings off.”

“We’re getting it on.” Asta felt herself flush with indignation. “We just can’t breed. Trust me, we are still capable of intimacy.”

Dar raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Right. You all hate being in physical form and don’t manifest genitals when you do — what are you doing to get off?”

I can’t believe I’m having this conversation at all, let alone with a demon. Asta took a huge swig of her drink, trying to figure out how to explain this properly.

“I’ll have you know that some of us do manifest genitalia — even though we don’t use them. An accurate representation of the human form is important to some of us. And we manage to get off just fine. We merge our spirit-beings. It’s very . . . satisfying.”

The demon snorted. “Satisfying? A steak is satisfying; sex is mind-blowing. You must not be doing it right.”

Now it was Asta’s turn to choke on her drink. “I am too doing it right! It’s good. It’s nice. I like it.”

Sheesh, she sounded like she was trying to convince him she liked broccoli. It had been satisfying, although she believed a good cup of coffee was more enjoyable.

“Who? And when? Name the last angel you were intimate with, and tell me when you all did the nasty.”

She opened her mouth to tell him it was none of his business. One week. One week of fun then it was back to Aaru. This whole thing was daring, but now it was starting to feel like a spring-break video. Angels Gone Wild. Ah well, here goes nothing.

“Kfial. Three-hundred-and-twenty-nine years, thirty-six days ago.”

Dar’s eyes widened. “Three . . . never mind. Okay, who was he, and what made him a suitable partner. Because there had to be something suitable about the whole arrangement. I can’t see you having a sweaty fuck in the equivalent of a dark alley in Aaru.”

An image of sex in a dark alley flashed through Asta’s mind, but it wasn’t Kfial pressed against her. What was that about? Was there something in this drink that was making her have very improper thoughts about the demon sitting across from her?

“He’s a virtuous angel, one of Uriel’s choir. He expressed flattering interest, and so . . . things led to things.” It had been flattering, and their encounter . . . nice. She’d been relieved when he hadn’t seemed interested in continuing the relationship, though.

Dar’s eyes grew dark. “Are you planning on resuming things once you return to Aaru?”

Aaru. Full of nothingness, devoid of sensation, and definitely devoid of crazy demons. “No.”

“Good. Does your no-sex rule apply to angel sex as well? I just don’t see the appeal, but I pride myself on being open-minded when it comes to new experiences. You could show me what’s so ‘satisfying’ about it.”

Oh no, that was definitely forbidden. She could explain away her groping the other night under the excuse of trying to determine his level and status, but joining with a demon — the treaty was very clear on that.

“No sex — human, angel, or otherwise.”

Dar sighed, moving his knee to brush against hers and rest slightly between her legs. “So, your beautiful human form comes at what cost? There has to be a reason other angels stick to the blurry-statue look.”

Asta leaned back, wrinkling her nose at his perceptive question and grateful for the change in topic. “It’s not ideal to imbed ourselves this far into the flesh. It increases our susceptibility to sin, and the sensations can be overwhelming. I’ve slowly worked my way to this level over the last century. Of course, as you’ve noticed, I am not as pure as other angels.”

“Well, I find your skill at blending in admirable. Many demons would envy your ability to manifest such a convincing form.”

Compliments? From a demon? Still, his appreciation of her ability trumped any praise he could have made about her taste in clothing, or footwear. Being the youngest of all the angels meant she was always lowest in ability, constantly finding herself lacking in comparison with every other angel in Aaru. Dar’s sincere comments struck a chord, filled an empty spot she’d been ignoring for millennia.

“Your human form is very nice, too.” It was. Dark, shiny hair with steaks of silver drew her gaze. His gray eyes were intense and oddly honest as they stared at her.

“I’m way too muscular. It’s downright shameful that I’ve let my figure get to this state. I used to have a nice paunch to go with my idle lifestyle, but I’ve been working too hard the past few years. Doesn’t matter which form I take, these stupid muscles won’t go away.”

“I can’t see you as idle.” Asta scrutinized the detested muscles as best as she could through the neatly pressed shirt. “You’re too in-the-know. Idle demons wouldn’t be able to keep track of all the goings-on here or in Hel. I’m afraid you’ll have to learn to love the muscles, because I don’t see you being idle any time in the near future.”

“Oh, Asta, you sure know how to smash a demon’s hopes and dreams, don’t you?” His voice sounded mournful, but there was laughter in his eyes. By the Creator, was she actually flirting with him? Clearly a century in this human form had warped her sense of right and wrong.

The plastic box buzzed loudly, and Asta jumped.

“Our table is ready.”

Dar hopped off the bar stool, downing his drink in a gulp. Asta scooted to slide off her chair and felt the demon’s hands on her waist. With a smooth motion, he lifted her from the stool and plopped her down on her feet, steadying her for a moment before letting go and leading the way toward the hostess station.

What was that? Compliments, and now chivalry?

Demons lie. And they do anything within their power to lead others to sin. All this might be part of Dar’s efforts to get her to succumb to lust, but there wasn’t anything in Aaru that said she couldn’t enjoy the ride. Angels were strong, and she had withstood a lot of temptation in the last century. No two-bit demon was going to cause her to fall from grace. Still, it would be fun to let him lead her down the path, thinking he had her in the palm of his hand only to deny him at the last moment. And in spite of her nervousness and initial reluctance, she was having a great time with him this evening. Last week, if someone had told her she’d be having an enjoyable evening in the company of a demon, she would have scoffed.

The hostess led them to a small table with a flickering red candle and a view of the street. Asta had barely sat down before a waiter offered her a choice of waters, while Dar looked over the wine list. Her eyes nearly left her head as he ordered.

“Please tell me you have currency. I really don’t want to have to crawl out the bathroom window at the end of our meal.”

The demon waved a dismissive hand. “Why are you worried? You can just arrange a big lottery win for the owners, and maybe another smaller one for the wait staff in lieu of a tip. We’re in an age of equality. I figured you’d be offering to pick up the tab as a show of your independence.”

Asta caught her breath, frantically thinking of how she could make this right for the humans while plotting how best to torture the horrible demon.

Dar burst into laughter. “You should see your face! By all that’s unholy, you looked shocked and ready to murder me at the same time. Don’t worry, honest Asta, I scored a sizable bribe this week and have more than enough cash to pay for our evening out.”

Bribery. Well, she should have realized a demon wouldn’t be paying for anything with the sweat of his brow — if he paid for it at all.

That bribe must have been substantial, because Dar ordered the best of everything. Asta had sampled more food in the last hour than she thought possible. Cheeses, heirloom tomatoes, a variety of meats, and a dessert sampler crossed their table. She and Dar had three different wines, finishing with a glass of port and one of the best coffees the angel had ever enjoyed. Now she understood the overheard conversations between women who’d found themselves succumbing to the advances of a man after an evening of good food and drink. Asta felt oddly content with her stomach full and her mind floating with the effects of the alcohol. Right now all she wanted was to curl up on a soft bed wrapped in her wings as she dozed in the moonlight.

“Thank you,” she told Dar as he assisted her out the revolving door. “I know tonight was supposed to be my payment to you for your helping me, but somehow I think I benefited at both ends of our agreement.”

The demon tilted his head as he regarded her. “Are you drunk?”

“No, I am not drunk! I’m just being honest with you. It’s a virtue, so you probably haven’t encountered honesty before.”

“And there’s the angel I know and love,” he teased. “Don’t be so quick with the thanks, because our evening isn’t over yet. I’ve got something else planned.”

“I’m not having sex with you.” It was a knee-jerk response, because at that moment she really did want to have sex with him. Or at least have him kiss her again.

Dar looked pained. “Yes, you’ve said that repeatedly. I’m starting to have self-esteem problems with the regularity you insist you won’t have sex with me. I haven’t even tried to feel you up . . . yet. No, we’re going to a little Karaoke bar a few blocks away.”

Asta halted in the middle of the sidewalk. “Karaoke?” She’d lingered outside and listened but hadn’t actually ventured into any establishment that had karaoke. It always sounded like the singers were having such fun, even the ones who weren’t particularly gifted.

The demon folded her arm in his. “You’re an angel. You must sing. It’s a sort of birthright with you guys, isn’t it? After eating and drinking alcoholic beverages, I’d assumed this would be the easiest part of the evening for you to get through.”

“I sing.” Sound was a vital part of every angel’s existence, although it wasn’t quite the same as how the human sensory organs perceived. Still, angelic song seemed to have a strong link to human music. She’d always found herself spellbound by the street musicians, the sounds spilling from bars hosting local bands, and even the radios blaring from passing automobiles. But to replicate that sound? That was something just as new as the lobster bisque.

Dar led her a few streets over and down a set of stairs to a garden-level club — which was a generous term for basement. Once across the threshold, Asta was entranced. The room was long, with a bar to the left and narrow tables to the right. A skinny aisle led between the two toward the back, where speakers and electronic equipment was set up. Patrons leafed through songbooks, chatting cheerfully and drinking beer from the bottle. She and Dar were distinctly overdressed, but no one seemed to mind. The demon thrust a beer bottle into her hand and snatched a songbook from the bar.

“I’m going to suggest Like a Virgin or perhaps Closer.”

Asta grabbed the book from the demon. “I’m not going to sing about my lack of sexual experience or croon that I want to have carnal intercourse like an animal. Perhaps Amazing Grace or that song about the little boy purchasing his dying mother footwear for Christmas.”

Dar tried to grab the book back, and they struggled in a brief tug of war. “What is it with you and footwear? How about I pick a song for you, and you pick one for me?”

The angel paused. It would be deliciously satisfying to make the demon sing something pure and sweet, but the trade-off would be her having to sing a horribly vulgar melody in front of all these people.

“No deal.”

Dar let go of the songbook, and Asta nearly toppled backwards. “Spoilsport. Okay, but you go first.”

Sipping her beer, the angel picked out a song and waited her turn, applauding and cheering for the humans as they belted out various tunes with great enthusiasm, if not with particular skill. When her turn came, Asta skipped to the monitor, eager to sing Unchained Melody.

The opening chorus of notes was definitely not Unchained Melody. No, she recognized this song. Asta looked up from the monitor to scowl at the demon, who lifted his bottle of beer in salute. There wasn’t much she could do — either sing and throw herself into it, or storm off like a petulant child. Asta knew when she’d been bested and had the grace to appreciate a sneaky move when she saw one. Taking a breath, she looked down at the monitor and poured her heart and soul into Runnin’ With The Devil.

“That was very unfair of you,” she scolded teasingly after the applause had died down. What a great time she was having, and, honestly, she wasn’t ashamed to admit it was because of Dar. Doing all these things by herself wasn’t nearly as exciting as enjoying them in the company of a demon — a demon she was coming to like far too much.

“You stuck with it admirably. Eddie Van Halen would be proud.” Dar handed her another beer. “Since you were such a good sport, I’ll let you pick the song I sing.”

Now, this was going to be fun. “This one.” Asta pointed to a song in the book as Dar looked over her shoulder.

“Touché. Quite the payback, my beautiful angel. Fair is fair, though.”

Dar downed his beer then strode to the back of the bar, singing Over the Rainbow with great feeling.

They laughed and sang a few more songs. Then the demon gave her a strange look, as if he’d come to a decision. “I’d planned to end the evening here, but there’s a place I want to show you. Are you up for a taxi ride?”

“I’ve never ridden in a taxi,” Asta confessed. “Actually, I’ve never ridden in a car.”

Dar looked astounded. “What? You’ve been here a hundred years and never ridden in a car?”

Asta gave a sheepish smile then pinned her thumbs together, fluttering her fingers like wings. “I’ve got my own built-in transportation.”

“Ah yes, you naughty angel. Well, prepare to be significantly underwhelmed. Taxis are a far cry from flying above rooftops.”

The vehicle smelled of garlic, and the torn vinyl cushions threatened to snag the edges of her dress, but Asta was still enchanted by the taxi ride. Fast music blared from the speakers as the driver rocketed them around corners, sending the angel flying back and forth across the bench seat. It was like one of the children’s rides she’d watched at the end of Navy Pier, and she laughed along with Dar as they bounced around the back of the vehicle.

With a screech of sub-par breaks, the taxi swerved to the curb. Asta peered out the window as Dar passed the driver a handful of money through the slot in the clear plastic divider. She recognized this section of town as the one where she’d first followed Dar, where he’d shoplifted and visited the amazing bakery.

“We’re here,” the demon announced, helping her out of the taxi.

‘Here’ was a sidewalk with a broken piece jutting a good three inches above the rest, just waiting for a woman with expensive heels to trip over. Beyond the hazardous walkway was a brick building, stained from decades of automotive exhaust and ground-out cigarettes. Iron gates were folded to either side of a glossy, green wooden door, which had ‘Stanley’s’ stenciled in chipped gold across it. With a flourish, Dar ushered her forward, and she walked into the small bar, its neon signage proclaiming they proudly served Old Style.

Asta wasn’t sure about style, but the place was definitely old by human standards. It looked as though nothing had changed since 1950. The mirrored wall behind the worn oak bar was cloudy with a film of tobacco smoke, reflecting the liquor bottles lined in front of it in a hazy blur. The bar seats held an assortment of elderly men wearing Sansabelt trousers with waistbands practically under their armpits. Asta suspected they hadn’t budged from their seats all day. Shelves full of six-packs and cheap wine lined the wall opposite the bar. There were no tables, and Asta stood awkwardly, wondering where she was supposed to sit.

“Dar!” The elderly men all raised their draft beers and shouted the demon’s name in unison.

“Hey, guys. Got room for me and my girl?”

The men shuffled stools, all the while winking and intoning ‘hubba-hubba’ at Asta. It took inordinately long for them to swap seats, but eventually there were two empty chairs waiting for them between the crowd of ancient men.

“The usual, Dar? And what can I get you, dear?” The bartender would have been no more than a shadowy figure in the dim lighting had it not been for the reflective quality of the platinum-blond hair piled into an impressive cone at the top of her head.

There were two taps behind the bar — one labeled Pabst Blue Ribbon, and the other the Old Style. Hmm, that must be what the sign in the window was about.

She wasn’t sure about anything that included the word ‘old’ in combination with the word ‘style’, and that blue ribbon had probably been awarded fifty years ago. Maybe they had other choices. “Wine?”

Asta expected to be handed a list, but the woman ticked the selections off impeccably manicured fingers. “Red, white, or purple?”

“Purple?” It was a question meant to result in further clarification, but the woman took it to be her order and got to work pouring Dar a mug of PBR. She then blew the dust out of a wine glass and heaved a giant bottle to the bar. With a twist of her wrist, she’d unscrewed the cap, and thick purple liquid filled the glass.

Oh my stars, what had she ordered? And in a dusty wineglass that probably hadn’t been used in the last decade. Who knew how old the wine was, but she doubted that its aging in a gallon screw-top jug did much for the quality.

With everyone watching her, she took a tentative sip. “Thank you. Very nice,” she choked, taking another quick drink to cover her dismay. This was a far cry from what Dar had been plying her with earlier.

Manischewitz, probably purchased when the bar originally opened. She was drinking decades-old kosher wine in a Polish bar in downtown Chicago — a bar full of elderly men that greeted Dar like he was a long-lost brother, men who were now regaling the demon with tales of their younger years.

“See that scar? No, that other scar. Got that climbing out a window when my girl’s father came home early. Ripped the skin on a nail and had to go get a tetanus shot.”

“Dotty know about that girl?” One of the others teased.

“That girl is Dotty. Married fifty years this April, and worth every scar and tetanus shot.”

The men erupted in laughter, Dar along with them.

“They’re a good bunch,” the bartender said to Asta, glancing fondly at the humans. “They love it when Dar comes in and they can dredge up all the old stories for him. He’s heard that one about Dotty at least a dozen times, but he still laughs.”

Asta looked at the demon in confusion. What was he doing, hanging out with a bunch of elderly men? Shouldn’t he be killing, plundering, or at least corrupting more politicians?

“He’s a nice man, your boyfriend,” the bartender continued. “Cute, too. If I were twenty years younger, I’d give you a run for your money.”

Boyfriend? And a demon described as a ‘nice man’? Asta shook her head in disbelief. What could he possibly have to gain by spending time with these humans?

Unless he actually like them. How very undemonic. And how very unangelic of her to envy him this closeness with the men. For a century, she’d watched over these humans, struggling to keep her distance, and here this demon had done the very thing she’d always longed to do — he’d connected with them. He’d become part of their lives. They called his name when he came in. No human knew her name beyond Carter. None. For one-hundred years she’d forced herself to keep her distance, and all she had was this empty feeling inside. And envy. Horrible envy eating her away because Dar had been brave enough to break the rules and have something she’d never dared. He’d made human friends. He’d become important in their lives. They cared about him.

There was sin, and there was this. Her heart nearly burst realizing she’d missed out on so much more than espresso and macarons during her time here — she’d missed connecting with the people she’d been sent to protect.

“So, introduce us to your date, Dar.”

The demon placed a hand on Asta’s back. “This is my angel, Asta.”

“Oh, she’s an angel all right.”

“Whatcha doing with this loser, honey? Need to find yourself a nice Polish man; that’s what you need to do.”

“Like you, Henry? You’re out of your league if you think an angel is going to look your way.”

And just like that, Dar had brought her into his circle. The men made a terrible fuss over her, recounting their own conquests with the fair sex in their youth, and telling her how lucky Dar was to have such a beautiful girlfriend. Some were widowed, some had wives off at bingo, and a few had never married.

The bartender topped off her ‘purple’ wine, as the man next to her, Dawid, recounted his family’s experiences in World War II.

“I was seventeen and got in just as things were wrapping up. All my cousins went in earlier and so many didn’t return . It was expected that I’d go too. We had family still in Poland, so this was a war that cut close to our hearts.” His pale-blue eyes misted. “But I’ll be honest; I was always glad I was too young to go when the war first started. Call me a coward, but I’d seen my aunts cry over those yellow slips delivered to their doorway, and I never wanted my mother to go through the same thing.”

She reached out and squeezed his hand, feeling the fragile bones and crepe-textured skin under her fingers. “I lost both my parents in a war — a war I was too young to serve in. I know it’s treasonous to think this, but I’m glad I was too young to fight. So many died — beings who were not necessarily evil, but were fighting because they thought they had to. The cause may have been just, but I’m still relieved I didn’t have to look across at another and end his life.”

Suddenly it hit her — that’s what she did. She executed demons. They’d done the equivalent of climbing the Berlin Wall, and somehow that warranted death? What if they were like Dar and just here for vacation? There had to be some way to judge evil intent, to eradicate those who wished to harm the humans without resorting to this kill-them-all-and-let-God-sort-them-out philosophy.

Dawid gave her hand a surprisingly firm squeeze in return. “I’m sorry about your parents. War is the hardest on children, it seems. I hope you’ve been able to find a family here. Family is more than blood, you know. Keep those you love close, and they’re your family.”

She couldn’t help but look over at Dar, arguing good-naturedly with Gerard and Lew about the benefits of unionization in the textile industry. Who did she love? She was very grateful to Gabriel for taking her under his wing and admired many of the angels in Aaru, but. . . .

“I’ve worked too hard to really think about family,” she admitted. “But you’re right. I need to find someone who I care about, who cares about me, and keep them close.”

“There you go, Asta.” Dawid let her hand go to pat her gently on the shoulder.

She spent the rest of the night listening to stories and good-natured ribbing between men who had clearly been friends for a long time. When the bartender finally ushered her and Dar out the door, pulling the heavy metal gate closed behind them, it was early in the morning.

“Okay, I’ll admit that was fun.” Asta’s head was floating, and she couldn’t seem to keep the smile from her face as they walked the brightly lit, still lively city streets. It was more than fun. There was something fulfilled, deep in her soul, from getting to know these humans. “How do you know them, the men in the bar?”

“I found Stanley’s a few decades ago and try to pop in a couple times per year. About half the original patrons I knew have died. I’m not sure what’s going to happen when the rest of them go. It’s not like that place appeals to the younger, more hip crowd that’s taking over the neighborhood. I keep thinking one year I’m going to come back to find Marsha has sold it and it’s become a gourmet pizzeria or something.” He paused, looking down the street behind him. “That place has been in her family for three generations. It loses a ton of money, but she keeps it open because all those guys remind her of her father.”

Asta felt a prick of tears behind her eyes. Time was so unforgiving to humans. But it wasn’t just the thought of the little bar closing that upset Asta it was the stinging fact that the demon had a closer, more intimate feel for the city’s residents than she did. This had always been her city, and she’d prided herself on how much she’d cared for the fate of the humans here. Now she faced a cold truth — viewing the humans from a thousand feet up and caring about their general welfare wasn’t the same as really knowing their lives, really immersing herself into their hopes and dreams, their pain and sorrow. How was it that this demon seemed nobler than all the angels in Aaru?

Maybe contemplation and grace were nothing without the experience of deep emotional connection.

“Short cut.” Dar pulled her down a side street, holding her arm as she picked her way carefully over the broken bits of sidewalk.

“I don’t want to break a heel.” Asta clung to his shoulder and hopped as she removed her shoes. Stupid shallow angel, worrying about her shoes, the cost of which were probably more than Marsha brought home in a week. Asta eyed the red soles and cream patent leather tops with sudden shame. She would only be here for a few more days. How could she change in such a short time? How could she make a difference in just a few days before she flew back to Aaru?

Aaru. Her homeland had always seemed a refuge, but now the thought of returning sat like something foul in her stomach. How could she go back and sit for centuries in meditation while Marsha struggled to keep her business afloat, Otto mourned the death of his grandson, and Eugene went home and struggled to climb the three flights of stairs to his little apartment.

Tucking the shoe under her arm, she took off the other and stretched her toes, marveling at the feel of rough cement under her feet. There were times when shoes were overrated, and this was one of them.

“There.” She smiled at Dar, realizing she was now the same height as the demon she’d towered over all evening.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He took the shoes from her and stuck them in his jacket pockets. She couldn’t help but notice how they ruined the smooth lines of the suit, heels jutting like weapons from his hips.

“I was thinking maybe Marsha could have a very lucky day with a scratch-off lottery ticket.”

Her brown eyes met his silver-colored ones. Then suddenly her back was pressed to brick and his mouth was on hers.

His body was firm against hers, his lips gentle and soft. They pulled at hers, as his tongue teased and teeth nibbled. Her heart lurched and her hands gathered the fabric of his shirt. For a moment, she was unable to move, unable to do anything as he traced the lines of her mouth, tasting the warmth between her lips.

Then, as quickly as he’d made a move, his mouth left hers. She felt the loss, her insides a mess of hot liquid as she dragged in a breath.

I’m not going to have sex with you. Asta opened her mouth to voice the words running through her head like a worn-out mantra.

“I know, I know.” Dar’s breath was soft against her face. “You’re not going to have sex with me. I get it. Doesn’t mean I can’t steal a quick kiss before you fly off into the night.”

There was no way to adequately reply to that. Asta moved her hands from his chest, running them up the demon’s arms to push him away. He was excessively muscled for a demon. She frowned, wondering what he’d been doing. Physical combat? Did demons do that in Hel? Or had Dar taken to more human methods of defense since his immunity restricted his ability to use lethal force.

Drat. Her thoughts had halted her hands against the demon, and with an involuntary action, her fingers curled around his shoulders, pulling him close. A thousand reasons why she shouldn’t do this chased across her mind, followed by a thousand reasons why she should. Millions of years of distrust fell by the wayside, overcome by burning need, by the glorious feel of his warmth against hers.

Once more he was kissing her, but this time she mirrored his actions, opening her mouth, and so much more, to let him in. His spirit-being swirled against hers, as intoxicating as the mouth that now trailed a series of feathery kisses down her neck. Molding herself to his hard length, she skated her hands around his waist and down his back, diving up under the jacket to frantically pull his shirt from the waistband. Skin. She needed to feel his skin against her hands as intimate as his spirit was against her own.

His arms tightened around her, pulling her from the brick wall. One hand drifted to cup her rear end, gathering her skirt up to give him access to her naked flesh. Leaving her neck, his mouth moved upward, kissing her with fierce passion that curled her bare toes against the pavement.

Fire shot through her as he explored her mouth with greedy hunger. Asta felt herself swept away, everything vanishing except for a lightning whirlwind of passion. His hands, his mouth, his tongue — she loved the taste of him, the feel of his body against hers. When he pulled his mouth from hers, she shook with need, a rhythmic ache deep inside her body.

“No.” It was all she could manage.

She meant that she didn’t want him to stop kissing her, to stop his hands from exploring her body, but he misunderstood and stepped back. The evening was warm, but the sudden loss of his body against hers made her shiver.

“Are you sure? I know you said no sex, but maybe you’d reconsider?” His eyes blazed down into hers, his voice a sexy rasp. “You can easily kick my ass, so you don’t have to worry about me doing anything non-consensual. We can see where this goes. You set all the limits; you make all the rules.” Then he dipped his head so his mouth found the hollow where her neck and shoulder joined. Asta arched her back.

“Tub.” It was hard to get that one word out, let alone the rest. “It’s big enough that I can reveal my wings. And . . . yes, I might reconsider.”

Who was she fooling? She was ready to rip off her dress and do him right here in a dark alley.

Dar shuddered against her, his breath catching. “Will there be room for me in that tub, with you and your wings?”

Oh, this was glorious. All the surface nerve endings of her skin were firing like Independence Day pyrotechnics, and the whole time, his spirit-being was pressed to hers with almost unbearable intimacy. That time she’d joined with Kfial had never felt quite so right as this did.

“I’ll make room.”

His hands tightened, one gripping her waist and the other curling against her ass with almost painful strength. Once again, his mouth dropped to hers, leaving all to soon to taste a line down her neck. He bent his head further, and she raised on her toes, feeling his mouth slide down her chest and across the tops of her breasts. This was better than meditation, better than espresso, or double chocolate cake, or those red Prada sandals she’d scored last week. This was better than flying.

This was insanity. One week. Less than one week and she could wash all this sin clean. The thought was depressing.

Then Dar pulled away, running a hand through his hair. “I. . . before we. . . I need to tell you something.”

Huh? No, he didn’t. She reached for him, but he grabbed her hands in his. “Our date is technically over, so I need to tell you something before we get carried away.”

Chapter 10

Even though his voice still held that husky, desperate sound, it seemed oddly businesslike. What could he possibly need to tell her right now when she was on fire for him?

“Our deal was a night of dinner and fun in exchange for information. Naked tub action isn’t part of that. Before we . . . well, I need to give you the information. Then if things continue, it’s just us. I want whatever happens to be just us, not mistaken as part of our contract.”

Asta looked into the silvery gray of his eyes and nodded. Whatever this information was, she had a feeling the magic of the moment wouldn’t be recaptured.

“We’re not chasing a sorcerer summoning a demon. We’re after a genie in a bottle.”

What in all of creation was he talking about? “Like that old sitcom with Barbara Eden?”

“Not really. I don’t know who the trapped demon is, but I doubt he’s that attractive. What I do know is that he’s going to be pissed as all fuck. Getting summoned is bad enough, but being stuck in a bottle for hundreds of years wouldn’t do much for anyone’s temper, let alone a demon.”

Asta stepped back, pressing herself against the wall, all thoughts of soaking her wings in a tub vanishing. “Why would someone put a demon in a bottle? I thought the idea was to summon one, get him or her to do something for you, then banish them back to Hel. What’s with the bottle?”

“Think of it as a savings account. Summon a demon, put a series of parameters around his release as usual, and then put him somewhere safe for later, when you’re ready for him to do his thing.”

“Why not just banish him with a contract for future service?”

Dar nodded approvingly, stepping forward to put his hands on her waist. “You’re thinking like an angel. I like that, but humans aren’t angels. Most don’t have the skills to protect themselves from us. They want us to do things for them but are pretty scared of us. Keeping us safe in a bottle no doubt sounded like a good idea. Of course, it just pisses us off even more.”

“So why is this guy still in the bottle? Humans don’t live for hundreds of years. Why didn’t the original sorcerer collect his service and send him back?”

Dar shrugged. “Humans die unexpectedly. A bottle would be passed down for generations, or most likely sold off by a frightened relative. Genies become a sort of hot-potato, handed off to different owners, all of whom are too frightened to activate the contract.”

This was beyond stupid. “Okay, so the fading in and out of demon energy we’ve been sensing is this genie. Let’s get the bottle, smash it, and send him back to Hel through the closest gate.”

“Not gonna work.” Dar shook his head. “The bottle won’t break, and the genie can’t be released until he performs his service.”

“Any idea what this service might be?”

Dar grinned, his teeth looking dangerously sharp in the moonlight. “I don’t know in this particular instance, but traditionally it’s always three wishes.”

What a scenario. They could find a human with a minimal amount of self-preservation instincts and convince him to wish the genie out of the bottle while they stood at the ready. Or they could just let the thing stay where he was, hoping if some human was foolish enough to set him free, an angel could get there in time. Hundreds of years in a bottle. The genie could spend hundreds more in there before being released. Asta would be long gone, back in Aaru, and this genie would be someone else’s responsibility.

Temptation gnawed at her. This genie was powerless right now. She could continue her days of fun and just let the next enforcer deal with it. The idea had appeal, but she thought about Gabriel’s disapproval, of the hundreds of humans who might be killed before the genie was stopped. No, she had to do something now, before she left.

“Can you tell if he’s in the process of being released or not?”

“Nope.”

Asta frowned, tapping her lip with a fingernail as she thought. “The bottle can’t have been in Chicago for long or I would have sensed it before now. Who has it? And are they aware of what’s in it?”

Dar gave her an odd look. “It’s in Carter Phelps’s hotel room. You know, the human who gets all doe-eyed whenever you’re near? The one who seems oddly convinced you’re a survivor of a conflict in Rwanda? He’s got a little display on top of the dresser in his bedroom — a bunch of different objects. It’s a fucking shrine, although why playing cards and other crap are worth lugging to a convention, I’ll never know.”

Carter. Her heart lurched as she remembered the man discussing his childhood. The shrine of objects must have something to do with his grandmother. If so, he might not even know what the bottle held. She couldn’t just leave the genie with him and risk that he might inadvertently free it. People wished for things all the time. The wording of the original contract may leave room for an accidental release of the genie.

“I’ll talk to him. I’ll see if he’ll give it to me.”

Dar snorted. “Did you not hear me say it was part of a shrine? Unless your compulsion or entrancement abilities have magically increased a hundred-fold overnight, you’re not going to sweet-talk him into giving it to you. He might want to get in your pants, but there are limits to what horny humans will do.

“Besides, what the fuck are you going to do with it? You can’t break the bottle or release the genie. Are you going to just hide it away and guard it until the end of time?”

Asta winced. A demon summoned into this realm through no fault of his own, trapped in a bottle for all eternity . . . yes, she needed to protect mankind, but what about this demon’s rights?

And when did she start thinking that demons had rights?

“Asta, just let it go,” Dar said softly, his hands still warm against her sides. “This will all play out eventually as fate decrees. Some idiot human will release the genie or not. In the meantime, it’s just a pretty bottle.”

Having her earlier thoughts voiced made her realize again how much they had in common, even with almost three-million years of conflict.

“I can’t. What if Carter releases it by accident and it kills him? What if it’s an ancient or massively powerful demon, and he manages to destabilize half the planet before we catch him. The world could be wracked in plague, famine, or war, and it would be my fault for turning my back on my duty.”

Dar sighed and ran a hand through his hair, causing strands to stick out at odd spots on his head. The effect was strangely endearing. “The only thing we can do then is try and find a human who can safely release the genie while we stand by to kill him before he goes on a rampage.”

Why did he care? He’d helped her find the demon as agreed, and she’d had a date with him. Why was he acting like this was their problem instead of just her problem.

“I don’t want to ask a human to take that risk.” And part of her felt guilty about executing a demon who hadn’t voluntarily violated the terms of the treaty. Maybe they could give him an ultimatum — immediately return to Hel or die. The thought of proposing such a choice to an enraged genie released after centuries of captivity was ludicrous.

Dar threw his hands outward. “Asta, humans have been taking that risk since they first walked upright. One of them took a huge risk in summoning this guy and trapping him. The only way this is going to be resolved is if a human releases the genie and banishes him back to Hel. We need a sorcerer.”

She was just as frustrated. “Oh, wow, why didn’t I think of that? Let me just run down a few blocks and ask the neighborhood sorcerer to come give us a hand. It’s a lost art, Dar. Magic in today’s world is for children’s parties and charlatans.”

Dar crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Got a better idea?”

No, she didn’t. Asta blew a loose strand of hair away from her face. “So the genie completes his service by granting three carefully worded wishes; the sorcerer, assuming we can even find one, immediately banishes him back to Hel, and all is right in the world.”

It was a good solution — the genie would be released and sent to his infernal home before any damage could be done. The only issue was the appalling lack of skilled sorcerers or mages. Demons were masters at debate and loopholes. Any issue with the wishes or a mispronunciation or badly drawn rune at the banishment and it could all go horribly wrong.

What a moral dilemma. She didn’t like the thought of executing a demon for being unwillingly summoned and commanded to serve a human, but she could hardly let one blow up half of Chicago. “It’s going to take us a while to find a magic user that we can trust not to botch this. I’m going to ask Carter for the bottle for safekeeping until we locate an appropriate mage.”

Dar rolled his eyes “That’s not going to work. If you’re insistent on getting the bottle, then nab Carter Phelps, drag him into a back alley, and punch him until he gives it to you. Or break into his hotel room, blow past all the security and steal it. What’s he going to do, call the police? You’ve gotten away with shoplifting dresses for this long; a bottle shouldn’t be beyond your skills.”

His dig about her less savory sins stung, and Asta began to wonder where the Dar she’d seen in Stanley’s pub had gone. Had she really kissed him? Been ready to have intimate relations with him in a tub?

“I’m not going to beat him up or steal one of his most valued possessions. I’ll talk to him, explain the situation. He’s a good man; he’ll give me the bottle.”

“Riiiiight. You’re an angel, and I’m a demon, and his grandmother’s knick-knack that he worships at twice a day contains an angry and violent genie. He’s going to think you’ve snapped from the trauma of your childhood in Rwanda and call in the guys in white jackets to take you away.”

“I’ll convince him.” That tremor in her voice didn’t sound very confidence inspiring. “He’ll hand over the bottle, and then we just have to find someone skilled enough to safely release the genie. It might take a few decades, but I think eventually we’ll find someone.” What was this ‘we’? She was going to be gone in a few days, handing this over to some other angel.

She didn’t want to hand this over to another angel. She didn’t want another angel in her town, and she certainly didn’t want another angel working with Dar — or doing other things with Dar.

The demon raised his eyebrows. “Okay. You’re the boss.”

Asta sighed and smoothed back her hair, thankful he finally seemed to be going along with her plan. Now she just had to try and convince Carter to give her the bottle and find a decent mage somewhere on this planet. Work. Once more, work was ruining what had turned into one of the best evenings of her life.

“I had a wonderful time tonight, and I really appreciate your efforts to get me this information. But . . . umm, I won’t be able to join you in the tub, or . . . you know.”

For the sake of Creation, she sounded like a blushing teenager.

The demon nodded, his expression inscrutable. “Figured. Maybe next time.”

“Yeah.” Asta felt her heart sink. They both knew that next time would never come. “Yeah. Next time.”

Chapter 11

The croissant broke into a buttery shower as she bit into it, the center a sweet mixture of chocolate and almond paste.

“Tell me more about your village leader — the one who raised you. I’m assuming he’s still alive, and you’ll get to see him when you go back to Rwanda.”

The pastry turned to dust in her mouth. More lies she’d need to concoct, and the whole time she was struggling with how to get this man to give up an item so precious that he’d carried it to a convention and displayed it in his bedroom.

“Gabriel is . . . strict about rules and the letter of the law. Everyone sees him as this unbending, authoritarian, but he can be amazingly kind and patient. I don’t ever thing I’ve seen him laugh, though.” Asta shook her head, comparing the angel with Dar. “He’s more blunt than the other ang – village leaders. You always know how he feels about you or your actions.”

It was easy to know when Gabriel was proud or disappointed in her, unlike the head of the Grigori — her current boss. That angel was scary, inscrutable. Sometimes she thought she was doing right, only to find herself facing his considerable anger. Other times, she was sure she’d screwed up and been amazed to receive his praise. At least with Gabriel, she knew where she stood.

“What was your grandmother like?”

Carter looked down into his coffee cup. When he raised his eyes, they were dark with sadness. “Encouraging. I couldn’t . . . I don’t articulate my ideas well, unlike my father and mother. Everyone thought I was slow, or maybe handicapped in some way. Gran never thought that. She’d wait until I managed to get the words out, or help me find a way to express myself. She’s the only one who believed in me.”

“And look at you now.” Asta gestured to the man. “Owner of a successful company, a renowned expert in data security. She’d be proud to see what you’ve become.”

A shadow crossed the man’s face, and he looked back into his coffee cup. “I don’t know. I’ve done things she wouldn’t be proud of, taken some shortcuts.”

Haven’t we all. “The business world is often ruthless. Understandably, we sometimes lose our way. It’s what we do when we find we’ve strayed from the path that matters most.”

Sheesh, she sounded just like Gabriel. When had that happened?

“It’s for the greater good. I mean, yes, I’ve certainly benefitted, but the world will benefit, too. I’m trying to make it a safer place for all businesses — big and small. No one should find their company bankrupt because of these thieves.”

How had this conversation turned into a confessional? It wasn’t her place to judge this man or hand out forgiveness, and even if it was, she had more pressing matters on her plate right now.

“I remember you said she left you some of her things, and that you always have them with you.” Ugh. Worst transition ever. Could she be any more obvious? “What were they? Your grandfather’s pocket watch or lucky coin? Something like that?”

He shrugged. “She left me our old pack of playing cards, a picture, and a couple of other things. They’re a reminder of her when I’m far from home.”

What now? “I’d really like to see them if that offer is still open.” Carter gave her a quizzical look, and Asta realized just how terrible that had sounded. She’d made it clear she wasn’t interested in him, and now she wanted to go to his hotel room to see an old pack of playing cards. It sounded like a really stupid excuse to get—.

Oh. The angel struggled a bit with the ethics of what she was about to suggest. I’m so going to Hel.

“I mean. . . .” she laughed, peeking up at Carter from under her eyelashes like she’d seen a million human women do to various men. “I’ve enjoyed talking with you these last few days, and I know you have work to do, but maybe we could have dinner tonight? Up in your hotel room, where we could be alone and . . . talk?”

Yes, definitely going to Hel.

“But I thought you and Dar. . .?”

Her and Dar. Dinner, Karaoke, the little Polish bar, kissing him in the alley. “No, that was strictly business. He’s interested in more, but I’m not.”

Liar. She was very, very interested in more. Would the demon be angry at her for this date with Carter? Would he be jealous? A shiver of anticipation ran through her. She’d tasted his anger yesterday. What would he be like if he were really furious?

Probably very sexy.

“Eight o’clock then?” She took a napkin with a scribbled address on it from the human, realizing with a guilty start that he’d been speaking while she’d been lost in sinful fantasy.

She flashed him her most brilliant smile, feeling like a horrible deceiver. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“What are these?” Wyatt picked up one of the blue USB sticks, turning it over in his hand.

“Carter Phelps’s latest security software. Full-blown version, hasn’t even hit the market yet.” Dar let that sink in for a moment. “I broke into the convention center early this morning, fried all the security cameras, and stole the entire lot. I don’t know if he has more stashed away elsewhere, but this should bring a fortune on the black market. Take one.”

“Thanks. What will this cost me?” Wyatt tossed the blue stick from hand to hand, eyeing Dar with suspicion. Smart human. Demons never do anything without an ulterior motive, and they never give something away for free.

“I need your help. Phelps has a genie in a bottle in his hotel room, and I’m not sure if he’s unaware of it, or cleverly using the demon to his advantage. Call me cynical, but I’m wondering if his success in the IT security world is due to supernatural help.”

“That might explain it.” Wyatt pocketed the USB stick. “He kind of came out of nowhere five years ago and hit it out of the park with his first product. I’m sure the guy is bright, but I’m suspicious that his software is consistently in the right place at the right time.”

“So the innocent-and-honest routine is a ruse?” Dar frowned. “I can usually spot a con artist, but this guy just strikes me as dim. He might know his way around a computer, but he hardly seems ruthless enough to pull off that kind of success. Maybe there’s a silent partner doing the dirty work for the business?”

Wyatt pulled the USB stick out and looked closely at it. “Like a demon silent partner? I don’t really like the guy, but he doesn’t seem the type to be working hand-in-hand with a demon.”

“So let’s say the genie has nothing to do with his success. Do you think Phelps is somehow orchestrating the cyber attacks?”

“Either that or he’s the luckiest guy in the world. Or he’s got some way of telling the future.” Wyatt shrugged.

“Nobody is that lucky. I’m betting that Phelps is either the unwitting dupe of this genie, or his idiot routine fooled me and he’s cashing in his wishes for business success.”

“What kind of demon would have the expertise to rocket a cyber-security firm from nothing to top-of-the-line? Most I’ve met can barely work their smart phones.”

Dar nodded. “That’s got me stumped too. From the look of the bottle, the genie has been in there at least six-hundred years. That’s making me lean more towards the partners-in-cybercrime angle.”

Wyatt winced. “Six-hundred years? That’s a long time. If Phelps is cashing in his wishes, I hope he knows what he’s doing or that genie is going to shred him like a pulled-pork sandwich when he gets out.”

“That’s another problem. I don’t know if Phelps has the means or the know-how to banish the demon once the contract is complete.”

“Well, doesn’t this sort of thing always involve three wishes? Maybe he’s purposely holding back on one wish so the genie stays in the bottle.”

Humans, they always underestimated the cunning of a demon. “Then he really is a fool. If he lets one wish slip — say, on a falling star or something — then the genie is out of the bottle, and everyone in the blast radius is going to be pretty much fucked.”

Wyatt gave Dar a narrow-eyed glance. “You’re a rat. Steal the thing and bury it somewhere. I’m assuming Phelps has to have it in hand to cash in his wishes?”

Dar raised a shoulder. “Fucked if I know. Personally, I think we’re better off killing Phelps so the contract rebounds to the full three wishes then finding a human we can bribe or threaten to get the genie safely out of the bottle.”

“Let me guess: the angel you’re sniffing after has a problem with that approach?”

Yeah, she did. “So here’s the deal: in exchange for the software on the stick, I want you to dissect it and get an idea of what Phelps is planning.”

Wyatt nodded. “But you figured I was going to do that anyway. So, what’s the other part of the deal?”

“Dig hard into Carter Phelps’s background. If he’s got three wishes, I need to know what number he’s on.”

Wyatt pursed his lips, pocketing the stick. “Deal.”

“What do you mean he’s planning something?” Asta demanded. “Planning what? It’s a remembrance item from his grandmother. He’s got no idea what it is.”

“Don’t you find it a little convenient that a guy with no business background builds an internationally known company from scratch that’s worth tens of billions of dollars in less than five years?”

What was he talking about? “Humans have auspicious moments, and there have been companies in the past with similar stories. Yes, it’s rare, but it happens. Sometimes people win the luck lottery.”

Dar raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Yeah, if an angel is rigging the lottery. Or in this case, a genie.”

“Not always. He’s a smart man, and he has a quality product. People recognize that.”

“Maybe in a Lifetime movie, or a sappy chick-lit romance, but not in real life. I’ve got Wyatt looking into his background.”

“Wyatt? The ‘idiot’ you introduced me to yesterday?” Asta made little quotation marks with her fingers.

Dar looked sheepish. “Well, he’s not always an idiot, and he does have his uses. In the meantime, I say we steal the bottle and kill Phelps. Just to be on the safe side.”

“I can’t kill a human. And neither can you. No one is killing a human.” Asta took a deep breath, squirmed, and looked elsewhere — anywhere but at Dar. Now was the time to come clean with her very questionable approach to getting the bottle. “I asked to have a dinner date with him tonight in his hotel room. He’ll show me the bottle, and I’ll convince him to give it to me.”

There was a long silence. She sneaked a glance at the demon, but he didn’t appear angry — at least not blustering, sexy angry. Dar stared at her, silver eyes sparking little lights of red. This was bad — very, very bad — and the uncomfortable guilt she’d had the moment she’d proposed the idea to Carter solidified into a hard knot in her chest.

“You basically propositioned him, you know.” Dar’s voice was cold, his face like chiseled stone. “He’s going to show you a whole lot more than the bottle in his bedroom. Do you plan to take this all the way? You gonna fuck him then run off in the night with his wallet and the bottle like a two-bit prostitute while he sleeps?”

Asta gasped. Now she was angry on top of feeling guilty. She’d been an idiot, but Dar’s words were like a slap in the face. “No! He’s not like that. This dinner is just for me to look at the bottle, and then I’ll talk him into giving it up.”

“Oh, he’ll give it up all right.” Dar made a growling noise. “If he so much as unbuttons his fly, I’m going to rip his cock off at the base and shove it down his throat.”

What was that about? Jealousy was understandable given what happened between them last night, but Dar’s violence seemed a bit over the top.

“There will be no cause for ripping cocks off, I promise you. I don’t have sex with humans. That would be a terrible violation of their trust. Plus the gross imbalance of power and skills between us . . . yuck, just yuck.”

That seemed to calm the demon down a bit. He was still a nine out of ten on the anger scale, but at least he wasn’t on the verge of emasculating any human males.

“Okay.” Dar’s voice was sharp, the red lights still in his gray eyes. “But if you don’t get him to give you the bottle, I’m stealing it. And I’m killing him. I may just kill him anyway, out of general principle.”

“No killing. Do you hear me? No killing.”

“Fine.”

Asta glared at the demon. ‘Fine’ sounded less like he agreed with her mandate and more like he was just pushing the conversation aside for later discussion.

“And if we can’t find a sorcerer or a human we trust to make the wishes? Then what? We can’t exactly babysit this bottle until the end of time.”

She drummed her fingers against her leg in thought. “Maybe we can just pitch the whole thing through the gate to Hel and be done with it.”

The genie was a demon, after all. Maybe the other demons in Hel had some way of getting him out of the bottle that wouldn’t result in worldwide death and destruction. And if it did . . . well, they were demons; they were better able to handle an enraged genie than the humans were.

Dar nodded. “You sure you’re not a demon? Fuck, everything I heard about the brutality of angels is true if you’d consider such a thing. Only a human can release the genie. You’d be condemning him to all eternity trapped in a bottle. There are humans in Hel, but they’re slaves, and an elven master would never allow one of his sorcerers to release a genie trapped for centuries. There’d be too much backlash.”

She hadn’t even considered that. Asta bit her lip, wondering the best action out of a whole list of horrible choices. “We’ll find a magic user. Somehow we’ll find one. I’ll get the bottle from Carter, we’ll find a magic user, and there will be no killing.”

Dar gave her a cool smile. “Okay, if you say so. But if your date tonight doesn’t go as planned, then it’s time to consider my ideas.”

Things were very tense at the Genus Micro booth.

“I haven’t sensed the genie at all,” Asta whispered. She’d been staking out Phelps’s hotel, figuring if the human activated his final wish, she’d be there to take out the newly released demon. “How are things here?”

“Well, Carter is ready to tear everyone a new asshole. They can’t find the software giveaways, and your boyfriend is pretty pissed. Makes me wonder what he had planned with those things. Do they have a virus hidden in them? Is he plotting world domination?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Asta ignored the rest of his statements regarding Carter’s plots. Dar was still, what was the word, pissed? Dar was still pissed about her dinner date tonight. She needed to excuse some snark or he’d wind up even angrier. His earlier threats regarding Carter’s genitals still lurked in the back of her mind. There was no sense giving him any excuse to act on them.

Dar made a ‘humpf’ sound. “Anyway, I haven’t sensed any demon energy. I think we’re safe. For now. Although I still vote we kill Phelps and steal the bottle — in that order.”

Her arm brushed against his, and she felt a brief touch of his spirit. “You don’t get a vote. But I’m curious; if you interfered with the term of service by stealing the software giveaways, what would that do to the contract?”

“It depends on the wording, but I’m confident that my theft wouldn’t matter. Usually once the demon performs the service, the results are out of his control and not part of the contract. If Phelps has made a wish, and I fuck it up, the demon won’t give a shit. Three wishes, and he’s free, regardless of how things work out.”

The angel shook her head in disbelief. “Why wouldn’t the sorcerer ask for guaranteed results as part of the contract? Seems foolish not to.”

Dar rested his arm lightly against hers. Was he doing this on purpose? It was driving her crazy. Darn it all, this demon was so distracting. “Demands for guarantees on results aren’t binding,” he explained. “There are too many outside factors that can interfere. The summoning is only for service.”

“Well that is a significant flaw in the magical system. Binding is much more effective. When we bind a demon, we can demand results. Humans have a long way to go in their evolution.”

“Yeah. Because positive evolution involves enslaving someone and forcing them to do your bidding.”

Well since he put it like that. . . . “We don’t do that anymore,” Asta hastily assured him. “And few angels have the power to bind. I certainly don’t. I’m not sure even all the archangels do.”

“How reassuring,” Dar drawled. “Well, if Phelps used one of his wishes for world domination through this Ouroborous giveaway, then no wonder he’s so angry this afternoon.”

“Maybe he didn’t get enough coffee.” Asta suggested.

‘I didn’t get enough coffee,” the demon grumbled. “And there’s a lot of things I’d rather be doing than hanging out here, watching a fucking human yell at his staff.”

Asta patted the demon on the back. She could sympathize. There were things she’d rather be doing, too. Ferris wheel. Steaming tub with a naked Dar. “Well, keep watching. And if you start having a pity party, remember I’m standing outside a hotel all day in the rain.”

Dar scowled. “Yeah, but at least you’re getting a decent dinner tonight and have a halfway decent chance of getting laid.”

Yep, still jealous. And still pissy. How funny that it really turned her on. “I promise you, I will not be ‘getting laid’ tonight. And if you really want, I’ll bring you a doggie bag of leftovers.”

Chapter 12

Asta placed a hand against the cool glass. “The view is breathtaking.”

It was, and staring out the window gave her a chance to avoid Carter’s obvious romantic intentions. The lights were dim, and artfully placed candles were scattered throughout the main room of the suite. The room-service staff had wheeled in several linen-draped carts full of silver-domed platters. Soft music came from the speakers, and the glass full of ruby wine in her hand was etched crystal.

“Yes, it is.” The man’s voice was smooth.

Ugh, he was referring to her. Dar was right; this was a bad idea — a very bad idea.

“I’m starving. Shall we eat?” Asta spun around, pinning a smile on her face. By all that was holy, he looked like a worshipful puppy. How the heck was she supposed to ask him to show him the bottle in his bedroom? She should have just let Dar steal the darned thing.

Cut to the chase and tell him why she was there, and he’d be liable to throw her out. She’d look like she’d manipulated him into this with false interest — which she actually had. Or she could go through the whole dinner song and dance and lead him on enough to get into the bedroom, which would make her pretty close to being the prostitute Dar had accused her of. She’d gotten herself into one Hel of a corner with no good way out.

Dinner stretched on for an eternity. Asta grew increasingly tense watching the candles burn low and the plates empty as they made small talk. The only consolation was that Carter seemed just as anxious as she was.

“Please excuse me.” She rose and motioned toward the restroom.

Carter nearly knocked his chair backwards jumping to his feet. “Yes, of course. I’ll get some brandy for us.”

Asta strode down the hallway, determined to be gone before the brandy glass was empty. Bypassing the bathroom, she walked right into the bedroom. Hopefully he’d think she’d just gotten the wrong room, and not that she was trying to jump right to sexual activities. The very thought of it made her break into a cold sweat.

She felt the pulsating beacon of demon energy even before she turned the light on. Dar was right — it was a shrine. Everything on top of the dresser held precious memories; what a shame that one of those items also held death.

“Wrong room.”

Asta jumped, her heart pounding. Thankfully Carter only sounded amused as he pushed a brandy into her hand. “Look, you don’t seem like the femme fatal type, and I’m not . . . well, I’m not exactly the suave playboy. Let’s forget about the bedroom stuff, just enjoy the evening, and hopefully you’ll want to see me again before you leave. If things happen, then they happen.”

Thank the almighty Creator. Now that she didn’t have to worry about fighting off Carter’s advances, she might be able to salvage the situation. “Sounds perfect to me. Can I ask you something?”

He sipped his brandy. “Sure. I’ve got no secrets — well, beyond R&D ones, that is.”

“Do you know what’s in the bottle?”

Brandy came out Carter’s nose. It seems he had secrets after all. After a violent bout of coughing, he cleared his throat. “Nothing. It’s just an old bottle my grandparents found on a dig. It must not have been museum quality, because they were allowed to keep it. I always thought it was pretty when I’d visit her as a child.”

No, Carter Phelps was most definitely not stupid, but he most definitely was lying. How could she call him on it without alienating the man or having him send her off to a mental institution? She looked at the odd collection of items, some mundane and some exotic, and got an idea.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I felt it. Ever since I entered your hotel room, all through dinner, I felt something. I was heading to the bathroom and realized it was coming from here — from the bottle. Are you sure there’s nothing in it?”

The man turned an alarming shade of white, all the rosy pink draining from his face until the freckles on his nose seemed pinpoints of brown against snow. “It’s empty. I opened it years ago, and there’s nothing in it.”

Shit — oops, shoot. There were three wishes involved, but she had no idea what the effect of opening the bottle would have. Perhaps that was step one. She filed it away to ask Dar later and kept on with her charade.

“In my family, we have the ability to sense these things. I don’t want to alarm you, but I feel like there is something evil associated with that bottle.”

Was she laying it on too thick? The angel kicked herself for not researching human civilization, beliefs, and magical systems more. She was supposed to be from Rwanda, but she knew nothing about that culture to leverage. Dar would know. He’d spent his visits here actually getting to know the humans, immersing himself in their lives. It’s how he was so effective at tempting them to sin. She, on the other hand, had spent a hundred years watching them from on high. And now she was forced to do what the football fans called a Hail Mary.

“Evil?” Carter smiled weakly. “It’s an empty bottle. What’s evil about that?”

Time to lay everything on the table and hope he didn’t have a straitjacket handy. “Three wishes and you’d find out. It can’t be seen, heard, or smelled, but if you request three wishes of it, then what’s inside will come out and lay waste to the world.”

“Like a genie?” His eyebrows nearly met his hairline. “Like Barbara Eden in that old sitcom?”

It was nice to know she wasn’t the only one who enjoyed late-night re-runs. “No, a genie like a demon. I don’t know what kind of demon. It could be plague, famine, or war. Regardless, it won’t be a chipper, good-natured, blond woman in a belly-dancing outfit.”

“How do you. . .?” He frowned. “I thought the ‘genie in the bottle’ was a Middle East legend, not eastern Africa.”

Ugh, here’s where she needed to lie like a demon. “Since the dawn of time, my family has served to protect the world from demons wherever they may appear. It doesn’t matter which legend they are from; I sense them and rid the world of them.”

She’d gone too far, and he was looking at her like she was insane. Or drunk. Or insane and drunk. Reaching out, Carter took the brandy snifter from her hand and placed it on the bedside table. Yep, drunk.

“So, what do I do?” he asked, watching her carefully. “I’m not going to destroy a piece of my childhood because a woman I just met tells me she’s a demon hunter.”

There was no way she’d get him to give it up now. The best she could do was damage control and to get him to agree to a sorcerer freeing the genie.

“I can find someone who can cleanse the bottle — release the genie so I can banish it. Then you’d be free to keep the bottle. You’d just need to be very careful not to wish anything in the meantime.” Asta felt a fissure of fear. He’d admitted to opening the bottle, but would he admit to prior wishes? “Have you made any wishes since you came into possession of it?”

It was as if shutters came down over the man’s face. Carter met her gaze carefully then glanced at his brandy before taking a careful sip. “No. None at all.”

Shit — shoot. No, shit was probably the better word for this nightmare, regardless of her innate dislike of foul language. Carter had wished — consciously made a wish. But how many had he unconsciously made over the years? How many were left?

“Do you want the good news first or the bad news?” Wyatt asked.

“Bad news,” Dar said.

“I think Phelps has already had at least one of his wishes granted.”

Dar scowled. “So I’m assuming his corporate success is a result of demonic intervention.”

“That I’m not positive about. It could be he just got lucky with the right product at the right time. His family is old money, and he’s got a trust fund, so backing wouldn’t have been a problem. With a solid product and enough money to throw at it, it’s possible his success is genuine.”

“So the first wish is?”

“I’m pretty sure it involved academics. Phelps had poor high school grades, but got into Berkeley on the strength of his parent’s alumni status and some sizable family donations. He was close to failing every year when mysteriously at the end of his senior year, he rocketed to the top third of his class.”

“Maybe he just laid off the pot and actually started studying?”

“Maybe. I read his thesis, and it’s brilliant, but when I really got to digging around, I found that grades had been changed. Nothing ever really vanishes when it comes to data. There was an archive file on a back-up server in Houston that still had the original grades. He was failing, and then suddenly, he wasn’t.”

Dar shrugged. “Bribes? You said his family is old money and his parents are alumni. Colleges are underfunded, and the right board is very susceptible to some cash in their face. I know this personally.”

Wyatt rubbed a hand across his forehead. “I guess. Still, it’s all too convenient. His grandmother dies, and he gets the bottle. Then within two months, he’s acing his thesis and classes, grades are changed from ‘D’ to ‘A’, and he starts a company that five years later is worth billions.”

“One wish for academics or one for corporate success, or both, or neither.” Dar resisted the urge to rub his own forehead. “The bad news is, we’ve got nothing but suspicions.”

“Yeah. He could be on wish number three or have made none at all.”

“Or something in between. I could use the good news right now.”

Wyatt grinned. “I broke through that Ouroboros software. In addition to the usual protections, it was designed to guard against a very specific brute-force attack — one that just started taking down servers in China and India twenty minutes ago and is now working its way across the globe.”

“Convenient. And I stole all the freebie copies that Phelps was going to give away.”

“Yeah. There went his big chance. His current clients are protected, but all those freebies would have resulted in sales by next week. He’ll still get some good press out of this attack, but nowhere near the hero-worship and run on his products I’m sure he expected.”

“Do you still think he’s somehow orchestrating the attacks?”

“Is water wet? Yeah, I do. No one is this good unless he’s psychic, and I doubt Phelps can tell the future. If he keeps it up, he’ll have a total monopoly on the market.”

“Yeah, but he’s not the only one in the game. Let’s say some hacker in Azerbaijan finds a way around his software.” Dar gave Wyatt his best meaningful look. “Or possibly a hacker from Maryland who just happens to be attending a conference in Chicago. All it takes is someone to get around his software, and he’ll fall from grace faster than a necrophiliac angel.”

Wyatt winced. “Ugh, Dar, the image. Trust me, I’d love to take Phelps down, but wouldn’t that just force him to burn through his wishes? I thought the idea was to keep the genie in the bottle?”

“Yeah, that,” the demon drawled. “I strongly doubt Asta is going to leave her date-night with the bottle in hand, and even if she does, the chances of finding a skilled magic user this side of the gates are slim. I figure let’s just rip the Band-Aid off, get the fucker out of the bottle, and deal with him.”

“I’m not sure I want to be in the same town as an angry genie who was trapped in a bottle for hundreds of years. Are you sure you both can handle this guy before he levels the town?”

“Of course we can,” Dar lied. “That fucker will be dead the moment he gets out of the bottle. Guaranteed.”

Chapter 13

“First the Red Tape virus shut down businesses across the globe this spring, and now millions of companies have found their data stolen via the Olive Branch virus last night. How many companies will be ruined, how many governments de-stabilized by hackers before these criminals are tracked down and held accountable for their terrorism?”

Asta shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortably aware Carter’s speech was heading straight toward a self-serving finale. The main conference room was packed, attendees spilling into the hallway while press flashed their cameras and extended their microphones up by the podium.

Her entrancement abilities might be subpar, but she was a decent judge of character. Carter had good intentions, but what was that saying humans had about the pavement on the road to hell? Maybe Dar was right. Maybe her ability to evaluate human morals sucked as bad as her entrancement ones, and Carter was planning something nefarious. She watched him at the podium, his hands shaking and lip twitching in spite of his confident words. No. She just couldn’t believe that of him.

“These viruses don’t just affect large companies. Mom and Pop companies are having to close their doors. Small businesses are the backbone of our country’s economy, and they are at risk.”

Carter was sounding more and more like a politician. The thought sent Asta to scanning the room for Dar. What was his take on this whole thing? He knew humans and their hopes and fears better than she did. He’d know what Carter was maneuvering toward with his software and press conference.

“I, for one, can’t sit by and watch while hardworking business folk are bankrupted by these criminals.” Carter paused, his gaze meeting as many eyes as he could while the crowd stood silent. “So I’m taking a stand. Our newest security software, Ouroboros, is now free to any company or government institution that requests it.”

The room erupted with sound, everyone talking at once. Carter waited for the noise to die down and everyone’s attention to return to him before continuing.

“As you leave, you’ll receive a copy of our press release, which includes a special URL and coupon code for your copy of Ouroboros. We’ve got over three-hundred server locations and the extra bandwidth allocated to ensure everyone will be safely under our wings by close of business today. Thank you.”

Carter strode from the stage, seemingly confident and self-assured. Asta frowned, wondering where the awkward, endearing man she’d come to consider a friend had gone. Perhaps humans could separate their business-selves from their personal lives. It seemed entirely possible, given what she’d seen and read in the last hundred years. Still, it bothered her to see this other side of Carter.

“Hey, babe, how’d your date go last night?”

Asta felt Dar’s energy before his hand rested on her shoulder. Both touches felt good — warm and intimate.

“Terrible. Get ready with the ‘I told you sos’. I didn’t get the bottle, but at least Carter knows what’s in it and that he needs to not cash in any wishes.”

Dar snorted. “What makes you think he gives a shit about what’s in the bottle? Forget ‘I told you so’; I think he’s happy to profit from his wishes without any regard for what happens when the genie gets out.”

No. She just couldn’t believe that. Maybe, before, Carter hadn’t known how dangerous his path was, but now he did, and she trusted him. Although humans, like demons, seemed to be rather shortsighted with low resistance to temptation. Not that she had room to talk, given her actions over the last few days.

“He admits to opening the bottle when he received it from his grandmother’s estate, and I get the feeling he may have wished for something not understanding what he was doing. He’s aware of the consequences now, though. He’ll be careful.”

“I don’t think so. I had Wyatt check, and there’s a chance he may have made one or two of his wishes already. Once he’s sampled the forbidden fruit, I doubt he’ll hold back.”

Asta remembered the human’s face last night when she’d asked if he’d made a wish. Dar was probably right about that, but she still had faith that Carter wouldn’t go further down this path. “No. He won’t make any more wishes. I let him know the consequences, and I’m confident he’ll be careful.”

“So where does that put us?” Dar pressed. “Watching him and this fucking bottle until he croaks? Following the damned thing around for a few millennia until someone is stupid enough to make three wishes?”

“We’ll find a mage or sorcerer, cleanse the bottle of the genie, then Carter can keep it as a memento.”

Dar stared at her until she squirmed under his gaze. “And if that takes decades? What if we find a mage and your boyfriend changes his mind? How’s he going to feel about runes and circles and banishment — all the stuff humans feel is black magic?”

She ignored the boyfriend comment. It was best not to get sidetracked, and ignoring Dar’s jealousy seemed a better route than addressing it.

“If he changes his mind, then we’ll wait. When Carter dies, we’ll buy the bottle from his heir.” Asta couldn’t meet Dar’s eyes. That was the stupidest plan ever. She was leaving in less than a week, and Aaru wouldn’t assign an enforcer to follow a bottle around the country for the next fifty years or so. Dar was right; she had to come up with another idea — one that wouldn’t destroy whatever was left of her grace but would allow her to resolve this situation before she left for home.

The demon’s knowing eyes found hers. “Fuck that. And you know it, too. Steal the fucking bottle, kill the human, and find a way to get this mother-fucking genie out of there before we all die of boredom.”

Asta opened her mouth to protest then saw a human edging up to them — a blond human male whose appearance stirred a faint memory. Wyatt — that human who wasn’t always an idiot and was sometimes useful.

“Did you see this?” Wyatt thrust a press release at Dar. They both already had copies, but neither had bothered to even look at them.

“Yeah.” Hmm, maybe Dar had looked at his. “Why give away a million free copies of his expensive software? He’s not making any money doing that, and the more companies that fall to these attacks, the more clients he’s likely to have in the future. I just don’t see the gain here.”

“Yeah indeed. What a generous guy, huh?”

Dar smiled. It wasn’t a particularly nice smile. “And once everyone has installed Ouroboros, it will save everyone’s bacon, then cost them an exorbitant fee to continue licensing. Extortion at its finest. This guy should have been a demon.”

Wyatt nodded. “That would bring him a ton of money. Everyone would be terrified to let their license lapse, knowing they’d be vulnerable. He’d be the richest man in the world — and the most powerful.”

The demon stared at the press release, and Asta watched emotions flit across his expressive face. “But last night we talked about how this was a flash-in-the-pan. Even if Phelps orchestrated the viruses that led to his success, eventually he’ll fall to a hacker. It’s going to happen. What then? He’ll take the money he’s made and run? Somehow I see him as being in this beyond the financial incentives. He doesn’t want to be the richest man in the world. He wants respect.”

Asta caught her breath, remembering her conversations with Carter. “He does. His grandparents were notable individuals, and his parents respected experts in their field. He always felt like a dim bulb in comparison. He always felt like everyone considered him stupid — everyone except his grandmother.”

“So why pull this?” Dar asked. “He’d get admiration and respect, but it would be short-lived. He’s not stupid enough to think this would last forever. What’s his plan?”

Asta stared down at the press release, her faith in humanity fading away. “Perhaps he intends on making a third wish.”

Dar took a deep breath. “If you’re thinking what I’m thinking, then that wish is going to have loopholes big enough to drive a truck through. I don’t know any human with the mental capacity to wish for continued market dominance without screwing it up somehow. Fuck, I don’t even know many demons would attempt that sort of contract. The wording would have to be so precise . . . even the best human lawyer couldn’t make that happen.”

“Think he’s already made it?” Trust a human to cut right to the heart of the matter. Asta considered Wyatt’s words then shook her head.

“Don’t know. I’d be willing to stake my soul on it that as of last night he hadn’t, but who knows what happened after I left. Do you think the genie could have any influence over him?”

Dar laughed. “Doesn’t matter. If he’s made that third wish, then he’s in for a rude surprise, and we need to be ready to defend the city from a very pissed off genie.”

Asta cast her awareness out, scanning as far throughout the city as she could. “No. I don’t sense any demon energy beyond Dar. I don’t think Carter made a wish.”

Wyatt waved the press release packet. “So he’s snapped and turned into a delusional megalomaniac. Look, I know you all think I’m a worthless unevolved idiot, but I’m a human, and I know humans. If he hasn’t made all his wishes yet, he soon will. I’m with Dar — we need to steal the bottle and do something to neutralize the situation. I don’t like the idea of killing anyone, so hopefully you both have some idea on how to get the genie out and back to Hel with minimal damage, otherwise I don’t see this ending well.”

Asta met Dar’s eyes. “I have an idea,” she said, her heart sinking.

His gaze never left hers. Wyatt and all the humans streaming around them disappeared, and all she knew was the press of his sprit-self against hers. He waited, saying nothing, and she knew that whatever she proposed, he’d follow her. He might bitch and moan, he might argue strenuously, but he’d follow her. There was more at stake than her grace, and sometimes personal ethics needed to be put aside for the benefit of those who were helpless — those who she’d vowed to protect with her life.

Moral dilemma be damned. There were some times a preemptive strike was the only option. “We need to steal the bottle. I’m going to kill this demon before he has a chance to get out, and before Carter loses his soul.”

Dar’s gaze turned soft, and his hand reached out to caress her shoulder down along her arm. “You can’t kill the genie. He’s magically contained. There’s no way you can get to him when he’s inside the bottle, and no way to break the bottle until a human completes the terms of the contract.”

“I can’t kill him here.” Asta felt a sort of grim determination come over her. “But nothing material can last in Aaru. If you can manage to steal the bottle, I’ll pop off and get permission to gate the bottle to Aaru. Once the bottle disintegrates, we’ll be able to kill the genie.”

Dar winced. “Ruthless, although I approve. But I thought the Iblis, Ha-Satan, was the only demon allowed in Aaru?”

Asta took a deep breath, hoping her superiors would go along with this plan, would see the need for these desperate measures. “Sometimes there needs to be an exception to a rule.”

Chapter 14

Asta hated to leave Chicago unattended, but this was important. Plus she’d left Dar in charge of the city.

Yeah. The idea of leaving a demon in charge while she dashed off to an impromptu meeting was a bit like letting a wolf guard the sheep, but somehow she trusted him. Besides, as territorial as demons were, others would think twice before choosing that location. Dar had promised to hold down the fort for her as well as steal the bottle from Carter’s room. Upon her return, she could quickly gate it to Aaru. Problem would be solved – as long as she could convince her superiors to go along with the plan.

“Asta, correct? From Gabriel’s choir, and the youngest among us.”

The angel walked toward her, effortlessly navigating the huge boulders lining the mountainside. Below them, surf crashed against the cliffs. Asta felt like her heart was doing the same violent motion inside her chest. He knew who she was. He absolutely knew who she was. His question was meant to calm her nerves, but she was confident this angel knew every single one of his staff, down to the lowliest gate guardian. He nearly scared the bodily fluids from her every time they met. Yes, they were all older than her, but this one . . . he was truly ancient.

“Yes, Ancient Revered One. Thank you for taking the time from your busy schedule to meet with me and hear my request.” It had been incredibly bold of her to jump straight to the top like this, bypassing the other, more senior enforcers, but the head of the Grigori was the only one among them who served on the Ruling Council.

“It was no bother at all. I’m always ready to meet with any of my enforcers or guardians.” In spite of his kind smile, Asta got the feeling she was inconveniencing him terribly.

“Sir, I have a bit of a problem with a demon in my city that leads me to an unusual request.”

The angel sat on a rock, motioning for her to do the same. “A high-level demon? Do you need me to intervene?”

Asta sat, taking a moment to compose herself. Every enforcer needed to call this particular angel at some time in their assignment. High-level demons sometimes required an ancient to take them down — especially if they held too much energy for an angel to absorb. Some demons were like giant batteries — batteries that detonated violently when they died. It had taken only a few angels to meet their end in the ensuing explosions for everyone to realize there was no shame in calling in an elder to assist.

“No, Sir. I mean, this demon might possibly require assistance, but I won’t know until I get him out. He’s in a bottle.”

The Ancient One laughed, and Asta jumped at the unexpected sound. She’d never heard an expression of amusement from him before — seldom heard it from any of the angels in Aaru.

“Ah, a trapped genie. He’s going to be furious when he gets out — they always are.”

His casual attitude was such a relief. “We believe he is bound under contract to grant three wishes and suspect he may have already granted at least one.”

“We?”

Asta squirmed. “I am working with a demon who is under immunity as a member of the Iblis’s household. And a human who, although he is supposedly an idiot, has specialized information and skills.”

The Ancient One’s lips twitched slightly. “Your persuasion abilities have improved significantly over the last few years. Convincing a demon to do your bidding is no small feat.”

Oh shit — shoot. Oh shoot. “It’s not . . . he’s not doing my bidding. We came to an agreement on an exchange of . . . information. I’ve told him that I won’t hesitate to kill him if he violates the terms of his immunity, so rest assured that I haven’t given him any leeway in that regard.”

The elder angel’s lips twitched again, although his eyes remained stern. “I see. So you and your companions will watch carefully to ensure this genie is banished after his service?”

“Dar, the demon I’m working with, believes he’s been trapped for over six-hundred years. We have doubts that the human in possession of the bottle has the ability or knowledge to banish him properly after the service is rendered. I’ve warned him against completing the contract by wishing, but . . . you know how humans are.”

“Yes, I do. It’s not exactly unusual in these cases for the human in possession to have no knowledge in banishment. Once he completes his wishes, then you can kill the genie as he is released from the bottle.”

Here came the difficult part. “Sir, I’m concerned about the length of time before he is released and the resources needed to keep appropriate scrutiny on the trapped genie. In addition, what the human may be requesting from the genie could result in great difficulties. The human who has possession is involved in global cyber security. The effects on positive evolution for the human species could be devastating if a wish were to go wrong. I’d like to find a way to neutralize the genie before he completes his contracted service — whether through banishment, some other return to Hel, or, as a last resort, killing him.”

The smile was clear this time. “Then you’re a better angel than I. Or perhaps you have a sorcerer friend that can release the demon? Otherwise, he’s going to be alive in that bottle until he renders the contracted service.”

Deep breath. Deep breath. “I’d like to request we transport the demon to Aaru. There, the bottle will eventually degrade and we’d be able to dispatch the demon without any undue damage to the progress of humanity.”

The Ancient One leaned backward, narrowing his eyes. “Interesting proposal. We’ve never housed a magical item in Aaru to see if its physical nature degrades as other items do. There’s also a good chance the spell would hold, and even without the physical confines of the bottle, the demon would be trapped and shielded.”

“Sir, I beg of you to consider this. The cost to humanity if the human were to have his third wish granted would be most damaging. The human world runs on computer security, and if that were to be compromised in a catastrophic fashion . . . .

“Asta, by the time the Ruling Council managed to put it on the agenda, the human will be long dead. There is simply no time for this sort of thing, and the odds are, your request would be denied in the end anyway. The angelic host resists allowing the Iblis in Aaru in spite of her lawful right to be there; they’ll never grant passage to another demon, even if the argument in favor is a sound one.”

There had to be a way around this. Angelic law always had loopholes; it was just a matter of finding one in time. “If the bottle was found in Aaru, transported there by unknown means, what would happen?”

The Ancient One sighed. “You would spend the next two millennia in rehabilitation, that’s what would happen. Or worse, find yourself a Fallen without halo or wings. There is little tolerance for unlawful behavior in Aaru at this time. They would trace it back to you, and the penalty would be severe.”

Asta shuddered. Fallen. It wasn’t just that she’d lose her wings and halo, but she’d be under the black wing of the Iblis — a part of Ha-Satan’s household. Was the potential damage to humanity worth the loss of her eternal salvation?

The elder ancient put a hand on her shoulder, his spirit-self a reassuring warmth against hers. “Little One, you have been an exemplary enforcer. You’ve served the Grigori admirably this last century and are due to return to the comforts of Aaru in a few short days. Don’t risk your future over the folly of one human. Return to your post and monitor the situation. I’ll send another enforcer to assist in your transition tomorrow.”

“No!” Asta caught her breath, appalled at her disrespect. Chicago was her city. The thought of another enforcer there, now or ever, filled her with barely contained fury. “Please, sir. Allow me to see this situation out, even if it extends my service.”

The angel’s black eyes bored into hers. “Humans unexpectedly die with appalling regularity, and their possessions pass on to others. It could be centuries before a human dares enforce the genie’s contract. Perhaps you should reconsider your offer.”

To give up Aaru for another century or maybe more — why was that idea so appealing? Why did she immediately think of spending that time with Dar, trying new foods, singing in bars, doing other things? That one week of sin stretched out for an undetermined length of time.

“Sir, this is very important to me.”

He patted her shoulder, smiling gently. “I’m going to wait to either approve or deny your service extension. In the meantime, I’m counting on you to ensure this genie is taken care of in an appropriate manner.”

Asta’s heart sank. How was she going to be able to ‘take care’ of the genie now that her one idea had been shot down? Time to have a little brainstorming session with Dar and that idiot human.

“Thank you for your time, Most Revered Ancient One.”

“You’re welcome. And, Asta?” His black eyes were no longer gentle as they met hers. “Your manifested form is very convincing — and very dangerous. Be careful when you flirt with sin, and remember that demons always lie.”

Her breath lodged in her throat. Did he know? Those dark eyes always seemed to strip her bare, revealing all her secrets. “I will, Sir. I will.”

Chapter 15

“What are we going to do with this thing if Asta doesn’t come through? Sam knows a sorcerer. Maybe she can call in a favor.”

Dar peeked around the corner of the sub shop and eyed the front of the hotel. Cameras, cameras everywhere. What a fucking pain in the ass. “She doesn’t have any favors to call in.” It was a little embarrassing for the titular head of Hel to be so in debt to a human. Hopefully his sister could get on a more even footing before word spread and other demons saw her reliance upon human sorcery as a weakness to be exploited.

“How about that Gareth guy? She’s gotten a lot of stuff from him in the past. I’ll bet he’s powerful enough to take care of this situation.”

Gareth was months behind on work, and there was the logistical issue of him being in Hel and very unwilling to cross the gates. “Not going to happen. Aaru is our best bet.”

Wyatt kicked at a loose piece of pavement also frowning at the double revolving doors of the hotel from their hiding spot in the alley. “I’m thinking we made a lousy bet. What’s our backup plan?”

There was none, at least none that an angel would agree to. “Add it to our décor until we find a human to fulfill the contract in a benign manner? I don’t fucking know. Step one is getting in this asshole’s hotel room.”

“Can’t you pick locks? Sam can pick locks. I thought all demons could pick locks.”

Dar resisted the urge to punch Wyatt in the face. A bloody nose and a fat lip. A little facial rearrangement would be so satisfying. Wyatt had no idea how lucky he was. I promised my sister I wouldn’t harm you, but I really want to. “Yes, I can pick locks. Phelps has more than just the hotel locks on the door, though. He’s got some kind of thumbprint device. Who knows what else he’s got going on in there. Demon wishes aside, the guy seems to be pretty bright, and he does own a security company.”

“All that for a hotel room? Sheesh, paranoid much?” Wyatt looked up toward the penthouse suite windows. “I assume it’s linked into his cell phone so he’s alerted to a break in. If you’d have given me more than five minutes’ notice, I could have hacked in and blocked the alarm.”

Dar dug through his suit pocket and tossed a business card at the human. “Here. It’s his personal cell, not the business one. Make it ten minutes and I’m in.”

“That gives us five after I block the alarm to grab the bottle and run for it. Phelps is going to know something is up with his security, and, worst-case scenario, that’s how long it will take him to get here from the convention center. Plus the lobby and elevator cameras will still record you. Phelps and the police will be looking for you, Asta, and me.”

“No, they’ll be looking for a rat.” Dar ducked back safely into the alley, exploded all of his physical being outward in a flash of light and rush of molecules, then condensed back as his rat form. It sucked to destroy the nice suit he’d been wearing, but sometimes sacrifice was necessary to make a dramatic statement.

“Don’t let anyone see you or there will be a whole lot of screaming and running for the exits.”

Dar grinned, flashing pointy teeth. He had no intention of being seen. Scaring humans was good fun, but this was a stealthy mission.

With a twitch of whiskers, the demon was off, vanishing under the sewer grate and through the maze of pipes and tunnels beneath the building. A thousand years of navigating underground had given the demon some unusual skills. Even though this hotel’s layout was unfamiliar, he’d noted various air-return vents when he’d visited Phelps’s room two nights ago. Hopping from the sewers into the boiler-room drain then across the floor and up the garbage chute, Dar looked carefully before making a mad dash across the service-area floor to the laundry room. With a quick twist of screws, he was in the ductwork and heading up.

This hotel seriously needed to clean out their HVAC system. The ducts were coated in dust, with faint lines of rust around the joints, and the occasional spot of mold. Dar wrinkled his long nose and sneezed, his eyes watering as he climbed steadily upward.

Fuck, this was going to take forever. He’d told Wyatt ten minutes in a moment of bravado, but now the demon wondered if he’d make it. The ductwork was a maze, slowly winding up around the building. Dar took as many short cuts as he could, but that didn’t discount the miles he’d need to cover before reaching the penthouse.

Miles. Upward. So much for that rounded figure he longed for. Looked like Asta’s predictions regarding the horrible muscles were going to come true. By the time he reached the top floor, his lungs were heaving for air, his legs burning.

There. The huge air-return duct terminated in a ceiling-high grate that overlooked the hallway in front of the bank of elevators. Pausing to catch his breath, Dar rose on two legs and hooked sharp claws into the vent edges. He could see no one from his admittedly limited vantage point. The elevator indicators held steady at the lower floors. Twitching his nose, he breathed deep, recognizing the smells of room service food, newspaper, cleaning solution, and plug-in air freshener. This was the risky part, where he exposed himself in a mad dash to the penthouse door. Every whisker clamored for him to be patient and make sure no one was about, but there was no time to be cautious.

Fuck it. With a burst of energy, he broke the bolts holding the grate to the wall, propelling it outward. With a quick glance to either side, he sprang to the ground. There were only two rooms on this floor. Phelps was at the convention, and the chances of the other guest or a random maid seeing him were remote.

Galloping across the patterned carpet, Dar reached the door and eyed the levered knob. Snaking his energy up through the door and into the circuit, the demon watched the red light turn green, and then he leapt. Dexterous paws grabbed the handle, and the weight from his body pulled it down. The door opened with a click, and Dar jumped to the floor inside Carter Phelps’s room.

The box on the table flashed. He’d no idea how long until it decided the required fingerprint wasn’t coming and alerted Phelps to the break-in. Even if Wyatt had managed to hack in and block the system, Dar only had a few minutes. Of course, a few minutes were more than enough time to grab a bottle and disappear into the ventilation system.

He raced toward the bedroom, scrambling up the dresser drawer pulls to the top. The bottle stood just as it had the night before. Dar’s tail twitched as he felt the weight of ancient demon energy. Who was this guy?

Something to his left flashed, and Dar realized he had no time left for contemplation. Grabbing the bottle with his front paws, he knocked it on its side and rolled it off the dresser onto the carpet. The ancient glass hit with a disturbing crack.

Ah well. It’s not like the thing was going to break, and the genie was pissed off already. A fall, then a roll along the carpet wasn’t going to put him in a better mood, but the mode of transportation couldn’t be helped. Dar couldn’t take the time to carry the bottle while staggering through the hotel room on two legs. He had to get a move on.

Cylindrical objects rolled well. Bottle-shaped objects didn’t. The stupid thing kept veering to the left, forcing Dar to waste precious time getting it down the penthouse hallway and out the open door. Once there, he didn’t close the door. It wasn’t like he needed to cover his tracks. Phelps would soon know there was a break-in, even if Wyatt had managed to work his magic.

Navigating the hallway wasn’t any easier, and when Dar reached the air duct, he realized he’d been a bit shortsighted in planning this whole caper. The air duct was eight feet up, next to the ceiling. Not an easy jump for a rat, even a demon rat, but an impossible jump for a demon rat holding a bottle.

Fuck. Dar glanced around, noting the three cameras pointed his way. Well, there was nothing else to be done. He could hardly sit here and wait to be caught, or roll the bottle down the elevator and through the lobby as a rat. With a flash, he transformed into his human form — his very naked human form — and tossed the bottle up into the air duct.

That didn’t sound good. The thing made a horrible racket, slamming its way down the metal passageway until it stopped at a turn. Dar winced, then jumped, hooking his hands on the lip of the open grate before changing back into his rat form. The HVAC system had been steep going up, and it was equally steep going down. Dar found himself sliding face-first at an alarming pace, grabbing at the bottle as he rocketed by. The weight of it jerked him around, smashing him into the side of the duct where a poorly placed screw tore a chunk of flesh from his side.

Fuck, that hurt. He was still on his belly, but now sliding backwards, his blood painting a stripe along the dusty edge of the metal duct. Dar gripped the neck of the bottle with his front paws as he scrambled to slow his descent with his back legs. Ass first, he had no idea where he was going or which turn he’d taken. All he knew was, he was heading down. Hopefully to the laundry room. Hopefully not to the furnace, although it shouldn’t be ignited on this warm day.

His rear hit something hard, smashing him between it and the bottle. He’d stopped but was at a backward angle with the weight of the bottle on top of him. He could throw it off and risk it hurtling downward into the furnace. Not a good choice. Heat wouldn’t damage the bottle, but he didn’t like the idea of singeing fur and risking third degree burns retrieving it. He could repair the resultant injuries, but suffering them wasn’t his idea of a good day.

Dar edged sideways and twisted his neck to look down. Fuck. It was nearly a straight drop — not one he’d like to go down with the weight of this damned bottle on top of him. That left only one other choice. He rolled, feeling his stomach rise into his throat as he rode the bottle like a rocket down the vertical descent. The sense of direction that never failed him? Well, it failed him this time. Dar had no idea where in the hotel he was. He knew nothing except he was bound to come to a stop eventually. It’s not the fall that kills, it’s when you stop falling. Neither would kill a demon, but it sure as fuck wouldn’t be pleasant.

It wasn’t. Dar saw the grate rush toward him. He hit with enough impact to rip it from the ceiling. That last eight feet to the cement floor seemed to take forever as he scrambled around on the bottle, trying to ensure it landed first and took the brunt of the impact. At least he didn’t have to worry about glass shards in his ass and belly.

The bottle hit, bouncing and flipping as it slammed Dar back-first onto the floor. He grunted, losing his grip on it. As he struggled to stop the room from spinning, he heard a piercing scream, an accompaniment to the noise of the bottle rolling away.

“Rat!”

The scream became a chorus of screams. Dar blinked, shaking his head to clear his vision. Huge glass circles lined up before him like portholes on a ship, only these were filled with linens spinning round and round. The laundry. He’d smelled this room coming in and realized he must be fairly close to his original route. There was a clear way out through the floor drains to the sewer, but he’d need to drag the bottle past a hoard of women shouting in some foreign language and swatting at him with towels. Fuck it. Dar bared his teeth, snarling at his attackers. The screaming reached a fevered pitch, but they backed up enough for him to grab the bottle and work his way across the floor.

It was an agonizingly long process. Every few feet he needed to turn around and again threaten the women who seemed determined to whip him to death with hotel linen. Finally he made it to the drain, nudging the cover aside before shoving the bottle down the hole and jumping in after it.

Going up through the sewer was more strenuous than his slide down the ventilation system, but the swim through fetid water was far less painful than his hard landing on the cement floor. Dar surfaced to get his bearings and catch a breath, spitting the foul taste from his mouth as he pushed the bobbing bottle along. The genie inside had suffered a rough ride, but it had to have been better than the ride Dar had been through on the outside of the bottle.

Finally Dar dragged himself out through the sewer access, hauling the bottle, which felt like it weighed a million pounds, behind him. Wyatt was waiting, looking nervously at his cell phone.

“About time you got here. For Pete’s sake, Dar, what took you so long? And you stink.”

It’s not like he could respond in his rat form — Dar’s telepathic abilities were restricted to beings of spirit — so the demon transformed into his human form.

“Yeah, well sewers usually stink. And I had a bit of trouble with the bottle. It wasn’t as easy to haul it out as a rat as I thought it would be.”

“I got that.” Wyatt turned his phone to face Dar and played a grainy video of his transformation into a human in the top-floor hallway of the hotel. Fuck, this was going to be a problem. Not that he hadn’t realized it after seeing the video cameras in the hallway, but it still smarted that all his efforts to mask the theft were for naught.

“I know, I know. It’s not like I had any choice. I couldn’t get the bottle up into the HVAC system as a rat. We’re hosed, but at least we’ve got the bottle. If Asta does her part, they’ll be no more wishes for Carter Phelps.”

“We’re not hosed.” Wyatt grinned and pushed a button on his cell phone, slipping the device into his pocket. “That feed is now wiped. Phelps will suspect a cyber-terrorist — one who has superior skills, one who blocked his security alerts and interfered with the hotel surveillance. We’re home free.”

Yeah, except for all those housekeepers and laundry maids who saw a rat scooting a bottle across the floor. That sort of thing wouldn’t go unreported, and Phelps might be savvy enough to connect the dots. Either way, with the theft targeted to the bottle, he’d realize it had to be one of the two individuals who’d been in his hotel the last few days — Asta or Dar. No proof, but that didn’t mean Phelps wouldn’t be a pain in the ass about it. Once again, Dar lamented that he couldn’t just kill the human and be done with it.

“Here.” Wyatt handed him a bag. “Put some clothes on before you get arrested.”

Dar pulled a White Sox t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants out. “Thanks, but I think I’ll go naked.”

“Go ahead. Phelps is going to be mighty interested that you got arrested for indecent exposure in a service alley beside his hotel. Especially since his room was just robbed.”

“Okay, okay,” Dar grumbled and held up the shirt. Baseball sucked. Again he wished he hadn’t blown up his nice suit.

“Please tell me you didn’t waltz through the hotel and steal the bottle while as naked as a jaybird.”

Asta had traced them into an alleyway as soon as she’d returned to the city. Why were they still here? The plan was for them to steal the bottle then meet her back at Dar’s hotel room, not stand around right next to the crime scene arguing. And not stand around naked either.

Dar shimmied, spreading his arms wide so Asta got the full frontal view. “Through the lobby, up thirty-six floors in the elevator and down past an entire room full of housekeeping staff.”

“He was in his rat form,” Wyatt told her. “And now he’s reluctant to put on the clothing I had the foresight to grab from the tourist shop next door.”

“No self-respecting demon would be caught dead wearing this shit. There’s a drycleaner just a block away. You could have stolen something nice from there; that way I don’t have to walk around looking like a homeless orphan with questionable taste in sports teams.”

“I’m not stealing clothing from a drycleaner. You’re lucky I spent my own money on this stuff. I should have just let you run around as a rat the rest of the day.”

“Stop bickering.” Asta felt ready to explode. They needed to get out of here before the police, or Phelps, showed up. “Dar, put on the clothes. And hand me the bottle.”

The demon raised his eyebrows. “Magic word? Are angels so devoid of polite behavior that they don’t know how to say please?”

That did it. She’d spent all morning a ball of anxiety over the meeting with the head of the Grigori before being turned down. And now she had to deal with two of the Three Stooges in a back alley. Politeness was pretty far down her priority list right now.

“Give me the bottle and put on some clothes.”

Dar dropped the clothes and tucked the bottle behind him. “No and no. You want it? Well, come and get it.”

The angel launched at him, intending to punch the demon in the gut and grab the bottle. Instead, Dar threw his arms around her waist and dropped to the ground. Now the bottle was digging into her back, and she was off balance, heading face-first toward the asphalt. Dar shifted, and they crashed on their sides, the demon taking the brunt of the impact on his shoulder.

“Give me . . . I want it. . . .” Asta gasped, the breath partially knocked out of her.

The demon moved the hand with the bottle between them and flipped himself on top of her. “I’ve been waiting to hear those words from the moment I met you. Darling Asta, I want it too. I really, really want it.”

The angel puffed, recognizing the sexual innuendo. It was even harder to speak with his weight on top of her, and that stupid bottle pressing against—. That isn’t the bottle. No, something else, similar in shape and equally hard was pressed against her lower region.

“Get. Off. Me.”

With great dexterity, the demon held her close and rolled. Now she was on top of him, his arms tight around her and the bottle pressed against the small of her back. Other things were still disturbingly pressed against her too. She struggled to sit up, and Dar relented, moving his hands downward to secure her thighs on either side of his hips.

“Angel on top. I like this position.”

This was even worse. Sitting on him, straddling his hips like this, put that part of his anatomy right where it was supposed to be.

“Should I leave and come back in ten minutes? Although, knowing Dar, ten seconds is probably the most he can last.”

Wyatt’s voice behind them was both exasperated and amused. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Asta lurched to the right and grabbed the bottle. Unfortunately, distracted didn’t mean inattentive. Dar kept a firm grip and yanked her forward, seizing the bottle with both hands. A brief tug of war ensued that caused the lower parts of their bodies to rub together with interesting friction.

He felt good against her — really, really good. Asta was beginning to think less about the bottle and more about the amazing sensations sending little sparks through her body. Her eyes met Dar’s, and she saw her desire mirrored there — and saw he knew how turned on she was.

“Guys? Any moment now Phelps is going to arrive, and the police with him. I suggest you save the porno for later and we all get out of here.”

How embarrassing.

“Fine. Keep the bottle.” Asta jumped off the demon and smoothed down her pants, trying desperately to return her breathing and heart rate back to normal. Glancing out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Dar, still sprawled on the ground propped up by his elbows. The bottle was firmly in one hand, and he was quite noticeably aroused.

“Dude.” Wyatt shook his head in disgust. “Drop the main mast, and get your clothes on, pronto. I can hear sirens.”

Dar struggled to his feet, making it clear that his raging erection was causing some ambulatory problems. This was ridiculous. They were going to get caught all because she couldn’t control her temper, and Dar couldn’t stop teasing her. Two stooges — she was just as bad. Three Stooges was more like it.

“Come here.” Without waiting, Asta grabbed Wyatt with one hand and dragged him forward so she could touch Dar with her other. In a flash, they left the alley and appeared in Dar’s hotel room. The demon immediately fell to the floor, slamming into an armchair on the way down and dropping the bottle. Wyatt retched and staggered toward the bathroom, banging into the walls along the way.

“What’s wrong with you two? I know demons and humans don’t teleport, but your reactions seem a bit extreme.”

“Damn it all, Asta. Give a demon some warning next time. The room is spinning like a fucking carnival ride.”

Oops. She heard Wyatt vomiting and grimaced. “Sorry guys. We do this pretty much as soon as we’re formed. I guess we’re just used to it.”

“Well, I’m not used to it.” Dar tried to stand and fell sideways into the end table. “Fuck. I might just puke too.”

Asta looked around and helpfully shoved a small garbage can toward the demon. “Here. I don’t know how long Wyatt is going to be in the bathroom.”

Leaving the men to their digestive distress, the angel dropped to her hands and knees and dug under the sofa. There. Nope, that was an empty Heineken. Sheesh, Dar was a total pig.

Ah, the bottle. It was so pretty, all purple and gray with gold swirls and trim. Flicking a finger at the side, she noted how solid it was. Magically unbreakable and stamped with the energy of the demon it had held for so long.

“How fast can you pop that sucker up to Aaru?” Dar had picked himself up off the floor and was rinsing his mouth out with the contents of the mini bar, spitting expensive booze into the trashcan.

“It doesn’t matter.” Asta looked away from him, focusing intently on the bottle. “They turned down my request.”

“So I give the thing to my sister, and she’ll toss it through the wild gate into the fourth circle of Aaru. The bottle dissolves, the demon panics and runs around heaven until the angels take him down. Problem solved.”

“You forget the part where I spend the next two thousand years in rehabilitation as punishment. It doesn’t matter who does it; I’ll end up with the blame.”

“So what do we do with that?” Dar brushed the bottle with his finger.

Asta pursed her lips, turning the bottle over. “Start looking for a mage. We need someone who can get the demon out of here so I can send him back home. That’s pretty much the only option left.”

“If we kill Phelps, we’d have more time to find a magic user. And we wouldn’t have to worry about him stealing the bottle back or making any more wishes in the interim.”

Dar’s voice was hopeful, like a child asking for a treat he knew would be refused. Asta frowned and shook her head. “Nope. We’re not killing Carter.”

“I still think you should ask that Gareth guy or one of his buddies to do it.” Wyatt was a bit more upright as he walked slowly back into the room. “There’s got to be some mage in Hel who would be willing to take a quick trip here.” He turned to Dar. “You can come and go through the gates; just bring one with you, and have him release the genie.”

“I’ve got a better idea.” Dar drained a mini of gin and tossed it onto the carpet. “I grab Carter Phelps and Asta transports us here to my hotel room. I duct tape him and torture him until he agrees to use his last wish on something like a really good pad Thai. Asta kills the demon, or sends it to Hel — I don’t really fucking care. Then we drown Phelps in Lake Michigan and make it look like a boating accident.”

Asta and Wyatt both stared at the demon.

“So how quickly can you get a mage here from Hel?” Asta asked. “I’ll look for one here, and whoever can get a mage first, wins.”

“Wins what?” Dar’s eyes glowed with interest.

“Nothing.” She plopped the bottle on the coffee table in exasperation, wincing as it landed more forcefully than she’d intended. “It was just an expression. I’m going with Wyatt’s idea. The great mage hunt is on.”

“Oh, come on! My idea is so much better than his.”

“No, it isn’t. Killing Phelps would cause you to lose your immunity.”

The demon considered that with what looked suspiciously like a pout. “Okay, so I don’t kill him at the end of it all. It’s still the best idea.”

Asta tried for her most intimidating stare, forcing her traitorous mouth to keep from smiling as Dar gave her a charming naughty-boy grin.

Finally the demon sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, Gareth is out of the question. I’m sure he could do it, but our household is shockingly in debt to him right now. And given a certain political instability in Hel with the elves, high-level magic users are a little scarce.”

He was telling the truth. What was she going to do now? Aaru was out. There would be no cooperation from Phelps now that they’d stolen the bottle and violated any trust he might have. It would take her months of determined Internet searches weeding through dozens of fakes before she found an earthly mage able to release and banish the genie safely — if she managed to find one at all. And she was supposed to return home in a few days, leaving the bottle in the care of another enforcer who might not be as diligent about its safety.

“I’ll take it to Aaru.” Asta was proud her voice didn’t tremble one bit at her decision. She was going back in a few days anyway. And with all the sinning she’d done this week, maybe two thousand years of having the disobedience purged from her soul would be a good thing. No, it would be a horrible thing, but this was the only choice that didn’t have a high probability of innocent casualties associated with it.

“I thought you said they’d torture you.” Dar’s gaze was intent.

“Punish, not torture. It’s intended to return my vibration levels to the correct balance and remind me of the need for order and structure. I’ll be fine.”

Her voice wobbled. Wyatt made a little gasp noise from behind her. Dar’s mouth thinned into a line. Obviously they both knew she wouldn’t be fine at all.

“I’ll make the wishes,” Wyatt volunteered. “I trust you to take care of the genie when he gets out.”

“I can’t let you do that, Wyatt.” Asta turned toward him, smiling in gratitude. “If you had the knowledge and magic to do the protective circle, then maybe. Otherwise, it’s too much of a risk.”

“And my sister would kick my ass if I let her boy toy get ripped to bits by a genie,” Dar added. “Besides, we’d need to kill Phelps for that to work. Right now he’s the owner, and if he’s already triggered the contract by making that first wish, then the genie won’t serve another until he’s dead.”

“See?” She deliberately addressed her comments to Wyatt, unable to let Dar see the dread in her eyes. “Aaru it is. I’ll take care of a few quick things and have this bottle up there by nightfall.”

“Fine.” Dar threw his hands into the air. “I guess I’m going to Hel and selling my soul for a sorcerer. Fuck knows what Gareth is going to charge me for this one. We’re so over a barrel with him that I’ll probably need to carve out a pound of flesh in payment.” He turned to face Asta, and she recoiled involuntarily as he thrust a finger toward her. “You owe me. This is above and beyond the call of duty. I’m saving your ass from heavenly torture. I get something in return.”

He seemed angry, but underneath it was warmth and humor she couldn’t resist. “Another date?”

“A date and more.”

Asta caught her breath, thinking of their make-out session last night, and the wrestling they’d done in the alleyway today. Was that his ‘more’? In spite of her constant repetition that she wasn’t going to have sex with him, part of her hoped that was what he meant.

“I want you to show me your home.”

“Aaru?” He couldn’t mean that. Demons weren’t allowed there. There was no way she could ever take him to Aaru.

“Fuck no. I mean where you stay here in Chicago. There’s got to be some place you store all your fancy clothes, where you hang out when you’re off duty.”

She was never off duty, but Asta knew exactly what he meant. Her place. That was just as intimate as having sex. “Deal.”

She could do no less. He was sticking his neck out for her, helping her when he had no obligation to. And if he came through, he’d save her from what really would amount to two millennium of torture.

Chapter 16

Dar spent the entire rest of the day frantically trying to score a sorcerer before his date with Asta. Things would go such much better tonight if he could assure her help was on the way from Hel.

As second to the Iblis, the titular leader of the demons, his word alone should cause others to rush to do his bidding. The problem was that no one in Hel really gave a shit about who held the Iblis title, or what his role was in her household. The one sorcerer who was free from elven service was busy and less than excited about racking up one more favor from their household. None of the elves were interested in cooperating with the demons who had made their lives so miserable.

Dar was ready to throw in the towel when he remembered someone. Someone who had the ability to travel from Hel without using the carefully guarded angel gates. He wasn’t a sorcerer and didn’t have any experience in containment of demons, but he was willing to give it a shot for the right price. Negotiations had been tough, but they’d come to an agreement, and the mage would be in Dar’s hotel room by morning. Which gave him the whole evening to spend with an angel.

Asta had given him an address and time. He’d dressed carefully in his favorite of the stolen suits and picked up sashimi and a nice bottle of unfiltered sake. And now he stood before the locked doors, looking up along an endless expanse of glass and steel. It was late. All the office workers had gone home for the night. The residents who owned the condos on the top five floors must use key cards to gain entrance in the off hours. Not that a demon had any problem with a locked door.

Energy snaked through the electronic locks and he was in, the light illuminating via sensors as he walked through the hallways. Thankfully the elevators didn’t require any special codes, as he wasn’t sure his abilities extended to feats of mechanical engineering. The elevator lurched up, nearly dropping Dar’s stomach into his feet. Eighty-two stories, and the elevator opened on the top floor. There were six doors, spaced for privacy, in a square around the elevator lobby. Asta’s was number four.

He knocked briefly, swung the door open, and was amazed to find himself in a giant closet.

That was the only way to describe it. Rows of clothing hung neatly on racks suspended from the ceiling and bolted to the walls. A few dresses were displayed on mannequins. Shoes, purses, hats, and scarves filled the wooden shelves that lined every free wall. There were no sofas, no chairs — nothing except clothing and accessories. Dar felt fairly certain that if he wandered into the bedroom or bathroom, he’d find the same. It seemed excessive, even compared to demon standards, but given she’d been here for a hundred years, the volume of clothing and accessories was fairly reasonable. It was a long time to compile a wardrobe.

“Where’s the sexy lingerie?”

He heard a laugh and spun about to see Asta peering at him from behind a row of brightly colored pleather pants. “I’m an angel; why would I have need for sexy lingerie?”

“Why would an angel have need for ugly plastic trousers?”

She stepped around the pants, hips swaying as she approached in jeans and a white oxford shirt. This was the most casual she’d ever been attired — and the most relaxed he’d ever seen her. His usually perfectly put-together angel looked just as gorgeous with high-top sneakers and her hair in a mess of loose brown curls as she did in her designer suits and dresses.

“I’ll have you know those pants were all the rage in the early 90s. I haven’t had the heart to get rid of them.” She looked around fondly. “I haven’t had the heart to get rid of anything.”

And that told him exactly what he’d suspected from the moment he’d nearly knocked her over as she had pressed her nose against the bakery window. “You love it here, among the humans. I always thought you angels suffered your service as part of the Grigori, longing for the moment you could return home.”

“Most do. I’m just more susceptible, I guess. I shouldn’t have taken this assignment at my age, but I was so eager to prove myself. You don’t know what it’s like always being considered the baby, having a fraction of the skill and abilities of everyone around you.”

Dar smiled. “All those other angels are too afraid to risk their purity by leaving Aaru. You’re gutsy enough to give it a try.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Trust me; it’s not guts. Down here I’m powerful. And I like the humans. They face such challenges in their short lives, and the majority of them show amazing courage and morality. I’m happy to protect them.”

“And steal their clothing?” Dar swept a hand to encompass the mind-boggling volume of outfits.

Guilt flashed across the angel’s face. “I reimburse them in some fashion — sort of a barter system. And they’re not all human-made. Quite a few are my own efforts at copies — very poor efforts, I’ll admit.”

“Let’s see some of these efforts. Model for me.” Dar looked in vain for a place to sit, finally plopping down on one of the few bare spots of floor.

“I’m not modeling for you.” Asta’s laugh was tinged with embarrassment. “But here. I made this one.”

Holy shit. It was a 1950s fitted wiggle-dress with alternating panels of dark and light leopard print. The top would have hugged her bust like a second skin, pushing her breasts up like a corset, the wide straps accenting the vast amount of skin exposed across her chest and shoulders. The slides were slightly ruched, which would give the tantalizing effect that the dress was working its way up her body. She spun the dress on the hanger, and Dar caught a glimpse of a sizable slit up the back.

“Put it on.” His voice rasped as he imagined her in it, imagined him taking it off her. “Please?”

“No!” She turned from him, obviously flustered. “It’s not right. I couldn’t get the gathering quite even, and I couldn’t wear it without fear of falling out the top.”

And now Dar was wild with the image of Asta having a nip slip as they dined. She’d bend over to snare a piece of sushi just out of reach, and rose-tinted brown would peek above the top of the dress. Good thing he was sitting down, because he was hard as a rock just thinking about it. If he’d been standing, Asta could have hung a few of her outfits from his erection.

“It’s one more thing I’m less than skilled at.” Her voice was sad. Dar’s heart ached as she turned to hang the dress back on the rack.

“Bullshit. You’re skilled; you’re just not perfect. No one is, not even those saintly angels up in Aaru who are older than dirt. Do you like it? Do you like creating these clothes?”

“Yes.” Her expression was puzzled as she walked over and sat beside him. “I love how the humans express themselves through their attire. It’s artistic; it reflects an inner mood. Clothing is the paint on your body’s canvas.”

Her words gave Dar an idea. “This body you’ve created for yourself — it’s your art. It’s perfect. Others may create the paint that adorns it, but you’ve created the canvas, and your skill at that is beyond any angel’s I’ve ever seen.”

She smiled. “Thank you.” Sighing, she reached out to finger a cashmere peacoat. “It’s a shame I’ll have to leave all this behind. Neither my paint or my canvas will come with me to Aaru when I return.”

“Well, that’s a long way off.” Dar laughed. “You’ll need to rent the whole floor before you leave at the rate you’re shoplifting.”

For once his reference to her larceny didn’t get the usual response. Instead, she frowned, her eyes troubled. “I’m leaving in two days. My service was for a century, and it’s up.”

Breathe. Breathe. Dar’s heart seemed to have dropped down around his shoes, and the room narrowed to a pinpoint. She was leaving in two days? Two days? That’s all he had before she’d vanish from his life forever? Gone were the thoughts of tempting her into sex as some kind of conquest. He wanted more than just a conquest, more than just sex. Two days?

Snap out of it and think of something, his rat-brain commanded. “The mage is coming tomorrow morning, but there’s still a chance this genie issue won’t be resolved before you’re due to leave. You wouldn’t fly back to Aaru leaving unfinished business, would you? You wouldn’t expect some poor new enforcer to take over in the middle of this?”

The angel shook her head, dark corkscrew curls bouncing. “It’s not my decision. I’ve asked for an extension, asked for another century of service, but I get the impression it will be denied.”

This couldn’t be happening to him. “Go rogue. Refuse to leave, or sneak back from Aaru. Other angels have done it; you can too.”

The longing on her face twisted him up inside. “I want to. Trust me; I love it here. I love the humans.” A faint smile quirked up a corner of her mouth. “I love macarons and purple wine at Stanley’s. I love flying down Michigan Avenue, and karaoke. I love kissing a certain demon in a dark alley, feeling him up against a smelly dumpster.”

His insides felt like they’d shriveled to dust. “Then why are you leaving?” He meant to ask ‘why are you leaving me?’ but that last word wouldn’t come.

“I want to stay, but I can’t help but second-guess myself. Has my time here warped my sense of judgment? Have I l forgotten the joys I felt back home? The longer I stay here, the farther I stray from Aaru. I fear I’m becoming less of an angel and more of a demon.”

Dar felt a foreign sense of shame. Was it so bad to be a demon? It’s not like he had any choice in the matter of how he’d been born. But Asta’s words seemed to indicate she thought nurture ruled over nature in a being’s moral foundation. “Would any experience change you from the angel you are? Are we demons because of Hel, and you’re an angel because of Aaru? Do you think the fall is what caused us to be as we are? You’re not one of the angels who believe we had these demonic traits before we left Aaru?”

She tilted her head and put a reassuring hand on his arm. “I didn’t know any of you before you left Aaru. Some angels claim that demons have always harbored darkness, but others speak with nostalgia and longing of a time when our differences were a compliment and not a conflict.”

“Romantic,” Dar teased, determined to somehow lift this evening from grief into something they’d both remember all their lives. “So this is where you eat and sleep? Surrounded by eighty tons of clothing and footwear?”

Her eyes were drawn to the box of sashimi he waved temptingly before him. “No. I simply have this condo for storage. I really live on the roof.”

Dar felt his heart rise in his throat. Roof? Oh no. They had to be almost nine-hundred feet in the air. Hopefully the roof had a large, sturdy balustrade around the edges. The demon swallowed a few times. “Well then, let’s go to the roof to see where you actually spend your down time. I brought sashimi and a nice sake. We’ll have a lovely romantic open-air dining experience.”

Yeah. If he didn’t puke his raw fish all over the place, he’d be lucky. Chicago wasn’t nicknamed the ‘windy city’ for nothing, and all the buildings swayed as an engineering precaution against structural failure. Shit. Nine-hundred feet up and rocking like a willow in the wind. He should have brought a bottle of Xanax to go with his sake.

The rooftop was as he’d feared. Thankfully it was flat, but the edge was a scant six inches higher than the black pvc membrane he stood on. Winds buffeted the building, and Dar felt it sway. There were taller buildings a few blocks away, but this one towered above its neighbors and took the full force of the tunnel effect as gusts roared through the spaces between skyscrapers.

“How do you stand this?” Dar sat on what seemed to be an electrical box and opened the container. With careful attention, he placed the dishes of hotate, otoro, and tako next to a small container of fugu.

“Stand what?” Asta’s curls blew away from her face, a blinking antenna light sending her features into sharp relief.

“Spending your nights up here. I feel like I’m going to be blown over the edge any second.”

The angel shrugged as she snagged a piece of pickled ginger from one of the trays and deftly popped it into her mouth. “I regain a sense of perspective up here. It’s like being perched on the edge of a cliff, where you can survey the world below. Besides, if I get blown off, I’ll just fly back up.”

“Here. Tako. You’ll either love it or hate it.”

“It’s beautiful.” She examined the sashimi intently. “The little round holes and bumps in the grayish brown are so pretty against the white inside.”

“Octopus,” Dar told her. “It’s rather chewy and has a very subtle taste. Some prefer to put wasabi on it, but I feel that completely masks the flavor of the tako.”

She smiled, and he caught his breath at the trust in her dark eyes. Gripping a piece with awkwardly held chopsticks, she popped it in her mouth and chewed. And chewed and chewed. Finally she swallowed, her nose wrinkling. “Not sure about that one. It feels like parts of it are trying to attach themselves to the inside of my mouth.”

“That’s the suckers.” He let that sink in for a moment and extended another tray toward her. “Basashi. Here, I’ll help you with this one.” Dar placed a bit of ginger and onion on top and deftly plucked it from the tray with his chopsticks. Asta leaned forward, and again he felt the lower regions of his body come to attention as her full lips closed around the meat.

“This is good. It reminds me of the tartare from the other night.”

That had been especially good with the raw egg yolk on top. Dar grinned. “Yes, although this isn’t minced, and it’s horse meat. You have no idea how hard it is to get in the States. The humans here seem to consider it one step away from cannibalism.”

“And this?” Asta grabbed a piece of toro and nodded enthusiastically as she chewed. Dar couldn’t help but laugh at her expression. “It’s like butter. Tuna?”

Dar nodded. “The best cut of Bluefin — anterior belly, up near the head. And now for the fugu, which might kill you.” He smothered a grin as her beautiful eyes widened. “The chef I got it from isn’t exactly licensed, so if you become paralyzed and die of asphyxiation, you’ll know he fucked it up. If not properly prepared, puffer fish is tainted by the animal’s poison. Are you willing to take the risk?”

She looked excited. His angel, living life in the fast lane. Damn, how he wanted her — wanted her forever.

“Mmm. Not chewy like the octopus, but similar in subtle flavor. Almost flaky in texture,” she mumbled, her mouth still full. “My mouth is a little tingly, but I haven’t died yet.”

Dar laughed and continued to present her with the other sashimi he’d brought, urging her to try the unfiltered sake after they’d finished eating. Lying back, watching the stars drift above them as they drank from the little cups he’d bought in Chinatown that evening, Dar felt incredible peace. He’d never felt this way in all of his centuries in Hel, never felt this way on his vacations across the gates. It was her. Life was better when he was sharing it with her.

“So, how do you like my special place?” Her voice was an odd combination of flirty and shy. “This has been my home for the last thirty years. Before that I had a spot over on Rush, but as soon as they built this high-rise, I knew I wanted to be on top.”

On top. He envisioned her on top of other things too, but even as he lay next to her, feeling her warmth and wanting her, Dar couldn’t put the thought of being at the top of a very, very tall building out of his mind. “Have you always been this way? You’ve always liked living so high in the air?”

“Yep.” She rose and wandered to the edge of the roof. “The head of my choir, The Most Ancient Revered Archangel Gabriel, has an affinity for water.” Asta plopped down and swung her legs back and forth over the edge. Dar felt the beginnings of a panic attack just watching her. “I, on the other hand, have an affinity for air. It’s why I cannot keep from flying, even though to do so is an infraction.”

Dar forced himself to stand and walk to her, tearing his eyes from her swinging feet and the ground so far below. “Why aren’t you with a choir whose leader is more air-like? I can’t think a water angel would be an ideal mentor.”

The angel stiffened for a moment before relaxing and shaking her head. “The Most Ancient Revered Archangel Raphael is the highest angel who has an affinity for air. He is . . . he is nearly an Angel of Chaos. It wouldn’t be a good fit.”

“Why not?” Dar persisted. “I’ve heard he’s a pretty cool guy, way cooler than that asshole Gabriel.”

Asta shot him a narrowed glance. “I won’t sit idly by and listen to slander against the head of my choir.”

Dar raised his hands. “Fine. Fine. But why aren’t you in Raphael’s choir?”

“I’m tempted enough without that particular archangel as a mentor.” Asta’s shoulders slumped. “Gabriel is strict, unbending. He pushes me to be the best I can be. His example keeps me from sin and inspires me to continue on my path to righteousness.”

“And that includes stealing expensive clothing and shoes? A morning shot of caffeine? Sitting on a rooftop with a demon eating raw seafood?”

He meant it to be teasing but felt bad the moment he said it. Asta caught her breath, and Dar swore he saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes. “I do the best I can. With Raphael as a mentor, I’d probably be two steps from Hel. I’m not infallible. I do sin, as much as I try not to. You wouldn’t understand what terrible temptations there are here among the humans.”

Dar held his breath and carefully sat beside the angel. “I do understand. I’m a demon, remember? I love nice clothes and coffee as much as you do.”

She gave him a watery smile. “And flying? I’m sure you fly all the time, since you have immunity and don’t need to fear death at the hand of us angels.”

Don’t look down, don’t look down.

“Uhhh, I don’t fly.”

The angel’s eyes widened. “You don’t fly? I know you all lost your wings in the Fall, but I thought you could still manifest those leathery bat-type wings. What do you mean; you don’t fly?”

“I . . . we . . . .” Dar made the mistake of looking down and felt himself break out in a sweat, his hands white knuckled as he gripped the rim of the roof. “Not all demons can manifest wings. I can’t. I don’t fly.”

Silence fell, and Dar felt her pity. It grated on him like sandpaper. “I don’t want to fly. It’s not my thing. I’m a rat. I like it underground in caves and tunnels. The air isn’t my thing.”

As soon as he’d said the words, a lump settled in his throat. She was an angel with an affinity for air, and he couldn’t fly — wouldn’t fly. The very thought of it sent chills down his spine.

“I’ll fly you. You need to experience it, even if just this once. If you don’t like it, that’s fine — you don’t ever have to do it again.”

Dar tensed, his hands gripping the ledge of the roof so hard he feared it would crumble in his grasp. A hand touched his shoulder, and he jumped with an involuntary reflex.

“Trust me. I won’t let anything happen to you, I swear. Trust me.” Her mouth turned up in the most adorable smile ever. “I’ve trusted you these last few days. It’s your turn.”

The demon drew a shaky breath. It was as good a day to die as any. “Okay. Just a short flight.”

He glanced over and saw the warm approval in her face. Moonlight and some inner glow lit her like a beacon in the night. Golden brown. Everything about her was like a warm loaf of bread right out of the oven. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she’d drop him from a thousand feet up, or drown him in Lake Michigan. It didn’t matter, because he was lost in the beautiful joy shining from her dark eyes.

“I’ll even fly you in your rat form. How’s that? Both of us conquering our fears at the same time.”

Who says I’m afraid? It’s what Dar wanted to say, but instead something totally different came out. “Right. You’ll be more likely to panic and drop me as a rat than as a demon. I know how you feel about rodents.”

The brown eyes widened then Asta threw back her head and laughed. It was a deep, smoky, musical laugh, and Dar felt his hands loosen on the roof ledge.

“I swear on my eternal soul that I will not drop you.” The angel’s eyes grew soft. Dar could have sworn he saw something in them that was more than affection. “I will never let you go, Dar, no matter how red your beady eyes are, or how your whiskery nose twitches, or how much your sharp claws dig into my skin. I will never let you go.”

Dar took a deep breath and stood. “I can’t promise I won’t puke on you.”

Asta rose, huge wings of brown and gold extending full-width from her back. “Vomit is not included in this excursion. You puke on my shirt and you’re going for a swim.”

Chapter 17

Dar went to change into his rat form and hesitated. He hadn’t brought any additional clothing. If he destroyed these, he’d be heading back to his hotel room dressed in one of Asta’s outfits. With a shudder at the thought of wearing a minidress, he carefully removed his outfit, neatly folding everything and placing the clothes on a reasonably clean spot.

And now he was a rat — a two-foot-long rat with sharp claws and glowing eyes. Asta took a sharp breath and turned her head to look over the edge of the rooftop. This wasn’t going to work. He was on the verge of a heart attack just thinking of being flown far above the skyline, and she couldn’t even look at him. What was he doing thinking there could ever be anything beyond a moment’s attraction between them?

“Dar?” Asta reached out a hand toward him, her eyes still averted. “Can you help me out? I don’t think I can do this, and I really need your help.”

Something in her voice pulled at him. An angel asking for a demon’s help — surely Hel was freezing over right now. Dar moved under her hand, nudging her palm with his nose and rubbing his head along her fingers. They curled around the side of his shoulder, scooping him up carefully.

“You’re heavy.” Her other hand cradled his other side, and Dar was lifted toward her chest. He really wanted to snuggle into that warm space between her breasts, hear her heart beat against his cheek, but the thought that she might freak out and drop him was a huge deterrent. Asta still sat along the edge of the roof — and now Dar was held in her hands, suspended over the pavement so far below.

Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Fuck, he was going to puke if he even thought about how far down the city streets were. Instead, he focused on Asta’s face — or rather, on her chin, since she still refused to look at him.

This is fucking stupid. I’m going to die. And what a humiliating death it would be — horny demon trusts a musophobic angel and ends his life splattered on State Street.

“Ready?”

Dar squeaked his reply and felt her hands tighten painfully around him. Yes. Yes, I’m ready. For fuck sake, don’t crush me.

“Sorry.”

The angel took a few deep breaths, affording Dar a magnificent view of her cleavage, then revealed her wings.

Dar had seen them from afar, but he’d never been up close to Asta’s wings — and he’d never seen an angel bring them from their safe place into the open. The air shifted aside, as if the night suddenly wrinkled along the edges of the angel’s back. Then, with a sonic boom, blackness gave way to a burst of brown and gold. There was no gentle unfurling, no flash of light, just a deafening crack, and the snap of muscle and feathers extended to full length.

He only had a moment to admire them before the angel fell face-first from the ledge. All the air left Dar’s lungs and his stomach launched upward. They were falling. They were falling. Why the fuck wasn’t she using her wings? His claws extended to their lethal length, and Dar fought to keep from digging them into her chest to hold tight. Was she doing this insane free fall on purpose? If so, he was going to sink his sharp teeth into her hands as soon as they were safely on the ground. Paybacks were hell.

Dar was convinced they were seconds from impact when Asta finally extended her wings, cupping the air and angling her body. His stomach sank toward his heels as they rocketed upward. The buildings were a blur of light as they rushed by. Dar shut his eyes tight and tried to gain control over his breathing. When he opened them, they were far above the city, hovering gently in a thermal.

“You okay?” He saw a flash of gold as Asta glanced briefly down at him.

Oh yeah. No problem at all. Wheee! Total rollercoaster fun. That wasn’t the most convincing lie he’d ever told. It might have come across as amazingly sarcastic, but it was the best he could do. There was no way he would let this angel know how close to stroking out he’d come.

“Yeah, well it’s not all sunshine and roses for me, holding a rat while I’m flying. I needed to do something to take my mind off that particular fact.”

He loved it when she was pissy. All right, Maverick. Let’s see what you’re made of.

Either he had a death wish, or had balls of steel to challenge her like that. All Dar knew was that he wanted her to concentrate on something other than his beady eyes and long tail. If aerial acrobatics helped the angel do that, then fine. He’d survived worse.

Or not. The angel launched upward at an angle that would have stalled aircraft, and then she looped around, her back arched gracefully. If he hadn’t been so close to puking, Dar would have appreciated how beautiful her movements were. She truly loved to fly.

And he hated every moment of it.

They leveled out, sweeping down along the narrow corridors of northern Chicago, then eastward to cut across the moonlit path that painted Lake Michigan shades of silver. It was beautiful, and Dar struggled to put his fear aside and appreciate this different view of the city. Still, he could feel nothing beyond overwhelming relief when they soared back toward the rooftop where they’d begun this crazy experiment.

Her feet touched lightly on the roof, and she spread her wings wide, for balance. What an insane folly. She didn’t have enough fingers and toes to count the number of times she’d nearly freaked out and dropped him. Having a rat in her hands was bad enough, but the way he’d squirmed and scraped his claws against her fingers had nearly done her in. This was a lovely flirtation with the enemy, but that’s all it could ever be. They were miles apart. Angel and demon — a creature of air and a creature of darkness. He was so different from all the angels she knew, and that made for a crazy burst of passion. She’d dance with sin, maybe even cross the line, but whatever was between them could never last.

Are we on the ground yet? Please tell me we’re on the ground. Dar held perfectly still.

“Yes. Although I don’t think I’d call my rooftop ‘the ground’.” She’d done it — held a rat and hadn’t succumbed to a panic attack, or pitched him into the lake. Never in a million years had she ever thought she’d be doing this. A rat. She was holding a rat.

Yes, that rat was really Dar, but he still looked and felt like a horrible, nasty rat. Supporting him with one hand, Asta ran her fingers over the smooth gray fur, feeling the curve of muscle and jut of bone beneath his skin. His paws looked just like hands; the long sharp nails gently curved around her fingers. This wasn’t so bad. He actually felt rather nice. If she could just get past the red eyes, sharp teeth, twitching nose, pink tail, and long claws, he was rather cute. Twisting his head, Dar looked back at her with red eyes, his nose twitching. Ugh. Maybe he wasn’t so cute — at least not like this. Still, she was holding a rat. Holding a rat.

Then, in a flash of light, she was no longer holding a rat but a naked man. “Still afraid of heights?” she asked.

“Terrified.” He turned around to face her, holding her hands to keep them against his waist. “How about you? Still afraid of rats?”

“All except for you. Well, I’m kind of afraid of you when you flip your tail around and claw me, but other than that, I’m good.”

She was more than good now. His skin was warm against her palms. Why didn’t he have clothing on? At the very least, some underwear would have been helpful. Oh yeah. He’d stacked it by their dinner remnants and couldn’t exactly put it on when her arms were gripping his sides.

“Maybe we need to work on these things further.” The demon reached out and touched the ridge of her wing.

Asta jumped, twitching away from his hand, wonderful sensations racing through her — sensations she knew were beyond forbidden. “Don’t. They’re sensitive.”

She’d forgotten she’d left them exposed. How odd that she was so comfortable around this demon that she’d allowed such a fragile and vital part of herself within arm’s reach of him. Although, it was probably fair given that he was naked.

“Oh, come now. You just got to pet me. It’s my turn.”

Asta felt her face heat realizing how intimate it must have felt to have her stroke his fur like that. Fair was fair. “All right. Although, if you hurt me, I’ll toss you off the roof.”

He laughed. “I’ll restrain myself.”

The rest was a blur. Asta closed her eyes and leaned against him, feeling his hands caress the feathers and trace the bone structure underneath. Of all her physical attributes, wings were where her spirit-self was most vulnerable. Every touch reached more than nerve endings; it hummed through her very core, to the angel inside the human form. He stroked every barb of every feather, dropping one hand below her wings to bring her hips forward against him.

“Do you trust me, Asta?”

She wanted to say “no”, but it would have been a lie. For millions of years she’d been told how deplorable demons were, how they had lost their way even before the war, how their fall from grace heralded their slide down the evolutionary slope. She’d been told, but she’d never known them as the angels they once were. Dar didn’t seem all that deplorable, outside of some twisted interests, that was.

Did she trust him? Admitting to trusting an enemy was the hardest thing she’d ever done. And the bravest.

“Yes. Yes, I trust you.”

His hand left her wing to cup her jaw and raise her face to his. “Will you be mine? I really want you to be mine.”

Mine. Did that mean the same thing to demons as it did to angels? Two days. Two days and all this wonderful crazy rush of sensation would disappear. Somehow the thought wasn’t as comforting as it had always been.

“Yes, but only if you will be mine.”

“Haven’t you noticed? I’ve been yours all along.”

His mouth met hers, light and teasing. Hands roamed up her waist, skimming along the joints of her wings before coming forward to cup her breasts. She felt a chill along her ribs and realized he’d bared his claws and torn her shirt to ribbons. It was ruined anyway, from her wings ripping through the back, but his pointed nails on the soft underside of her breast and the feel of silk strips across her skin was more than she could bear.

She stepped forward, her leg between his to keep him in step with her until his back met the side of the wall surrounding the staircase. Flesh resonated against metal, but he never broke stride, keeping one hand at her breast, while bringing the other up to grasp the nape of her neck. His fingers fisted in her curls, tugging at her scalp and forcing her head backwards so his mouth could leave hers to travel down the front of her neck.

“You sure?” His voice was husky and full of need, yet somehow vulnerable.

Two days. That’s all she had left. Two days.

“Yes. I want you.”

The demon seemed to lose all control. His hands tore her clothing from her flesh, kneading and clawing in desperation. His need was incredibly liberating, and she found her hands roving his naked flesh, thankful she didn’t have to negotiate buttons and zippers to get to him.

Her lips parted, and her hands made their way up to circle his neck. His mouth was possessive and demanding, hungry as it plundered hers. Thought slid into the background as physical sensation took possession of her body and mind. Asta pressed herself against him, abandoning herself to the moment and kissing him as fiercely as he kissed her. Her body turned liquid; her heart raced; her blood pounded through her veins.

Dar pulled back, and his warm breath feathered against her cheek. She turned, brushing her lips against him as their eyes met. There was a flicker of something as he looked at her. “Can we . . . I don’t think I can be my best up here, nine-hundred feet above the ground. Could we possibly go inside? To your closet?”

The last word was said with a wicked grin. Her closet. She smiled. “Yes.”

The door had no sooner closed behind them than he was on her, pushing her backwards where she crashed against clothes and shelves of accessories, spilling them to the floor. They toppled down among them, rolling in a tangle of chiffon and silk until they came to rest against the wall that separated the main room from the kitchen.

“Damned mother-fucking pants. Where the hell. . .?”

She laughed softly against him, reaching her hands down to assist in clothing removal. It was all so intimate, far more intimate than any of her encounters with angels had ever been. Here they were, tangled in a heap of fabric, hot and desperate to find ecstasy in each other’s arms.

Her shirt was in tatters; she’d shimmied her pants down to her ankles and kicked them off. Nothing was between them except bare flesh, but Dar held back. His hands practically tickled her skin as they traced up the underneath of her arms and down her torso. His mouth roamed along her neck and shoulder, working slowly down. His erection was insistent against her inner thigh. She shifted, arching her lower back to urge him on.

“Damn. You angels have no patience whatsoever.” He chuckled against the top of her breast. Then his mouth moved lower, teasing around her breast then down to her waist. She made a small noise, bereft that she could no longer reach him with her mouth, and dug her hands into his hair.

It was soft, silky as feathers. Her fingers stroked through the strands as he worked his way down her waist and across her abdomen. Oh stars, the feel of him against her skin was glorious. His mouth was light and teasing, strands of his hair tickling along her waist. Her hands twisted his hair as his tongue glided along the crease of her thigh, skirting the part of her that throbbed and ached for him.

Asta couldn’t help the frustrated noise that escaped her, or her hands that yanked on his hair in an effort to bring his mouth where she desperately wanted it to be. His laugh against the crease of her pelvis was nearly enough to send her over the edge.

“Demanding, aren’t you? Well, I must obey when my angel commands.”

He bent his head, and the skillful flicks of his tongue drove every thought from her mind. When she came, it was like a nor’easter off Lake Michigan, driving and hard, blinding in its fury. She pulled his hair, her hips twisting as tremors rolled through her body.

Before they’d faded, he was a hard length against her, his mouth claiming hers.

“Your turn,” he murmured as he pulled her lip with gentle teeth. “Angel sex. Remember?”

Joining. But how could that ‘satisfying’ activity ever match what he’d just made her feel? Opening her eyes, Asta stared into the gray of his irises, memorizing the sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw. Then she reached out with her spirit-self and dove into him, feeling their essence merge into a line of translucent white.

Holy shit — shoot. Holy shoot. This was . . . oh, my stars, this was amazing. Every muscle in Dar’s body tensed against her then he relaxed with a moan of pleasure. Flesh. Skin. She tasted his shoulder, working her way up along his neck to the corner of his mouth, digging her teeth hard into the flesh of his lip and all the while plowing her spirit-self into his. He shuddered, his eyes flaring with sparks of red among the silver.

“You are mine,” she told him, tasting him, roving her hands down to grip his ass, feeling him become one with her beyond the flesh.

“Damn straight I am.”

The whole hot length of him pressed her against the scattered clothing, digging her shoulder painfully into a stray hanger. Her breasts were crushed against the strength of his chest, his thighs demanding as they nudged hers apart to settle between them. Dar was all rippling muscle, taut sinew, powerful and sleek as he pressed against her. It drove her to the edge of insanity. She tilted her hips impatiently, feeling his manhood against her thighs.

“Okay, okay, greedy girl,” he teased.

He was up on his elbows, weight partially off her as he began to push himself slowly inside her. Asta’s eyes widened. His thickness stretched her; a tremor rocked like a wave through her body as he paused a few inches in.

“You okay?”

She was more than okay. Shit . . . shoot he was huge, stretching her to the edge and rocketing sensation through her. She pushed her spirit-self into his in return and felt a thrill as his body trembled against hers. She clenched around him, thrusting her hips up.

“You sure?”

“Yes.” Her voice was pissy, impatient, needy. His laugh was a throaty purr as he plunged into her. She reciprocated with her spirit-being, and they moved in rhythm, in and out, in both the physical and spiritual plane.

Everything was sensitive to the utmost degree. Her lips felt full and swollen, her face flushed, her breasts taught against his chest, her sex hot as molten lava. She spread her hands down across his back, digging her fingernails in and dragging them in furrows that surely must have broken the skin. Dar jolted as if he’d been hit by lightning, driving into her with increasing depth and speed, hard and deep, his movements savage.

When she gasped her climax, trembling against him as the waves of her orgasm crashed upon her, she felt him thicken and shudder out his release in time with hers. Their worlds came together. Two million years of meditation and rightful balance were nothing compared to this. Looking into his silver eyes as they both came, feeling the swirl of their spirit-selves joining, it was like two halves forming a whole. Never had she felt so alive. Never had she felt so . . . in love.

Asta awoke on a bed of vintage clothing, a demon by her side. Her breath caught as she remembered her transgressions from the night before. The last few days had been a delicious descent into sin, but last night . . . wow. Physical intercourse with a human was a shameful transgression, but would the sin be worse with a demon? Yes, they were the enemy, but they’d once been angels, and any kind of intimacy among their own kind was permissible. If she worked this around in her mind, it wasn’t the worst thing she’d ever done.

And it had rocked her world. That had to have been the best experience of her life. Nothing in over two-million years had come close.

Dar stirred, and she reached out a hand to smooth his black hair, tracing the intermittent silver strands with her finger. He was so different than the angels who had wooed her in Aaru. All the convoluted posturing and verbal debate vanished in his presence. He cut right to the chase, spoke what he felt, and when he prevaricated, it was somehow a lovely twist to their communication. Her opposite — although maybe there was some overlap between them. Either way, she craved the feel of his arms around her, pinning her to his chest as he drove himself into her warmth.

With a blink, silver-gray eyes met hers. Dar’s muscles contracted. It felt like an undulation along her breasts and torso.

“We have a mage to meet at nine.” His full lips curved up, and his eyes begged her to sin.

“He can wait.”

Chapter 18

“At least one reporter in this town has a sense of humor.” Wyatt thrust the paper at Dar and Asta.

Rat Defeats High-Tech Security and Steals CEO Blind. More interesting was the picture below the bold caption — a large rat gripping a bottle in two front paws.

“Hey, I’m famous! I made the paper.” Dar shoved the picture toward Asta’s face, as if she couldn’t see it clearly before.

“Lovely. I’m just glad no one got a picture of you naked in the hallway, or naked in the alleyway arguing with Wyatt, or naked wrestling with me over the bottle.”

“Oh, baby, that wrestling was about so much more than a paltry bottle.”

Dar leered, his eyes making a slow perusal of Asta’s human form. She hid a smile and pretended to concentrate on the article, secretly wondering whether he approved of the pencil skirt and fitted sleeveless shirt she wore. They went perfectly with the navy patent sandals whose four-inch heels made her tower over the demon.

Today was . . . different. She thought, come the cold light of day, she’d be embarrassed or regret last night’s actions. Instead, she felt like every cell in her body was alive and vibrating, like there were invisible threads that connected her to the demon. Every move he made, each expression that crossed his face registered. She couldn’t be any more aware of him if they were still naked and entwined in each other’s limbs.

Asta shot Dar a surreptitious glance. Was he feeling the same? Better to shove all this into the depths of her mind and concentrate on the issue at hand. Trying to ignore the uncomfortable emotions, she grabbed the paper and read the article.

Crap. Dar had evidently made quite an impression on the housekeeping staff. A giant rat had terrorized them, pushing around an antique bottle and threatening to bite them all before both he and the bottle vanished into the floor drains. Phelps had filed a police report, vowing to catch the thief at any cost. He’d even offered a reward for the capture of the burglar and recovery of his property. The article was written very tongue-in-cheek; the reporter clearly making fun of Phelps. The caption under a crude drawing of Dar asked Has anyone seen this rat? According to him, the police were taking a similar casual attitude toward the crime. It seemed there was more concern about the hotel’s questionable sanitation that allowed rats to roam freely in guest rooms than the stolen item.

“Great.” The angel tossed the paper aside. “How is Carter today? Do you think he knows we were the thieves?”

He had to know. She’d expressed such interest in the bottle, had told him of the genie inside and the danger. Carter might not suspect Dar or Wyatt, but he surely knew she was somehow involved.

“It’s not easy sneaking around his booth. He knows me, and he probably suspects I’m somehow involved.” Wyatt glanced around furtively. “It seems like business as usual. He’s joking with clients and staff, handing out copies of Ouroboros. I get the feeling he’s nervous, like he’s watching for something to happen.”

Dar shrugged. “What’s he going to do? He’s a human. He doesn’t know where the bottle is, or have any proof as to who took it. He filed a police report; he could try to break into Wyatt’s or my hotel room. Other than that, he’s pretty close to checkmate.”

Asta glanced toward the booth, several rows away, and felt a pang of guilt for betraying the man who’d trusted her enough to tell her about his childhood. “I can’t imagine he’d be planning a little robbery of his own. I’m sure he’s upset over the loss of his grandmother’s antique.” And he probably hates me. The thought made her feel almost sick.

“He can rob my place all he wants,” Wyatt said. “All he’ll get is some dirty laundry and a six-pack of Budweiser.”

“Budweiser?” Dar punched Wyatt’s shoulder good-naturedly. “I thought you techie guys all drank some kind of emo craft beer.”

Asta ignored them. The mage should arrive soon, but she was feeling really uneasy about the whole thing, and horribly guilty about Carter. Wyatt could hardly get close to the man, and Carter and Dar weren’t likely to exchange much information without fists involved. That left her.

She snagged a tote bag from a nearby booth and wandered, adding various brochures before making her way to Genus Micro.

“Hey.” She smiled at Carter, trying to gauge his mood.

“Hey to you, too.” His return smile was stiff, anger and betrayal in his eyes.

He blamed her. This whole thing was a nightmare. “Look, I didn’t mean for this to happen. Remember when you were talking about the greater good? I’ll return it as soon as it’s safe. I just couldn’t risk that thing getting out.”

It was really awkward trying to have this conversation in a booth full of convention attendees who were listening. Carter must have realized too. He put a stack of brochures on a nearby table and looked down at her, his blue eyes flinty. “It’s a busy day, and there are tons of distractions. Let’s take this conversation somewhere more private.”

There wasn’t a suggestive hint in his comment, and the Carter she knew would never threaten violence, but Asta felt the hair rise on the back of her neck. He was angry, and he had every right to be, but there was a hardness about him that hadn’t been there before. “Where should we go?”

“The café next door? It should be quiet this time of day.”

A human would be no threat to her, but something about him today was making her skin crawl.

“Sure.”

He took her arm, and she winced at his firm grip. Maybe she had been wrong about him. She admitted to being naïve and having a trusting nature. There was a chance she’d only seen the best in Carter and had overlooked this angry man whose fingers were digging into her flesh as he led her through the convention center. Had Dar been right about this human? And if she was blind to Carter’s nature and motivations, perhaps she’d been blind to Dar’s too.

No. Not Dar. He might be as sly as any other rat, but he’d never hurt her. He cared about her.

Carter let go of her arm as they entered the empty café. After serving them chai lattes, the barista vanished to the far corner with a book. Phelps did seem different. His pleasantries lacked the warmth and energy they’d had previously.

“I know you’re the thief, no doubt assisted by your boyfriend.”

He’d cut right to the heart of the matter. Asta winced. Wait, boyfriend? Oh sheesh, he meant Dar.

“I’ll return it; I promise. We’ll have the genie out of the bottle by tonight, and I’ll bring it back to you.”

Phelps snorted. “Don’t give me that bullshit. I checked out this Dar character. He’s not who he says he is, and I’m willing to bet you’re not either. Rwandan voodoo-exorcist, my ass. Who are you really?”

I’m an angel didn’t seem like a response that would go over particularly well. “I swear on my eternal salvation that I’ll give you the bottle back. This genie is dangerous, and I can’t take the risk that you’ll accidentally let it out. I’ve no idea what type of demon it is, but it’s old and powerful, and it’s going to be angry when it gets out. I didn’t want to do this to you, honestly, but thousands of lives, maybe even more, are at stake.”

“You stole from me, Asta. Stole. I trusted you. I let you into my hotel room, let you into my heart, and you stole something that’s precious to me. It’s one of the only things I have to remember my grandmother by.”

She felt nearly sick with guilt. Maybe they’d been mistaken. Maybe Carter hadn’t made any wishes, wasn’t completing the contract with the demon at all. What if they’d just stolen something sentimental from a man who’d gotten his act together the latter part of his senior year and put together a wildly successful company? Humans had done that so many times before.

And she would have believed him, except for that little nagging part of her mind that screamed otherwise. It was time to dig a little and find out who Carter Phelps really was.

“Carter, you know what’s in that bottle as well as I do. That first wish involved your schooling and grades, and the second wish involved the success of your company. You’re entitled to make your own ethical decision, and I have no problem with you profiting, but that leaves only one more wish. One little slip, one moment of desperation, and the genie is out of the bottle. I can’t allow that abomination to walk the earth, destroying countless lives.”

The tables were turned, and now it was Phelps’s turn to plead ignorance. “There is nothing in that bottle. My grandparents got it on an expedition in Turkey. Six hundred years ago it held cooking oil, but there’s nothing in it now.”

He was speaking the truth. Asta squirmed, realizing he believed the bottle was just a pretty artifact. Darn it all. His success was either honest, or he’d made the wishes accidently, unaware of the repercussions. She’d hurt him; she’d betrayed his trust and it ate at her soul

“It’s not oil, and it’s not empty. Maybe you weren’t aware of what you were doing when you made those wishes, or maybe you didn’t make any at all. Either way, I can’t take the chance you’ll release the genie.”

Phelps stared at her with disturbing intentness. “It’s mine, Asta. My Grandmother gave it to me. I promised you I wouldn’t make any wishes, but you stole it anyway.”

“I had to, Carter. Can’t you see that?” Asta pounded a fist on the table in frustration then lowered her voice as she saw the barista look up at her. “The original sorcerer who put him in there had the ability to banish him back to Hel. You don’t, and if that genie gets out, he’ll kill you first then move on to others. I know you want your memento back, but I have to make sure it’s safe first.”

“Then teach me how to banish the genie if he gets out. Return the bottle to me, and I’ll assure you the demon will be banished if he accidently gets out.”

“No. One misdrawn rune, one slip in your pronunciation and it’s all over. I can’t take that risk.”

“This isn’t your business,” Carter snarled. “Who do you think you are to go stealing my possessions, claiming to be saving the world from demons? You’re crazy, and you’re a thief. And if you had the slightest bit of kindness in you, if you were half the woman I thought you were, you’ll return the bottle.”

“I’m sorry.”

Phelps’ hands clutched the tablecloth. “Right. Let me tell you exactly what’s going to happen, because I’m onto your little game. This expert you’ve called in somehow won’t be able to get the genie out, so you’ll need to confiscate it for all of eternity — which will be as long as it takes you to sell it on the black market. You’re a thief, a lying thief, and I can’t believe I ever trusted you.”

The man got up and stormed out of the café. Asta pushed the latte away, buried her head in her hands, and fought back her tears. How could she have screwed this up so badly? The only thing to do now was soldier on and do everything in her power to make this right. Carter may never forgive her, but she’d make darned sure he and all the other humans in her city were safe.

“Holy Goddess on high, how did someone do this?”

Kirby’s exclamation wasn’t causing them to have any degree of confidence in his ability to perform this task. Dar had his doubts when the mage had first arrived and spent nearly thirty minutes gawking at Asta. True, Kirby had probably never seen an angel before, but his open awe didn’t do much to solidify his reputation.

Dar felt a bit guilty — that he’d brought the mage over on this fool’s errand, and that he’d failed Asta. So much for impressing her with his connections in Hel. If only Gareth, an actual sorcerer-level magic user, could have been convinced to make the journey. Although, there was no guarantee he’d know what to do with this bottle either.

“There’s really a demon in there?” The mage held a long crystal near the bottle, squinting as it glowed. “How does he fit? Is he in the form of an insect, or a single-cell life form, or something?”

“He’s without corporeal form. The bottle is magically charged to hold him in that state until he performs the service he was summoned to do. Then he’s free to assume a physical form.”

For fuck sake, he shouldn’t have to explain this to Kirby. His sister had told her this man was good, that he could deliver. Dar was beginning to doubt her judgment — at least when it came to magic users.

“I thought you guys died when you didn’t have a physical form. That’s what the elves always taught us.”

Dar gritted his teeth in exasperation. “Not always. Can you break the spell? We need to release him from the bottle and send him back to Hel.”

Kirby shrugged. “I can try. This isn’t a spell I’ve ever seen before. Trust me; if the elves knew how to strip a demon of his physical form and stuff him into a container, they would have done it. I’ll do my best, but we’ll need to set up serious protection. I can tell by the energy signature on the bottle that this guy is bad news, although the bottle is sealed.”

“What do you mean sealed?” Asta ran a finger along the side of the bottle. “Carter — the owner — said he’d opened it.”

“Not sealed like that. It’s like a prison wall — I can’t reach him, can’t communicate with him. All I can do is try to smash through and give him an opening to get out. And given he’s been trapped for hundreds of years, I’d really want him to come out into a warded banishing circle, if you know what I mean.”

Dar did. He’d be pissed as all fuck if he’d been stuck in there for that long, waiting for someone with enough balls to complete the contract. Didn’t matter whether this guy was an ancient or a Low, he was going to come out fighting. “So what do you need?”

Wyatt had remained at the convention to keep an eye of Phelps, but Dar could run out and gather supplies while Asta stood guard.

“Got it all here.” Kirby dumped a huge bag on the floor with a thump. Inside was a huge book, various bottles, several pieces of chalk, a box of salt, and a wand.

“Can we help?” Asta picked up one of the pieces of chalk.

“Probably not. I’ll need to charge the runes and the circle as I draw them, in order to ensure optimal containment. Best to do that myself. There is one thing you can do for me, though.”

“Name it,” Asta replied. She’d been tense and sad since this morning, and Dar wondered what was going on in that beautiful head of hers. Last night had been amazing, and this morning he’d felt the connection with her, like electricity every time she was near. Now . . . now she was distant and brittle.

“Deep-dish pizza. Lou Malnati’s on South State Street, with sausage and mushrooms.”

“Oh, I’ve been dying to try that. Deep dish, it is.” Asta gave a forced smile and headed out.

Dar watched while the mage drew intricate patterns around the bottle. It was a long and boring ordeal. Even after Asta had returned with pizza and beer, Kirby continued his task. Finally satisfied, he sat and consumed three room-temperature slices and two bottles of beer before placing his hands, palms down, on the table. “We ready to do this?”

“We?” Dar raised his eyebrows, wondering what part he and Asta could possibly play in this.

Kirby’s face turned serious. “We. This thing gets out of the circle, I’m going to need all the help I can get. I got a reading on the energy signature, and I’m gonna say that I’m nervous. I want to identify the demon before I release him if we have time. It’s your call.”

Dar turned to Asta, his eyes drawn to her mouth as she gnawed her lower lip. “Identify him. Or her. I want to know what I’m up against if I need to go all ninja on one of my brethren.”

“Him. At least he was in a male form when he got stuck in the bottle.” Kirby chugged down the rest of his beer then went for his book. “I’m going to do a quick spell to reveal his names then see if I have any records on him.”

The next half hour was as exciting as watching the Hallmark channel. Dar paced, then stared with glazed eyes before he gave up and retreated to the newly stocked mini bar. The angel seemed to have more endurance, watching the mage intently and flipping through his spell book with interest.

“Did you know they could control time within certain parameters? They haven’t quite realized it yet, but it’s right here. How precocious of them!”

Dar handed her a mini of gin and watched her sip it. “Juniper. Very nice. Look at this fertility ritual. Can you imagine the garden? True, it only works on Rosa genus, Rosaceae family, but what an amazing spell.”

“I’m more of a nightshade guy myself.”

Kirby was frantically writing pages of sigils. Dar’s heart sank. Young demons only had a handful of names — usually less than ten. Ancients could have hundreds of names and titles. The longer the mage wrote, the more shit they were in.

“I need more booze.” Dar abandoned the mini fridge for his personal stash, mixing juice, vodka, lime, and Grand Marnier in the ice bucket then straining it into two glasses.

“Here,” he handed one to Asta. “We could probably use this. He could probably use it too, but I don’t want his concentration compromised.”

The angel took the drink and sipped it, handing over the book as Kirby left his position by the circle. The mage looked drained, pale, and exhausted as he took the grimoire with shaking hands.

“This isn’t going to be good.” Kirby took the book and flipped it toward an end section. “Not good. Not good at all.”

“Here he is. His common name is Rubeus. He’s a warmonger, and he’s old. Not an ancient, but I’m still not happy about releasing a demon of this age.”

Dar let out a breath that seemed to drain every bit of air from his lungs. “Fuck, that’s more than not good.”

Asta shook her head, frowning. “Warmonger doesn’t sound particularly appealing, but what do you mean by old? How many billions of years old is this guy?”

Kirby looked up in astonishment. “Billions? What demon is billions of years old? This guy is maybe thirty or forty thousand, but not a billion.”

The angel smiled, slumping in relief. “That, I can handle. I’m two-and-a-half million. Anything over fifty thousand is a bit much, but under that, I’m good to go.”

Kirby shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Well, I’m not especially accurate on anything over ten thousand.”

Asta set her jaw and tilted her chin at the mage. “I’m ready.”

Kirby walked toward the circle, and they all tensed as he began chanting. The runes lit up with golden light, and Dar felt the spark of magic in the air. The colors in the bottle swirled around, the stopper rattling. Time seemed to halt then rush forward as the room tilted. Blur, the scream of metal on glass, a vacuum pulling all the air from the room. With a sonic boom, the stopper flew free from the bottle, and the glass became clear. A billow of blue and gold poured from the container, racing around the confines of the circle before exploding into a flare of heat and light.

Asta frowned, and Dar felt a bit out of the loop. “What the fuck happened to him? Did he go back to Hel? Was he unable to form a physical body and disbursed into the universe?”

“He’s . . . he’s not here.”

Dar resisted the urge to slug the mage in the face. “Yes, I can see he’s not here. Where the fuck is he?”

“I don’t know. He isn’t here. He wasn’t there. The only thing in the bottle was residual energy — about six centuries of residual energy. I released it and it dissipated. But I don’t know where the demon is. The bottle’s empty.”

Fuck. His eyes met Asta’s. “If the demon’s not in there, that means his contract’s been served.”

The angel averted her eyes and looked at the empty bottle. “I spoke with Carter today. He desperately wanted the bottle back. If he’d cashed in his third wish and completed the contract, then why would he want the bottle back? Why bother?”

Kirby lifted one shoulder. “Memories? Nostalgia? Old family antique?”

No, it wasn’t that at all. Dar’s mind raced as he looked at the glass, oddly clear after being a swirl of purple and gray for hundreds of years. “Asta, have you sensed a demon in the City within the last twenty-four hours?”

“No. None besides you.”

Dar felt relief wash through him. “So Phelps made his wish, banished the demon, and now only wants his grandmother’s bottle back. We’re good. Case closed, problem solved.”

Her eyes met his, brown lit with sparks of gold. “Or he was hoping to guilt me into giving it back so we wouldn’t find out the bottle was empty.” The angel’s eyes narrowed. “But he doesn’t know how to banish. I’m sure of that. Where’s the genie if it’s not here? Why haven’t I sensed it, and why hasn’t it started a killing rampage?”

“See? Those questions mean we no longer have a problem. Either Phelps managed to find a real banishing ritual online, or he had someone lined up to do it for him.”

While they argued, Kirby gathered his supplies, putting them into his backpack. “Do you need anything further from me? I’ve got a family thing I need to go to. Nothing like good Carolina que.”

Dar stared down at the bottle, then at the runes across his hotel room floor. “No, I can’t think we’ll be needing you for anything else, Kirby.”

The mage shouldered his backpack. “I’ll wait for you to fulfill your end of the bargain as agreed upon, then. Catch you all later.”

Dar didn’t bother to watch Kirby leave. Instead, he turned his back and dug through the fridge, pulling out a variety of take-out containers and an assortment of beers.

“Let’s eat. Beer or wine? Or hard shit? I’ve got a fully stocked mini fridge waiting for you to dig in.”

Asta plopped down on the sofa, frowning at him. “What do you mean ‘let’s eat’?”

“Consume food? I’m the only demon in town, and you’re out of here in one more day. I intend to ensure you make the most of it. We’re going to get a snack, have amazing sex in my giant Jacuzzi tub, then head for Navy Pier and the ferris wheel.”

She shook her head. “Something’s not right.”

“Yeah, we’re not naked in my tub. We need to rectify that immediately. I’ll move the contents of the mini fridge in there.”

“I don’t sense the genie.” Asta jumped up to stand in front of Dar, blocking the demon. “I know you said some demons are stealthy and virtually undetectable. What if that’s the case and he’s still here, waiting to make his move?”

Dar moved left, and she blocked him again. A hoop of cheese fell out of his arms to bounce along the carpeted floor. “Come on, Asta. He’s gone. Let’s have some fun, and if you sense any kind of demon besides me, I’ll help you track him down. Deal?”

“No, no deal.” It was so frustrating how Dar wouldn’t listen to her. Darn it all; there was something wrong here. “Why is Carter not dead? What was his third wish? And what is this genie planning to do? I’m willing to bet my wings he’s not in Hel, and he’s certainly not likely to be benignly sunning himself by the pool, sipping a margarita after being imprisoned for hundreds of years.”

The bottle is empty. Carter’s words had rung true this morning, and she’d just assumed he was innocently unaware of the genie. But now. . . . He knew. He knew the genie was out, knew he’d been granted his third wish, knew the bottle was empty.

What was that third wish?

Dar sighed and turned around, dumping his armload of food and drink onto the dining table. “Fine. There is one possibility, but it’s pretty far out there. Do you know anything about possession?”

Asta shook her head. “Other than most of the time it’s simply a human with a mental-health problem? I know Hayyoth has had reports of it in his territory. He says it registers more as a channeling than an actual demon presence.”

‘I wouldn’t know how they register with you, but I can fill you in on the juicy details. Most possessions are by a Low who doesn’t have enough power or skills to maintain a convincing human form. Sharing a ride with a human is the best way to stay safe from angels.”

“But this guy is old and powerful, not a Low. What benefit would he gain besides hiding from me? Honestly, if he’s as powerful as you say, he probably doesn’t give a flying leap if I sense him.

“I don’t know of any benefit. Angels might not sense a possessing demon, but humans are damned good at it. All it takes is a halfway-decent priest and you’re out of there. Plus, a demon’s powers are blunted when he’s hitchhiking. Subjugating the human is easy enough, but it’s difficult to do things like blow shit up without destroying your host. The tradeoff sucks.”

Long shot indeed. This idea hardly sounded probable. “Why would he bother? Help me here, Dar. Brainstorm some crazy ideas, and let’s see what fits.”

The demon smiled. “You sure you’re an angel? Batting around crazy ideas sounds rather demonic to me.”

After last night, she wasn’t sure how much of an angel she was either. “I’ll go first. Maybe he needs to do something here in Chicago and needs to stay hidden from me while he does it, so he’s possessing a human. He needs time to do his bad stuff and doesn’t want me calling in the head of the Grigori. He wants me to think he’s still in the bottle, or that he’s been banished back to Hel.”

Dar nodded, leaning back against the table. “Good idea. Or maybe the human he’s possessing has something he needs.”

“What? As a demon, he’d be able to take just about anything he wants. Or he could just Own the human he needs — steal his soul and manifest his likeness.”

The demon shook his head. “You’d sense an Own; that’s pretty dramatic. No, I’m thinking stealth is the likeliest motive. He’d have to work quick, though, before the humans caught onto the possession. Whatever’s going down is probably happening in the next few days.”

And she was leaving tomorrow. “What would he be planning? I thought he’d be angry and rampaging around without a plan, especially since he’s a warmonger. This kind of thing takes restraint, and patience.”

Dar tilted his head as he regarded her. “We’re not completely without virtues; we just use them to suit our needs. Yeah, there are some ancients who have no control over themselves at all, but some of us can plan and plot. It’s what makes for a good demon.”

Great. She had a genie on the loose, an old and powerful one who was most likely hidden away in a human body, plotting world domination and/or destruction. And she was leaving in one day. “You’ve spent your life with demons; what do you think this guy could be planning?”

“I don’t know. Ask him — ask Rubeus.”

Like she even knew where the genie was. Even if she did, Asta could hardly imagine walking up to a powerful demon and asking him to kindly reveal his evil plot.

“Right. And how would Rubeus react if I ‘asked him’?” She couldn’t help the sarcastic tone creeping into her voice.

“He’d most likely tell you to fuck off.”

“This is ridiculous.” She felt ready to explode, and Dar with his casual indifference wasn’t helping. “I don’t know who he’s possessing — if he’s even truly possessing anyone. This genie has escaped me. I’ve failed. My last week on assignment and I failed big-time.”

“You haven’t failed. You’ve got one more day, and you know exactly who he’s possessing. It’s Phelps. That’s the only reason that makes sense as to why Rubeus didn’t kill him the moment he was released.”

Carter. Oh no. She wracked her brain trying to remember how he’d seemed at the café. He’d been angry and cold, but he hadn’t appeared to be a man possessed by a demon. Could she even tell if he was? Crust on toast, she’d had a latte with a demon riding a human and hadn’t even known it?

Asta rubbed her forehead. There was plenty of time to meditate about her ineptitude once she returned to Aaru. Right now there was a genie to catch and banish. “How do I get Rubeus out? Find a priest, I assume?”

“Or kill Phelps,” Dar suggested cheerfully. “That’s probably quicker than finding a priest. In spite of what everyone claims on the Internet, not many are willing or able to perform exorcisms anymore.”

“I’m not killing a human.”

“Why not? Other angels do, and I think this might qualify as a special circumstance.”

“I don’t kill humans.” Although, right now, she was seriously considering killing the pesky demon in front of her. “We’re here to preserve the human’s ability to evolve without demonic interference.”

“Well, killing Phelps would best achieve that goal. Either Rubeus will die with him, or he’ll have to form his own body, and then you can take him out. Dead demon, and it would only cost you one human. Or you can wait for Phelps to die a natural death, and then kill Rubeus. Dead demon and a few-million dead humans.”

“I’m not killing him. I won’t do it.”

“That’s stupid.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“You may not be stupid, but this decision of yours clearly is.” Dar turned his back on her and opened a block of cheese.

“Killing him would make me no better than a demon myself.” How could she get this through his thick head? Dar’s solution to everything seemed to be either sex or murder. There had to be another way.

“You’d be better off as a demon.” Dar turned around again, nibbling on the cheddar. “No wonder you all are rotting away up in Aaru — no one can make a decision without a million years of deliberation and everything filled out in triplicate, and no one can take action when it’s clearly the best alternative.”

“I’ll talk to him. Maybe Phelps can oust Rubeus if I help him. Otherwise, I’m going to hit up the yellow pages for a priest.”

“Yeah. Good luck with that. I’ll be scarfing down some curry if you need me.”

Chapter 19

“We’ve got an issue.” Wyatt burst into Dar’s hotel room. “Phelps wasn’t doing anything but working the convention, so I set up shop in the concession area and dug deeper into the code behind Ouroboros. It’s a Trojan.”

Dar popped the last bit of cheese into his mouth. “As in condom? The entire business world is now having safe sex thanks to Genus Micro?”

“Trojan horse.” Wyatt paced in agitation. “The largest corporations, governments, millions of individuals have installed software that with the right trigger will lock them out and give complete control to the hacker.”

Well, that made a lot more sense than condoms.

“Guess that was his third wish.” At the human’s blank look, he realized no one had clued Wyatt into what they had found — or rather, didn’t find earlier. “The genie wasn’t in the bottle when the mage opened it. Phelps must have made his last wish before we stole it.”

The human’s eyes grew huge. “So there’s an angry genie running around the city? I’m glad my plane leaves in a few hours. I’m assuming that’s why Asta isn’t here?”

“No, Asta isn’t here because she got pissed at me and went off to find a priest. We can’t sense the genie anywhere, and she’s convinced the demon is possessing Phelps.”

If Wyatt’s eyes got any bigger, his eyeballs were going to roll right out of his head. “Why would a demon want to possess a human? He’d only have a fraction of his powers.”

Dar made an approving noise. “My thoughts exactly. Asta thinks he’s doing it to hide from her and buy himself time for whatever evil he’s planning.”

Yep, those baby-blue eyes were in danger of hitting the floor. “The software. If the genie is possessing Phelps, then he’ll just need to let loose a virus, and he’ll have control of every major corporation and government in the world.”

“Yeah, for all of ten seconds until some other computer genius cuts him off or goes to backup or something.”

“No, ten seconds is all it takes. He can crash the ones he doesn’t want, burrowing worms deep inside their systems that will take months to eradicate. Did your mage find out what kind of demon was in the bottle?”

“Warmonger.” Dar snorted. “Some dude named Rubeus. I don’t know him, but I was pretty young when he got summoned. He’s old and evidently powerful enough to make Kirby nearly wet his pants.”

“Warmonger.” Wyatt began pacing again. “I give him less than twenty-four hours and he’ll act. Crash that many systems and he’ll destabilize the global market. This demon will have a perfect playing field to sow the seeds of war — currency devaluation, scarcity of resources, possibly even missile launches.”

Either Phelps was a bad, bad man, far more devious then any of them had thought, or Asta was right. With a demon riding him, Phelps would have no choice but to go along with whatever Rubeus wanted. Dar thought of the angel off looking for a priest willing to perform an exorcism and cursed. This would be so simple if she’d just kill Phelps.

“You want me to what?”

Asta clenched her fists in exasperation. This was beyond frustrating. She’d exhausted the entire Archdiocese of Chicago without success. It was hard to believe that with nearly four-hundred parishes, none of the priests knew how or were willing to exorcise a demon. This guy was her last resort before branching into Milwaukee and south to Indiana. The next step after that was the Internet, and who knows what kind of quacks she’d have to wade through before finding a legitimate exorcist there.

And who knows how much damage Rubeus would do while she raced around looking for one.

“There’s a demon who is possessing someone. I need him yanked out without hurting the human.”

Father Donell nodded sympathetically. “Have you taken this person to a psychiatrist for evaluation? I’d be happy to administer spiritual counseling, but in these cases, I’d highly recommend seeking the aid of a medical professional first.”

This priest would be sending her for a psychiatric evaluation after this conversation, but Asta had no time to tiptoe around the situation. “It’s a real demon. He was summoned from Hel hundreds of years ago and trapped in a bottle — so he’s really grumpy right now. A human with extremely poor judgment activated the contract, and after granting three wishes, the demon was freed and possessed him.”

The man’s left eyebrow twitched, and he looked longingly at the exit. “How unfortunate for the poor man. I still believe an evaluation and possibly some anti-psychotic medication would be helpful.”

“It’s a possession, not a mental health problem. I thought you all did this sort of thing? Do priests no longer believe in angels or demons?”

Father Donell huffed indignantly. “Of course we do, but today we need to take a careful approach. We work with medical professionals to narrow down a diagnosis before we go racing in with a crucifix and a bible. I’d be negligent in my duty to my parishioners if I didn’t consider all possible causes to a problem.”

“I appreciate that, but we don’t have time. Plus we’d never get him to submit to a psychiatric evaluation. Can I just schedule an exorcism? Preferably within the next few hours?”

“No, you cannot ‘just schedule an exorcism’. We have guidelines to follow. It would be irresponsible of me, not to mention terribly unprofessional, to proceed without a doctor’s evaluation.”

Asta opened her mouth, only to snap it shut. Angels had rigid guidelines too, but a century among the humans had made her impatient with all this red tape. Sometimes you just need to act. But wasn’t that a slippery slope?

“Even then,” the priest continued, “we need to ensure the person isn’t cursed. A curse can often appear as a possession. An exorcism on a cursed individual at best won’t work, and, at worst, will cause irreparable damage to their mental stability.”

Enough of this wasting time. Asta stood back to allow herself adequate space to reveal her wings. Which she did, spreading them as far as she safely could in the office. Just in case that wasn’t enough, she dropped her hold on her physical form and shimmered, becoming an indistinct humanoid blur.

It was too much. Father Donell turned an alarming pasty color and clutched his chest. Asta dove for him, but the priest clearly misunderstood her intentions. With a garbled noise, he hit her in the face with a stapler and fell to the floor.

This wouldn’t do at all. She’d never live it down if the other angels found out she’d killed a priest. Hiding her wings and returning to her more familiar shape, she dropped down beside the man. She might not be all that good at enthralling, but at least she could heal. Slapping her hands onto his chest, she poured the dark gold energy into him, soothing his heart into a normal rhythm.

The door opened. Asta saw a pair of black loafers and heard a gasp.

“Call an ambulance. He’s had a heart attack.”

The loafers rushed off, and she went ahead and searched through his body, rebuilding damaged blood vessels, removing a few gallstones, and taking care of that ominous shadow around his prostate. She’d nearly killed the guy; this was the least she could do.

By the time the medics wheeled Father Donell from the office, Asta was getting desperate.

“Do any of you know an exorcist?”

Both the paramedics and the man with the loafers looked at her as if she’d gone insane.

“Have you tried the Internet?” The two ambulance guys laughed at their own joke.

“I’m sorry,” Loafers said. “I don’t know of an exorcist, but I can recommend another priest to hear your confession.”

Confession? Oh that would go over well. Forgive me Father; in the last century I have stolen shoes and clothing, rigged the lottery, consumed forbidden food and beverage, and risked human detection by flying in the city. Oh, and last night I enjoyed carnal relations with a demon. She’d already sent one priest to the hospital. This wasn’t something she wanted to become a habit.

Still, she took the scrap of paper Loafers held out to her and watched as they loaded Father Donell into the ambulance. Maybe this parish should win some money. Did Catholic priests play scratch-offs?

The ambulance drove off. Loafers went back inside. Asta looked down at the paper. Father Athmor. She could visit him or start Googling. Asta looked up at the sun, calculating the time to sunset. If she was quick, she might be able to catch this priest before the convention closed for the evening. And if that didn’t work out, she’d have a long evening in front of a computer.

Father Athmor looked like a particularly stern Bloodhound with a crucifix permanently attached to his right hand. His baldhead reflected the light as he bent over the worn book before him.

“So, what makes you think your friend is possessed?”

Asta sighed. Here comes the diagnosis stuff. “I . . . I just know. Carter released a demon named Rubeus from an artifact. If the demon isn’t stopped, the results will be devastating.”

“So your friend — no speaking previously unknown languages, inhuman strength, knowing things Carter would have no way of knowing?”

Where was he going with this? “Well, I’m sure the demon knows many languages, but I haven’t spoken to him. Nor have I tested his knowledge. And he wouldn’t have his demonic strength while possessing a human body.”

“That’s typical. Sometimes those traits don’t appear until during the exorcism. I’ll be able to tell right away if there’s a demon.”

“Good.” It was about time someone expressed confidence in their ability to handle this. She had been beginning to lose faith in the human race. “It sounds as if you’ve done this before?”

“I’ve ousted hundreds of them over the years. It’s never an easy process, but if it’s a demon, I can get him out of there.”

“How long will it take?”

The priest rubbed his thumb rhythmically over the raised pattern on the crucifix. “Time is in the hands of God. Sometimes the demon is uprooted at once, but not always. Occasionally they come back. Even if we oust the demon, you’ll need to continue to monitor Carter to ensure he doesn’t become possessed again.”

This was turning into a long-term project — one that would continue after she went back to Aaru. She’d need to make sure she killed Rubeus, otherwise he was going to be the bad penny that kept showing up again and again.

“I’ve got most of the supplies — holy water, oil, and salt — but there are a few things I’m going to need your help with,” the priest continued.

“Will you need a pig?” Asta wasn’t sure where she was going to get a pig in downtown Chicago, but if this priest needed one, she’d find a way.

“A pig?” The watery blue eyes met hers. “What would I need a pig for?”

“To put the demon in? I don’t know. Someone told me you needed a pig.” Dratted Dar and his stories. Now she looked like a total fool.

“No, I don’t need a pig.”

Asta shifted in her chair. This guy reminded her of the Revered Ancient One. How odd to feel insignificant when facing a man barely eighty years old. “He’s pretty old — Rebeus. I’ll give you a hand killing the demon once you get him out of the human.”

Father Athmor sat back, fingering the crucifix clenched in his hand. “My dear, even I cannot kill a demon. It would take a host of angels to do that.”

Probably not a whole host of angels, but Asta was a bit unsure of her ability to kill this particular demon. She might need to call in the boss. “Or the Ancient Revered One, Archangel Michael. He’s got a sword that takes care of the really powerful ones.”

The priest nodded approvingly. “Yes, but I don’t exactly have the archangels on speed-dial. I can exorcise this demon and banish him. Killing him will have to wait until the Parousia, when Christ comes again.”

Or until I get my hands on him. Not that Father Athmor needed to know that. It was fine if this man thought she was a human. After what happened at the last parish, she wasn’t about to go revealing her wings, or her true nature, to any other priest. Instead, she sat with her hands clasped in her lap, smiling as the man told her of rebellious angels, and the war that resulted in a third of the heavens being cast out. He got a few things wrong, but the tale was surprisingly accurate given that it had occurred before the humans had anything beyond the most basic of communication skills.

“The Ritual will cast out the demon in the case of possession but won’t address other types of demonic influence. I’m just letting you know that if the demon has infested the man’s dwelling, or is causing him ill health, as in a case of demonic oppression, then I won’t be able to help you.”

“Oh, it’s a possession. I’m completely sure it’s a possession.”

Darned if the man didn’t give her a patronizing look. Asta was tempted to unfurl her wings. Maybe after he was done with the exorcism, just to teach him a lesson in the folly of pride.

“Will you be able to bring the man to me, or is he confined to his home?”

The conference was ending today, but Asta was fairly certain where Rubeus could be found. “He continues to work, but he has a hotel room. We can perform the exorcism there.”

The priest’s grip on the crucifix tightened. “He’s out and about? Working? Isn’t he a danger to others and himself?”

“Yes. I can’t exactly lock him away without a court order, or without hurting the possessed human. Besides, we only just found out about it this morning. I figured finding a priest was the most important item on my to-do list.”

The man nodded and pulled a large spiral bound book from the desk, all while gripping his crucifix. “So when would you like to schedule this?”

“Now.”

His hand paused on the calendar, and those stern eyes pinned her to her chair. “Young lady, I understand your need to help your friend as soon as possible, but I have other commitments.”

She saw his ‘other commitments’ and nearly ground her teeth. Bowling, and all-you-can-eat shrimp night at MacGrubeys. Taking a calming breath, she centered herself and pulled every ounce of persuasive skill to the surface. “A young man’s life is at stake, Father. Many, many lives are at stake here. Can you possibly clear your schedule and come with me now?”

No compulsion, just a big dose of persuasion and the sweet innocence of an angel’s smile.

This convention was boring as fuck, but he needed to maintain appearances, keep up the mask of human CEO for just a while longer. Time was running out. Eventually that bitch of an angel would figure out he was no longer in the bottle and connect the dots. Hopefully by the time that happened, the world would be in chaos, and he’d have the power to set the humans at each other like starving dogs.

She’d almost caved this morning at the café. He could see her wavering, feel her affection for this human he was using as a vehicle. He needed that bottle — without it, she’d have no way of knowing.

“Thank you, Mr. Phelps.”

Some other human pumped his hand, beaming like he was gazing upon the next recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize. How ironic.

“Make sure you load the software tonight,” he replied. “Don’t spend another moment unprotected from those thieves.”

Except for one thief. He grinned, thrilled his plan was coming together. All those centuries had taught him much — patience, the benefit of using other’s skills, that there was no shame in hiding under a human’s skin if it furthered one’s goals. All for the greater good.

The booth model slipped a note into his hand, eyeing him seductively as she turned away. Yeah, he’d like to hit that, but it would have to wait. First things first. Glancing down, he unfolded the note.

Carter — I’m so sorry I betrayed you like that. I do trust you, and to prove it, I want to return the bottle. Your room at six? — Asta

Perfect. He’d get the bottle back, and if there was any trouble, he’d just kill the bitch.

Chapter 20

“Hi.” Asta smiled at the blond man and ran a hand down the non-existent wrinkles of her skin-tight lycra mini dress.

His eyes followed the motion, sparking with desire. If she hadn’t spent so much time with Carter in the last week, she wouldn’t have noticed the odd fire in his gaze, or that instead of making her feel guilty, his lust sent a shudder up her back.

He opened the door wide. She walked in, placing the steps of her stiletto-clad feet in a line to ensure her rear swayed as she passed by. He was completely silent as she sat her oversized bag carefully down on the table and turned to him.

“Bottle?”

He was obviously trying for a cool, imposing tone of voice, but the guttural rasp that came out betrayed him. Carter was already enamored of her, and after being with Dar, she knew what worked for a demon.

“Of course.” She smiled enigmatically, and saw the result it had on the lower portion of his torso. “And afterward, I’d like to apologize. Profusely.”

Yep. Demon or not, he was going to bust out of those pants in a moment.

A cruel smiled curled his lips, and a flash of green lit the blue of his eyes. “On your knees. That’s the only way I’ll accept such an apology.”

Sheesh, what was it with demons and blow jobs. Dar had whined and begged for one all last night. A pang hit her chest as she realized she’d probably never get the chance to give him one.

She tried for a sultry look to hide the grimace of revulsion. “Then knees it is.”

He still held the door open, his pants tenting outward and his eyes stormy as he watched her reach into the bag and toss him the bottle. It was magically unbreakable, but instinct died hard, and he snatched it from the air with both hands, his expression shifting as he saw the clear glass in his hand.

“Somnus, daemon.”

She’d expected Father Athmor to subdue him in some religious-supernatural fashion, not whack him over the head with his huge brass crucifix. It certainly worked, though. Carter/Rubeus crashed to the ground, blood seeping from the wound at the back of his head.

She helped the elderly man drag Carter’s limp form to the bedroom. Asta tied him to the mattress as the priest blessed the room, the clothes, the carpet. When the possessed man came to, he hissed. Struggling against the sheets Asta had used to tie him to the bed, he glared at the array of candles and incense surrounding him.

“What the fuck is this?”

He knew. And he knew that she knew. The moment he’d seen the clear glass of the bottle, she’d seen the realization on his face.

“Exorcism. You’ve got one chance to get out of Carter’s body. I’ll escort you to the nearest gate to Hel and ensure you go home unharmed, but you need to leave him, and leave him without a scratch right now.”

Father Athmor gave her an odd look but continued to chant and wave the incense censers without pause. Rubeus, on the other hand, practically foamed at the mouth. “Seriously? You think some fucking priest is going to get me out of here? How did angels get so stupid? Give it up, bitch. The only way I’m leaving is if you kill my host, and I know you’re not going to do that. I saw the way you looked at Carter, the way your little heart went pitter-pat at his sob story about his childhood and his grandmother. I’m home free as long as I’m in here.”

She winced. He was right. She wouldn’t kill Carter and wouldn’t call in another angel who might decide that one human life was worth it compared to taking out this demon. Carter Phelps was a good man — not without sin, but then again, who was? She wasn’t about to have his death on her soul.

Everything was banking on this priest — the one who’d felt whacking their victim over the head with a brass religious artifact was proper procedure. If Dar was here, he would have said she was so fucked.

“I know how this works. I’ll get you out of there if I have to bring in a pig from Indiana to do so.”

At the mention of swine, the genie’s eyes widened. Then he gathered his resolve and spat at her, hitting her lovely royal-blue silk shirt with a disgusting ball of phlegm.

“You wanna know what his third wish was?” The genie’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth thinned. “You. Not world domination. Not untold riches. Not the respect and fear of his peers. He wanted you to love him.”

Asta’s heart stuttered. Oh Aaru, had she led Carter on to do the very thing she’d urged him not to? If she hadn’t. . . . This was all her fault.

“I convinced him the way to your heart was this whole saving-the-world-with-his-software plan. Idiot. He rushed it, figuring no one would be smart enough to catch the weakness in the code. With all his skills at my fingertips, it was easy to program that hack and send it off.”

This would all be traced back to Carter and Genus Micro. It would all be blamed on him. Rubeus wouldn’t care, but Carter Phelps must be in agony thinking of how his good intentions were twisted into cyber terrorism.

“I’m going to kill him. Once I’m done with him, I’ll kill and Own his soul. He knew the risks when he opened that bottle, when he made his first wish. He accepted those risks, and now he’s mine.”

Not while she had wings to fly with. “Hope you’ve enjoyed your last day of freedom, Rubeus. Once this priest forces you out of that human body, I’m going to kill you. All your plans will be for nothing. You’ll be dead, taken down by an elderly human and a young angel.”

Rubeus eyed the waving censor, his hand gripping the sheets. “That human can’t do shit.”

“Ecce crucem Domini.” Father Athmor chanted as he sat down the censor and picked up one of his small glass bottles.

Rubeus howled. “You bitch! I’ll kill you for this. I’ll pin you to a wall and rip your wings off, one feather at a time.” The demon strained against his bonds, and Asta saw the edges of the sheets begin to fray.

“You won’t leave? Well, we’re going to make you leave.” She threw a handful of liquid on the restrained man. Father Athmor had said it was holy water, but it felt like normal liquid to her. Whatever it was, Rubeus didn’t like it one bit. He screamed, shaking his head from side to side.

“You can’t. I’m here to stay.”

“No! You will leave,” Father Athmor announced. The priest lay a hand on the man’s head. “Ecce crucem Domini.”

Rubeus went rigid, twisting his lips up into a sneer. The priest’s fingers moved feather-light downward before coming to rest on the genie’s closed eyelids.

“Manifestaturus es te ipsum.” The words forced Rubeus’s eyes open, and Asta saw fear as well as hate in the glowing green of the genie’s gaze.

“Sit nominis ti signo famulus tuus munitus.” Father Athmor continued to chant as he dabbed the oil on Carter’s forehead. “The demon known as Rubeus, I cast you out. I command you to leave this man’s body and not return.”

Asta waited expectantly, but the demon didn’t do as commanded. Instead, he retreated further into Carter Phelps’s body. As Rubeus faded into the background, the green vanished, and Asta found herself staring into Carter’s dark blue eyes.

They were pleading. His arms jerked against the restraints, as if he wanted to touch her. “I’m sorry. I never meant this to happen. I only wanted to help people.” A shadow flitted across his face. “And for them to realize I wasn’t dumb, that I was just as smart as my parents, as smart as Gran always told me.”

“Fight him, Carter,” she urged. “Fight the genie. We’re trying to get him out.”

“It was for the greater good, not this. I didn’t want this. Please believe me. I never wanted this.”

She did. He might not be dumb, but he was foolish enough to believe a demon’s lies. “I know. But you can make this all right. Just fight him. Once he’s out, you can fix this mess.”

“I got the respect, the riches. I helped people. But in the end, I was still alone. My last wish was to not be alone. I wanted you by my side, Asta, and this is how he said I could have you.”

Now wasn’t the time to discuss how supernatural intervention wasn’t the best way to secure a girlfriend. “It’s okay, Carter. I believe you. I understand. Please help us. The genie is hiding inside you. Help us get him out.”

“I can’t. He’s too strong.” The man’s lips trembled as he spoke. “You should just kill me. Kill me and that will right all the stupid wrongs I’ve done.”

“No, it won’t. You’ll live if it’s the last thing I do. I told you I’d take care of this demon, and I will, without you dying.”

Asta’s temper surged. She had contributed to this whole mess, but Carter Phelps was a weak fool. She needed him to be strong, to fight, and all he could do was whine about his intentions. She owed him, and that meant she wouldn’t let him take the easy way out. He needed to live, to clean up the storm of feces he’d created with his shortcuts and insecurities. If he died, the man he was deep down inside would never have a chance to show himself.

Father Athmor pushed her aside, flinging bits of water and waving incense so strong it made Asta’s eyes burn. “The demon known as Rubeus, I cast you out!” he shouted. “I command you to leave this human’s body and not return.”

With an inhuman scream, Phelps’s eyes glowed green again. Bedsheets tore, and before Asta could act, Rubeus had grabbed the censer from the priest and hit him in the head with it. She dove forward, trying to restrain the genie without causing Carter’s body too much damage. Father Athmor’s chant faltered, his blood splattering across the bed as he elbowed Asta aside and put a hand on the genie’s forehead.

Idiot. It’s not like she was a helpless female in need of protection by an eighty-year-old human. Now the priest was in between her and the thrashing demon. “I’ve got him,” she shouted. “Back up, before. . . .”

Too late. Rubeus had freed himself and spun the priest around, looping an arm around his neck. Father Athmor turned an alarming shade of red, his eyes bulging.

“It’s him or me, darling Asta.” Rubeus sneered. “Who will you choose?”

With a quick motion, his arms twisted, and the priest’s head snapped to the side. The elderly man slid to the floor in a heap of robes while the genie raced for the door. Other angels would have left the man to die. He was nearing the end of his life, and sometimes humans perished for the greater good. Catching Rubeus should have been her first priority.

It wasn’t. Kneeling beside the priest, she gently straightened him and poured the gold of her healing light forth. Bones knitted, neural pathways connected, blood vessels were made whole. The man’s eyes fluttered open.

“Worst demon I’ve ever encountered,” Father Athmor croaked. “Where is he?”

The priest looked frightened, as if he really didn’t want to know where Rubeus was. Asta realized that even if she managed to find the genie, she couldn’t ask this man to go through that again. There had to be some other way, some other option.

“He got away,” she said softly as she helped the priest to sit. “I’ll find him. I’ll get the demon to leave somehow. It’s okay.”

Liar. It wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay at all.

Chapter 21

Dar ducked under the overhang, brushing the rain from his coat. The shopkeeper had a nice display of umbrellas right inside the door. Once this meeting was over, he’d have to steal one.

“This city has the most dreadful weather imaginable.” Rubeus stepped in beside him, rubbing his wet hair then staring at his hand in distaste. “It doesn’t rain like this in Hel outside of the elven areas. I don’t understand why the humans don’t do something about this.”

“They’re not good at weather. In fact, they’re not good at much of anything.”

Rubeus shot him a wicked smile. “They’re good at this computer stuff, and computers seem to run just about everything here.”

True. “We figured you were dead. You can’t imagine how surprised I was when that mage said it was you in that bottle.”

The other demon snarled. “Some fucking bastard summoned me, trapped me in there, then promptly got executed for banging one of the Caliph’s wives. Six-hundred years I rotted in that damned thing, waiting for someone with the greed and balls to cash in the wishes.”

Dar grimaced. “I can’t imagine. I was a juvenile when you vanished. I hate to tell you, but your household is disbursed and all your belongings divvied up. You’ll need to knock some serious heads together when you get back to Hel.”

Rubeus watched the cars drive by. “Maybe I’ll stay. The weather sucks, but there’s plenty of opportunity for fun. No sense in rushing back to claw my way back to the top in Hel. That can wait.”

“I’ll agree things are fun here, but how long do you intend to hitch a ride inside that human? I’d figured a demon of your stature would be above such things.”

“Pride gets you killed.” The demon shook the water from his jacket. “I’d love to take over the world as a six-armed, horned monster. The screaming, the terror — trust me; I’m sorely tempted. Six-hundred years in a bottle teaches a demon many things.”

“Like hiding from the angels in a human’s body?”

Rubeus’s eyes glowed green as he turned to face Dar. Right. Like he was going to do much. Normally Dar would never bait a demon this old, but anyone possessing a human deserved some ribbing.

“That bitch of an angel knows I’m here but is too much of a pussy to do anything about it. No, the real advantage is Phelps’s reputation and connections — and his brain. I have no idea what the fuck is going on with this security stuff, but with his knowledge, I can bring down every government on the globe. Imagine the wars, the famine, the genocide — it’s going to be a hell of a decade.”

“So Own him. You can assume his form and have access to his memories without sharing a stupid, limiting body.”

“Idiot.” Rubeus shook his head. “His memories won’t do shit for me. I don’t know anything about these computers. When I got stuck in that bottle, people were still communicating by scrolls hand-carried over the miles. I want this now — not after months of trying to figure out how to buy something off eBay.”

“Makes sense. Of course, not all the angels are as reluctant to kill humans as this one. All she needs to do is call in the boss, and that bottle would start to look pretty damned nice.”

The demon scowled. “Would she? I got the feeling she prides herself on being able to handle these things herself. And how the fuck are you prancing around with her, anyway? She should have killed you, but instead she’s all over you.”

Dar shrugged, trying to keep the pride from his voice. “I’ve got immunity. I’m with the household of the Iblis.”

That clearly shocked the other demon. “There’s an Iblis? After two-and-a-half-million years, there’s an Iblis? Is it Ahriman? I always suspected that bastard would make a play for power, but I couldn’t see him sitting through Ruling Council meetings and filling out all that paperwork.”

“Nah. Ahriman’s dead. The Iblis killed him.”

And suddenly the other demon was looking at Dar with great respect. Although that respect would be short-lived if he found out the Iblis was an imp, not even a thousand years old. Ah well, let the guy wonder.

“Dragon’s balls! Ahriman’s dead? Well that explains a lot, although I still don’t see why you’re wasting time with that angel.”

“I thought she’d be fun to seduce. Mission accomplished, and now I’m looking for some other fun.”

Rubeus narrowed his eyes. “How about you and I kill her? That would be fun.”

Dar choked back a laugh. “Yeah, fun until I lose my immunity and get hunted. I’d never be able to leave Hel again if I killed an angel.”

“The angels are going to have their hands full in another week. You could easily hide from them, or blame it on someone else.”

“Like who?” Dar chuckled. “Outside of a nuclear blast, a demon is the only thing that can kill an angel.”

“There will be plenty of nuclear blasts. Tell you what, give me a hand taking her out, and I’ll ensure you have a convenient detonation here in Chicago to cover your tracks along with other compensation.”

“There are limits to what I can promise,” Dar warned. “This Iblis may be my sister, and the head of my household, but she’s very unpredictable. I could be called back to her side at any minute.”

Rubeus waved a dismissive hand. “No problem. If things go as I’ve planned, we can resolve all this by end of day tomorrow.”

“I’m intrigued. Go ahead.”

“This angel of yours has become a pain in my ass. Help me lure her somewhere and I’ll kill her. Then I’ll blow up the city and cover our tracks. In return, I’ll ensure both you and the Iblis get a cut of all profits I make — including your choice of humans to Own and play with.”

“What percentage of profits?”

“Ten.”

Dar snorted. “Sixty.”

Rubeus turned bright red. “Fifteen.”

The other demon narrowed his eyes. “Forty or I call the Iblis and have her negotiate with you one-on-one.”

The genie paled, no doubt thinking that any demon who took out Ahriman wasn’t one he wanted to be “negotiating” with. “Deal.” Reaching in his pocket, he passed a scrap of paper to the demon. “Have her here tomorrow morning before nine. Think you can manage that?”

Dar pocketed the paper then thought for a moment, watching as a taxi splashed a sheet of water from the road onto a passerby. “Yeah. I can manage that.”

Chapter 22

“Asian and European markets are in free fall after Genus Micro’s Ouroboros security software proved vulnerable to hackers. Prominent cyber-security expert, Donald Marshall states that the software contained a major flaw that left corporations and governments wide open to this attack, leading him to conjecture that the Ouroboros software was rushed to market before being adequately tested. Others suspect Genus Micro’s CEO, Carter Phelps, of orchestrating the attack as a means to profit from the siphoned funds. Is Carter Phelps just inept, or a high-tech embezzler?”

Asta turned from the TV, sipping her espresso with a twist — her last espresso with a twist. The enforcer taking over protection of Chicago was due here any minute for her to transition. She was going home.

She’d searched all night, but Phelps, or rather Rubeus, was nowhere to be found. Had he left the city? There was really no reason for him to stay now that his plan was in action.

Not that it mattered. This was about to become someone else’s problem. The thought nearly turned her stomach inside out. It wasn’t just that she’d failed to resolve this, failed to eliminate the threat before he acted, it was leaving her beloved city that hurt the most, all the humans she’d grown to care about — and Dar.

She hadn’t seen him since yesterday. He hadn’t even said goodbye. Maybe he was done with her after getting what he wanted. He’d tempted an angel to sin, and when she wasn’t ready to abandon work for fun, he ditched her.

Or maybe he just wasn’t good at goodbyes. She wasn’t sure she was either. What would she say to him? “Thanks for the macarons and the amazing sex. Have a good life. Try not to get dusted by an angel.” Or make love to one. The thought of him moving on to seduce another twisted her up with doubt and jealousy. Not that she would blame him. He was a demon, had a life to live while she’d be spending hers up in Aaru restoring her purity.

“Some guy left this for you with the hostess.” The waitress slid a note to her, a sly smile on her face. Asta felt the energy signature before she’d even noted the sigil. Dar.

I found Phelps. He’s at Richland Tech’s offices. 231 S LaSalle, suite 1904. And get a fucking cell phone.

She had to smile. By all of creation, she was going to miss that demon. He’d come through for her. He’d been hunting down the genie when she’d assumed he’d given up on her and moved on. Would he be there? Would she get to see him one last time before she left?

It was Saturday, six in the morning. There would be few people, if any, in the office in Chicago’s Loop business district. If she acted fast, she could catch Rubeus before the workaholic humans showed up, and then be back here before noon to transition the city to the new enforcer. And if she was very lucky, maybe have a chance to give Dar a proper goodbye.

Fluted Ionic columns topped with scrolled volutes lined the entrance to the office building. Casually dressed humans jogged in and out of the bank ATM vestibule on the lower floor, but Asta was the only one heading into the main lobby. At least, she planned to enter it if she could just manage to navigate the stupid revolving doors.

She knocked in vain on the locked side door, trying to get the attention of the dozing security guard whose feet were propped on the lobby desk. Standing helplessly outside didn’t seem to spur any chivalrous instincts in the passersby, so Asta stepped tentatively into the door space, alternating small pushes with a few steps forward.

It took forever. The back glass kept catching her heels, and she couldn’t quite get the door to turn properly. Finally there was enough of an opening for her to squeeze through.

Now the security guard notices me. Sure enough, the man looked up, yawned, and straightened his cap while pointing toward the logbook.

“Forgot my badge.” She smiled and scrawled a name and number in the book.

The man didn’t even ask for ID before he shoved an access card across to her. “Sucks to be you, working this early on a Saturday.”

“Gotta take care of a few things before I fly out.”

“Well, have a good one. Pete takes over at nine. Just leave the key card with him before you head out.”

She nodded her thanks and with a swipe of the card was on her way to the nineteenth floor. Richland Tech’s suite was dimly lit, with nothing at the receptionist desk but wilted flowers and the requisite guest book. Asta stared through the bank of glass doors, doubting the access card she held would get her into this office. Rubeus would probably be tipped off if she broke in, but there wasn’t any other option. The angel glanced around, wishing that Dar was here with his lock-picking skills. Where was the demon? She’d expected he’d meet her here.

Time was in short supply, so she reached forward and gently tugged on the door handle. And nearly fell backwards as it swung open.

Unlocked. She might be a naïve angel, but she wasn’t stupid enough to think a tech firm would leave their doors unlocked on a Saturday. It was a trap. Rubeus knew she was coming and was making things easy for her.

And if he knew she was coming, what had happened to Dar? Her breath caught as she thought of all the horrible things the genie could have done to her demon. Was he dead? Injured somewhere inside this office? Or dumped in the middle of Lake Michigan?

Rushing into a trap wouldn’t do either of them any good, so Asta entered slowly, her senses on high alert as she hid her energy signature as best she could. The office seemed strangely devoid of any presence and silent as the grave. Wouldn’t a tech company have computers humming away even in the off hours? Even the HVAC system was soundless.

As were her heels on the marble floor. Magically soundless. Some spell had muted every noise past the doorway and had equally muted her ability to sense any life-forms. Well, this worked both ways. Rubeus couldn’t hear or sense her either, although. . . . Asta glanced up at the round half-globes strategically positioned on walls and ceilings throughout the office. Rubeus could probably see her. Curse him. The element of surprise would be completely on his side.

A light flickered on in a rear office. Asta smiled, realizing that was where she was supposed to go — and no doubt where Rubeus lay in wait to jump her. Instead she went the opposite way, down the hallway to the left, past row upon row of cubicles. Looping around a hall at the back edge of the building, she made her way to the lit room from the opposite side. She snuck into the office across from it and knelt in the doorway and waited.

The light went off, and sound came roaring back into the office. Everything seemed five times louder than it should — the humming computers, air from the vents, her beating heart. Something creaked in the conference room. Asta hugged the wall and slowly edged towards the door.

Rubeus was there. She could see him, still in Phelp’s body, crouched behind a conference table, something long and pointy in his hand. If she walked in the door, he’d be on her. Asta didn’t recognize the pointy thing but was pretty sure it was deadly. Slipping off her shoes, she snuck around to the other side of the conference room. The door opened to a small cafeteria area. The tables had been pushed to the side and chairs stacked up. A floor buffer stood in a corner next to the vending machines. Best of all, the wall across from her separated the cafeteria from the conference room. One wall to blast through, and she’d be the one to surprise Rubeus.

The tile was cold under her bare feet as she tiptoed across the room, slamming into an invisible barrier two feet from the wall.

What the? Asta reached out her hands and traced the barricade, realizing as she worked her way around that it encircled her. Hoping no one was working in the office below, she sent a blast toward her feet and yelped as it bounced off, ricocheting around the invisible walls and ceiling before dissipating. A laugh rang out behind her. She turned. Rubeus stood in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest.

“Phelps might be a clever boy when it comes to computer stuff, but I’m the fucking brilliant one here.” He flicked off the lights, and the floor glowed with an intricate array of runes and glyphs. “I’ve got the know-how, and human-boy’s got the body to execute, and voila! One trapped angel. How does it feel? A lot more spacious than that fucking bottle, let me tell you.”

Shit — shoot. Shoot, she was stuck in this infernal circle. Rubeus would safely escape, and by the time the new enforcer found her . . . well, this whole thing was humiliating.

It was more than humiliating. Rubeus reached around the doorway and brought forward the pointy thing. It looked like a lance; three feet long and white, it spiraled to a sharp tip. Her enclosure was only four feet in diameter. He could safely stand on the outside and stab her with the thing. She’d be forced to run around like an idiot while he tried to stick her, healing each time he met his mark. What a degrading experience — a captive being prodded and chased by a demon. Even though pride wasn’t her sin, this was going to sting.

Rubeus swung the pointy thing like a flag. “Amazing the things you can buy off the internet.” With a lightning-fast lunge that would have done an Olympic fencer proud, he jabbed into the circle, piercing her arm before yanking the odd-looking lance safely back.

Ow. More than ow. Pain spiked through Asta’s arm, down beneath the flesh to her spirit-self. What in all of creation was that thing? Suddenly she realized that humiliation wasn’t Rubeus’s intent. He meant to kill her and somehow had a weapon that could do so. Where was Dar? Had Rubeus killed him with the lethal pointy thing? Her heart raced, torn between the hope he was somehow alive to rescue her and the fear he was dead and bleeding in a cubicle somewhere.

The genie laughed. “Hey, get in here and help me kill her. I’ll let you take a few stabs for luring her in.”

Dar stepped through the doorway, his gray eyes impersonal and cold. Asta felt something shrivel inside her. All she could do was stare at the demon she’d trusted, the one she loved, the one who had betrayed her and led her to her death.

“Nah. Not my thing.” Dar waved the lance away. “I like poking angels with other things, if you get my drift.”

Rubeus’s laughter roared out. It seemed so strange coming from Carter Phelps’s body. “Tempting an angel into physical intercourse, and you barely over a thousand years old? I’m all in admiration, my friend, although this angel seems pretty stupid and gullible.”

Dar shrugged, making his way around the perimeter of her barrier while Rubeus followed. “Next time I’ll pick a brighter angel as my victim, one a bit older and more skilled.”

Fury ripped through the pain in Asta’s heart. The genie feinted then lunged again, but she was quicker, knocking the lance aside before it pierced her side. Her arm burned where it touched the skin, leaving a smoldering line of red she couldn’t take the time to heal. Better to keep her attention on staying clear of that lance, and trying to find a way out of this circle.

“With you dead, no one will know how to find me until it’s too late. I’ll hitchhike a ride inside Phelps until the coast is clear. By that time, your angel friends will be too busy doing damage control to track me down.”

He was like a two-bit-dime-store-novel villain, revealing his plans in a boring, pompous soliloquy while she avoided his attempts to run her through. “The archangels will get you. No matter where you go, what you do, they’ll eventually find you and rip your ugly fucking head from your body.”

“Tsk, tsk. Such language for an angel. You really brought this one down, Dar. Nice job.” This time he hit, slicing along her thigh, cutting through pants, skin, and muscle down to her spirit-being. She hopped backward, tensing herself against the pain.

“How did it feel to fuck her? Did she moan? Did she beg you for more?”

Asta jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding the lance.

“Did she get down on her knees and suck you off? Did you come on her face, make her lick you clean?”

She caught her breath, trying to block out his taunts and avoid the stabbing lance. Focusing on the weapon, she almost missed Dar pick up a pair of scissors from beside the coffee machine, flipping them open in his hand like a butterfly knife.

“No, but maybe next time.” He reversed his grip and swung, the movement blindingly fast as he slashed the scissor blade across the genie’s thigh. Rubeus bellowed, clutching his leg with one hand as he dropped to one knee. Dar pivoted, and, with a downward strike, plunged the blade deep into the genie’s chest.

Crimson blood fountained as the pressure from the human’s heart launched its contents across the floor. Rubeus’s scream changed pitch, becoming higher and more faint. His eyes met Asta’s, and she saw the genie recede, leaving Carter behind. Fear bloomed for a second before his eyes lost focus and he slumped into a sea of blood.

He was dead. Carter was dead, and the demon’s song screamed in her ears. Rubeus had seconds to form a replacement body or he would die.

“All yours, babe. You can thank me later.”

Dar winked at her and raced out the door. Time seemed to stand still as his meaning sunk in. Phelps was dead — the caster of the circle. She was free. And beside the human’s body, another was rising, shaking off the shock of his sudden transformation.

Rubeus. The blood spread like a red tide across his scaled legs and clawed feet. His legs trembled, and down he went, flailing as he tried to gain control over his new body.

Asta started toward him then saw Carter’s blue eyes, pupils dilated as they stared unseeing toward the ceiling. Of all her fledgling skills, healing had always been her strongest. But this — this would be more like a resurrection. And would she have time before Rubeus found the muscle coordination to attack?

There was no time for thought, so she acted blindly, dropping to her knees in the sticky carpet and placing her hands over Carter’s chest. Gold light filled the air, and she poured every ounce of healing she had into his body. Arterial puncture, create new blood to fill his veins, start the silent heart. But would it be enough? It had only been seconds, but sometimes that’s all it took for the soul to flee.

The breath left her lungs as white-hot agony pierced them. Looking down, she saw the twisted end of the lance jutting momentarily from between her ribs before it was pulled from her back.

Everything went dark, and all Asta could think about was the pain. Luckily her physical form seemed to have a mind of its own, because she launched herself sideways. Her vision cleared. She jumped to her feet to see Rubeus in his demon form, struggling to yank the lance from where it had embedded in the floor.

If I’m going to die, I’m not going out alone. Steeling herself against the agony shooting down her entire left side, Asta dove at the genie, knocking him to the floor. His claws dug into her shoulders, sharp spurs scraping along her legs as she wrapped her fingers around his neck and squeezed. The demon twisted, bucking until her hands slipped against the scales of his neck. Then, with a powerful kick, he launched her across the room.

Asta hit the vending machine, feeling the glass crack and give against her back. She’d expected Rubeus to come after her and spun to the side in anticipation of his attack. Instead of claws against her flesh, she felt the now-familiar burn of the lance. He’d managed to dislodge it from the floor and was swinging it back and forth in front of himself, driving her backwards toward the corner of the room where she’d be trapped.

The lance came at her in a sweep. Gritting her teeth against the pain she knew was coming, Asta grabbed it with both hands. She staggered with the momentum of the weapon, her hands sizzling against it. There was a moment of confusion in the genie’s eyes right before she kicked out, knocking him back.

His grip on the lance slipped, but he kept hold. Asta was yanked forward, her hands blistered. A tug of war ensured that she was sure she was going to lose. She had to get this thing away from him. It would be hard enough fighting him without it, but this weapon reduced her odds to near zero.

There was an odd whoosh noise, and Asta found herself staring at the point of a sword, inches from her nose. The blade was buried in the genie’s neck, lodged in one of his vertebrae. Her eyes met the demon’s, and she saw her surprise mirrored in them.

“Damn mother-fucking piece of shit. Why are there no decent weapons in a twenty-five story office building?”

The sword jerked back and forth in Rubeus’s neck, making his head bob like a marionette. Asta had to pull her own neck backward to avoid the sharp tip.

“Would have had better luck trying to take his head off with a fucking copier, stupid fucking waste of metal.”

Dar.

Rubeus let go of the lance and grabbed the sword with one hand, elbowing backwards with the other arm. Dar made an ooof sound then a crunch noise as Rubeus drove the pommel into the other demon’s face.

Kicking the lance aside, Asta wrapped her burned hands around one of the demon’s horns, pulling and twisting as she tried to remove his head. Dar scrambled to his feet and threw the coffee pot at the genie’s head.

Pull. Pull. Dar’s aim wasn’t particularly good, and Asta felt herself pummeled with mini bags of chips and candy bars as she yanked. Rubeus ignored the demon and grabbed Asta’s arms, trying to loosen her grip as he worked his way across the room. He was heading for the lance. She was exhausted, burned, horribly injured, and this demon was right at the edge of her abilities. Still, she couldn’t let him get the lance, and getting his darned head off was a priority.

Something huge flew towards her, and Asta ducked, feeling the splash of water as the five-gallon jug from the cooler plowed into her shoulder. Ready to yell at Dar to cut it out, she was amazed to see it bounce off her and smack into the sword lodged in the genie’s neck, dislodging the weapon and sending it clattering to the floor.

Cheap piece-of-feces sword versus an angel’s waning strength. The sword won, and Asta dropped her grip on Rubeus’s horns, reaching out to grasp the pommel as she hit the floor. Rubeus sprang toward the lance, only to be knocked sideways by a flying microwave.

Bless Dar and his little rat heart. Asta rose and swung the sword with all her might. It slowed a bit on the bone, but this time it went through. The genie’s head toppled to the side in a spray of blood.

A headless demon wasn’t always a dead demon. Throwing the sword to the side, Asta grabbed the body before it hit the floor and put forth her final blow, feeling the flesh turn to sand beneath her fingers. The room spun, and Rubeus’s head seemed to roll in slow-motion as she collapsed on her hands and knees.

“Damn, girl. Watch your aim. You almost skewered me with that five-dollar museum-quality reproduction.”

Asta looked up. Dar stood next to the oak-veneer cabinet, the bent sword quivering inches from his head. She started to laugh, the sound edging into hysteria. “Need to rest,” she finally gasped out, sliding down to blessed nothingness on the blood-soaked carpet.

***

She was oh-so-warm, floating in steamy heat while her wings soaked in water. Something behind her stirred, and she realized there were arms around her — and a naked human pressed tight against her back. It shouldn’t feel this good to have all this skin touching hers, but it did, and she didn’t want to move. The water, the warmth, it all helped ease the horrible aches that went deeper than her physical-self. She felt a kiss pressed against the side of her head, a hand lightly rubbing her waist, and a very familiar demon’s spirit-being gently exploring hers, anxious and worried over her injuries.

Dar. Asta was vaulted into full consciousness by the thought of him so close, the memory of what had happened. She hid her wings with a snap and struggled to pull herself from his lap. In the worst moment of her life, she’d thought he’d betrayed her, but then he had stayed behind and risked his life to help her fight Rubeus.

“Easy, easy.” His voice rumbled against her back, his breath stirring the loose hair at the top of her head. “Are you recovered enough to finish healing?”

“I can’t heal this.” She touched his spirit-being with the injured part of herself and winced.

“I know, but it will get better in time. Trust me, I’ve got lots of experience with these things, although I’ve never personally been stabbed repeatedly with a bespelled unicorn horn.”

So that’s what the lance had been. Now she knew to stay away from unicorns. It hurt, but she concentrated and managed to finish healing her physical form. Then she resumed trying to get out of the tub — and most especially off Dar’s naked lap. His physical body was beginning to express some very non-saintly desires, and as vulnerable as she felt, Asta wasn’t likely to say no.

“Take it easy. Just relax. I’m not going to do anything. I vow on all the souls I Own that I’m just going to hold you until I’m sure you can stand on your own without collapsing and spilling your brains all over the bathroom tiles.”

Darn. It would be kind of nice to have him do something, although, as bad as she hurt, it probably wouldn’t be a good idea.

“Why are we here?” Thank the Creator her voice sounded less weak and pathetic.

“You were shaking with cold, and I figured a hot bath would help. After scraping you up off the floor and carrying you through the business district, I didn’t exactly want to let you drown in a tub, so I got in with you.”

“Naked?”

“Did you want me to ruin my suit?”

Of course not. It was a very nice suit. Wait—. “You carried me? You carried me all the way here from the Loop?”

“It’s not like I could take a taxi or anything. You revealed your wings when you passed out. I had no idea how to get you in the backseat of a vehicle with those things. Maybe if I stuck them out the windows, but I didn’t want to risk breaking them in half. You’ve got some big-ass wings, girl. I like it.” The demon began to sing a song about how he liked big wings and he could not lie.

Oh, by all that was holy — her wings. Demons had no ability to entrance humans. Everyone they passed had to have seen her wings. Everyone on the street, in the hotel lobby….

Dar chuckled. “You should have seen the look on the humans’ faces. I told them we were at a costume party and you’d passed out drunk from doing tequila body shots. Everyone was very helpful, opening doors and holding the elevator.”

“But we were all bloody. My clothes were ripped to shreds. What kind of costume party were we at that we’d be covered in blood?”

“A really good one?” Dar laughed. “Nah, you were dressed as a zombie angel, and I was your snack for the evening.”

“It’s what, ten o’clock in the morning? I’m passed out drunk and we’re coming home from a costume party late Saturday morning?”

“It’s Chicago. No one batted an eye.” The demon nuzzled her hair. “Wanna eat my brains?”

She couldn’t help but smile. “What brains?” This felt so good, sitting in the hot water enclosed in his arms, laughing together. He did have brains. He was clever and funny, strong and sexy. He’d saved her life with that stupid sword and various kitchenette projectiles.

And he’d killed a human. It didn’t matter that she’d managed to bring Carter back to life; Dar had violated the terms of his immunity.

“Carter. . . .” She wasn’t sure how to say it.

“Oh, for fuck sake. He’s fine. Probably in the hospital by now. I was more worried about getting you out of there and making sure you were okay to bother with your little human pet.”

That was the Dar she knew and loved. Asta leaned against him and buried her face in his chest, trying to commit every bit of him to memory. “You knifed him with scissors.”

This time he sighed, his arms tightening around her.

“I know, I know. I’m toast. You’ll fill out fifty forms in triplicate, and within half an hour, every angel in and out of Aaru will be gunning for me. I’m a dead demon.”

How could she explain it otherwise? She was terrible at lying, and if her report was subpar, the Ruling Council could entrance Carter and get the truth from him. There was no way she could keep Dar out of this.

“You want to kill me instead?” His voice had a rough edge under the teasing tone. “I’d rather meet my end at your hands than by some pompous asshole who will take enormous pleasure in lopping my head off.”

She wouldn’t take pleasure in it. She’d hate every moment of it. There was no way she could kill him, never in a billion years. And there’s no way she could implicate him in the report. She would buy him time enough to get safely back to Hel at least. Stirring, Asta pulled away to pivot on his lap and look into his silver-gray eyes. They were serious — sad and full of regret. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to sink back against him and let the warm water wash the rest of the world away.

But she was returning to Aaru. In a few hours, there would be no more tubs, no more flying in the city, drinking espresso, delighting in the slide of silk against her skin. There would be no more Dar.

“You need to get out of here. Go back to Hel. I’ll delay the report for a few days, and I’ll lie. They’ll eventually find out, but you’ll be safely home by then.”

His hands stroked her hair, tugging gently at the wet curls. “You’d lie for me?”

She closed her eyes, relishing the feel of him against her. “Yes.”

One word carried so much meaning. She’d more than lie for him; she’d fall for him. He was so much more than a fling, than a bit of sin before leaving this earthly plane. Dar was her heart.

For a moment they sat motionless until Dar gently moved her from his lap and rose, water cascading off his skin. “Are you okay?”

She watched him climb out of the tub, dry himself off, and dress. “Yes. I’m fine,” she lied.

Too quickly he was fully clothed. The tub suddenly seemed far too big for one being.

“Goodbye, Asta.” He struggled, as if there was something else he wanted to say. Then he snapped his mouth shut and gestured toward her. “Take care, okay? Don’t let those asshole angels beat you down.”

She nodded. “Stay safe, Dar.”

With that, he was gone. And a city full of two-point-seven-million people never felt so empty.

Chapter 23

The weather was circling down from the north, bringing a sharp bite of cold into the autumn morning. Typical. The colorful leaves and crisp scent were Chicago’s brief nod to fall before winter came roaring in with all its might. No matter the season, this was her city, and it was beautiful — especially when she was nine hundred feet above ground, watching the sunrise with a cup of steaming espresso in hand.

Cars made their way along Lake Shore Drive, hinting at the rush hour to come. Sweepers and garbage trucks banged their way through the side streets and alleyways. Once things started moving and shaking, she’d drop downtown for breakfast and some window-shopping. Maybe grab a book and head for Millennial Park. Cobb salad for lunch. Catch an early comedy show at Second City or Zanies, then over to Stanley’s to see the guys. Unless a demon popped onto her radar — then all other plans were on hold. Of course, she hadn’t sensed a demon in months, and wasn’t likely to anytime soon.

It was better than meditation in Aaru, this daily routine of hers. She thanked the stars every time she remembered her return home, how she’d begged to be given another century of assignment. Gabriel had needed her there; her report of Rubeus had raised all sorts of red flags. She was too young; she could have died, blah, blah, blah. Why they’d finally allowed her to return, she had no idea. Best not to question these things in case the opportunity vanished under scrutiny.

Three months and no sign of him. Had he come back while she was in Aaru and assumed she was gone forever? Had he been killed? Was he afraid to leave Hel? Afraid wasn’t a word Asta would think to associate with Dar, but just as she was unwilling to question the Ruling Council’s decision about her, she was equally unwilling to ask about the demon’s whereabouts.

No, she was just afraid. He was too clever to be killed, to brave to cower in Hel for the rest of his life, but he probably had moved onto the next fun adventure. Without her. That’s what she feared. That’s the truth she didn’t want to know.

Asta rose, drinking the last of her espresso and stretching her wings. Time to get a move on if she wanted a quick flight along the lake before the traffic hit. She stepped to the edge of the roof, inhaling to catch the scent of cold air off the water. The building trembled in a gust of wind that roared in her ears and carried with it the faint note of demon-song.

Dar.

She froze, her heart jumping into her throat. She’d recognize his energy anywhere. He was here — in her city. He was heading this way.

Wings snapped into hiding. Asta raced for the rooftop stairs, taking them two at a time and bursting into her little condo. What to wear, what to wear? Oh shit — shoot, he was coming. Hangers and clothes flew as she tore through the racks, selecting then discarding various dresses and pants suits. In the end, she chose jeans and the simple white button-down oxford shirt with the high-top sneakers she’d worn during their rooftop sashimi dinner.

Tearing back up the steps, Asta raced around the roof, trying to find a good place to sit. Or stand. Or recline. One where she looked sexy and casual, but not like she was posed, or waiting for him. Shit, shit, he was in the building. Wings out or not? He liked her wings, but they’d mess up the lines of her shirt, and she’d have to repair the tears.

The door opened, and Asta threw herself to the ground, trying to look serene and contemplative while her heart tore around her chest like an Indy Car.

“Hi.” After three months, after all they’d been through together, all they’d shared, and that was what came out of her mouth? Sheesh.

Dar grinned and walked over, gingerly sitting down beside her and casting a nervous glance over the roof edge. “Promise me you’ll scoop me up if I fall off?”

“Before or after you hit the ground?” Witty comeback. That was more like it.

“Fuck, I hope before. Otherwise you’ll need one of those street sweepers.” He tilted his head, eyes warm as they examined her face. “Sorry I’m late. I had a few things to do in Hel that took longer than expected.”

Her whole body heated up like one big flame. “You knew I was here? I mean, not in Aaru?”

His smile turned suggestive. “One should always know where one’s angel is.”

Asta scooted closer, resting her hand on his thigh and her spirit-self against his. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be back at all. Your angel came pretty close to being in Aaru for the rest of her life.”

“Yes, I know.” He scowled at her, but his eyes danced with laughter. “Could that report of yours be any shittier? That thing had holes big enough to drive a truck through. Rubeus accidentally stabs his possessed human with scissors, killing Carter Phelps. Then after being impaled repeatedly with a unicorn horn, you manage to decapitate him with a microwave and a cheap Excalibur knock-off then crawl halfway across the city to a hotel penthouse suite.”

She slid her hand up his leg. “The Iblis thought it was a riveting tale, and Rafael said I showed great resourcefulness.”

Dar snorted. “Yeah. If you didn’t have that tight-ass Gabriel wound around your wing, you would have been fucked.”

Her mentor had come through, although he’d made it quite clear how disappointed he was both with her report and her insistence on returning. But with Rubeus dead, and Carter Phelps rather confused about the events in question, Gabriel had ruled in her favor.

“Carter is having a tough time of it.” He was. The human was being indicted on various cyber-crime charges and being sued by at least six corporations. But he was alive, and the last time she’d seen him, he had introduced her to a lady friend. Hopefully things would work out for him.

“I don’t give a flying fuck about Carter Phelps.” Dar grabbed her hand and moved it from his thigh to between his legs. “I’ve missed you, Asta. You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed you, and I don’t just mean sex. But I have missed sex with you, too. How about we go roll around the clothes in your gigantic closet, and I’ll show you how much I’ve missed you.”

By all of Creation, she loved this demon. And even though he hadn’t said the words, she could see by the gleam in his eyes that he loved her right back. No matter. She’d get the words out of him.

With a gentle squeeze of her hand, she had him.

“Damn.” Dar groaned, standing and pulling her to her feet. “Let’s go now before I shoot a load in my pants.”

“Lovely.” She laughed. “Your pillow talk could use some work there, big boy.”

He pulled her against him, kissing her deep while his hands dug through her curls. Breaking the kiss, his silver-gray eyes met hers. “I love you, Asta. I love you, and you’re mine. How’s that for pillow talk?”

She stared at him, drinking him in. Her very soul sang at the thought of her future with him. “Better. Although you’ll need to repeat it several times per day.”

His hand caressed her cheek as his lips reached for hers. “Deal.”

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Marked by Temptation

Deanna Chase

Mati Ballintine is a sex witch looking for a hot one-night stand to bolster her power, and sexy Vaughn Paxton is cocky enough to make her work for it. But when their one night turns into more than they bargained for, one life is changed, another threatened, and suddenly there’s a whole lot more than lust at stake.

Chapter 1

Matisse

“I think your sex-witch pheromones are broken.” Ashley smirked and took a long sip of her hurricane.

Glancing over her shoulder at Mr. Tall, Dark, and Holy-Shit-He’s-Hot, I frowned. Had I gone too long between one-night stands? As a sex witch, I could usually have the pick of a club without even trying. All I had to do was put the intention out there, and the next thing I knew, I’d have him eating out of the palm of my hand. This one, though? He hadn’t even looked twice.

“Mati?” Ashley waved her hand in front of my face. “I don’t think staring is helping.”

I blinked and then met her pale green eyes. “Do you think he’s a witch?” That would explain it. He could have cast a protection spell of some sort that would make him immune to my magic.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. There’s no magical signature, but I wouldn’t say he’s mundane either.”

I gave her a confused look. “What does that mean? Is he an angel or intuitive or something?”

Ashley was a witch of a different sort. She couldn’t cast spells. Her talent was in reading those with supernatural abilities. Not only could she sense a witch, but she could tell what kind of witch a person was or if they were an angel or psychic, et cetera.

“I’m not sure. I’ve never encountered his energy before.” Her brows pinched as she concentrated. “It’s so odd. Not a witch or an angel. Definitely not a demon.”

I let out a small sigh of relief. That was a very good thing. Demons were nasty business. If he was a demon, I’d be obligated to send him back to Hell, and that would seriously ruin my plans for the evening. “So an intuitive then?”

She shrugged. “Probably, though I don’t know what kind. So be careful once you decide you’re done waiting for him to come to you.”

“You know me too well.” I grinned and tilted my beer bottle up, taking a swig of my Abita Purple Haze.

“If you’re lucky, he won’t know what hit him.”

I laughed. “He’s the one who’s gonna get lucky.”

She rolled her eyes. “Right. Like you don’t enjoy yourself at all.”

“Well…” I shifted my skirt so the slit landed in the middle of my thigh. If I needed to have sex to build up my powers, I sure as hell was going to enjoy it. I mean, right? How else was I supposed to deal with that?

Still, trolling for one-night stands in a bar sometimes meant ending up with under performers. There was nothing more disappointing than unwrapping the hottest guy in the place, only to find out he was a dud. Especially when I had spells to cast.

“What’s the latest mission?” Ashley asked. Her careful, nonchalant question was so calculated I couldn’t help but hide a giggle. Poor thing. She was dying to be more useful to the Witches’ Council, but she’d never be more than an administrator. Her powers just weren’t there.

“Special project for my sister.”

“Oh.” Ashley stared at me with interest but didn’t ask any more questions. My sister was the head of the Angel Council. Any work for her was strictly confidential, which was unfortunate, because I could really use someone to talk to about it.

“Yeah.” I downed the last of my beer and slammed the bottle on the table. “Time to get down to business.”

“He’s doomed.” She raised her glass in his direction and saluted him.

Gods, I hoped so. I needed a power fix, and this guy was outshining everyone in the club. Smoothing my long hair back, I gave Ashley a tiny wave and sauntered across the bar. My target wasn’t even watching me, but that didn’t matter. The attitude was more about getting myself ready for the battle.

Just as I was about to make my move, a tiny waif of a blonde slid next to him and wrapped her arm around his waist. She cocked her head, swinging her long ponytail over her shoulder as she gazed up at him. Well, that made things more interesting. Competition had never stopped me before. His lips turned up in a slow seductive smile as he ran his fingers down the back of her exposed neck.

“No date?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “I’m not looking for one either.”

Her lower lip jutted out into a sexy little pout as she said something about him needing the gentle touch of a good woman.

Oh Lord, help me. How desperate can you get? I squeezed between two tall, muscle-bound jocks and cast them each a flirty smile before turning my attention to the bartender.

“Matisse. Ready for that shot? Tequila?” Sally Ann gave me a knowing smile. She’d seen my routine a dozen times before.

“Rum this time.” I was in the mood to mix it up. Casting a glance at Mr. Tall, Dark, and Too-Hot-to-Handle, I said, “New Orleans, Cajun spice.”

She glanced at my future one-night stand and grinned. “Spicy indeed.”

I laughed. Hopefully.

Sally Ann poured two shots, set one in front of me and held the other one over her head. “Time for body shots!”

A cheer went up through the bar. I turned around, holding my shot in front of me, letting them all know I was the prize. It was a well-known bar game that was supposed to be thrust upon unsuspecting patrons—usually bachelorettes—where the dude of the bartender’s choice gets a free shot only if he performs a body shot and wins the approval of the crowd.

They never said no. Too much pressure.

Sally Ann scanned the bar twice, never once making eye contact with the obvious target. On her third pass, she slowed and then stared right at him, holding the shot out. “Do you think you can handle it?”

There was that seductive, confident smile again. “I think I’ve got it covered.”

Sally Ann grinned. “We have a volunteer, folks. Now step back. Give him some space.”

The crowd parted, forming a half circle around him and me. I set my shot on the counter and leaned back, waiting for him to make his move.

He accepted the rum from Sally Ann and placed the shot glass next to mine while he took a long perusal of my bare thigh. Then he gazed at my cleavage before finally meeting my eyes. “Any preference?”

“Any place that’s already accessible,” I replied, lifting my foot and resting my stiletto on the lowest rung of a bar stool so that my skirt inched higher.

That sexy gaze shifted back to my thigh, then my cleavage again.

A shiver of desire ran through my core. Yes. When we finally got to it, this was going to be fun.

The crowd hooted and hollered, calling out their body part of choice. My neck seemed to be popular, but a growing segment was angling for my thigh.

He grinned and nodded to a stool. “Take a seat.”

I did as I was told, and with the way my skirt was positioned, my entire leg was virtually bare once I was settled on the stool.

He held the shot glass up high, letting everyone in the bar see it. Then he leaned down, drizzling a good portion of spiced rum over my thigh. With a wolfish grin, he lowered his mouth and licked every last drop.

Searing heat rippled through me, and I had to fight to keep from moaning right there in the bar. Holy shit. I wanted that mouth everywhere. I clenched my fists to keep from burying my hands in his hair. If I touched him, I might explode on the spot.

More catcalls erupted through the bar.

He stood up and moved in close with one leg between mine. “Still good?”

I nodded, unable to speak. If I did, I was certain I’d demand he take me to the back room right then and there.

Dipping two fingers in his half-empty shot glass, he eyed my neck and then my lips.

There was no way I was letting him kiss me in front of this giant crowd. Nope. Those lips weren’t coming anywhere near mine unless we were alone and getting horizontal. My libido was too far gone for that sort of thing. I turned my head, giving him full access to my neck.

He brought his hand up and ran two rum-soaked fingers from the base of my ear down to my collarbone. When he dipped his head and his hot tongue met my flesh, I couldn’t stop the tremor of desire. And the way his other hand tightened on my hip, I knew he’d felt it. Damn. He had all the power in this little scenario.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. By the time he was done, I was going to be dripping with pure lust. I had to find a way to get the upper hand here.

He held up his not-quite-empty shot glass and asked the crowd, “What shall we do with this?”

They reached new heights of excitement. The roar was so loud not one coherent suggestion was audible.

I took the glass from his outstretched hand and dipped my own fingers in it, then pressed them to his lips. His tongue darted out, and it was a good thing I was sitting, because either my knees would’ve given out or I would’ve thrown myself at him. The promise of what was to come later was almost too much to take.

Whoa. I’d never been so attracted to anyone before. That was really saying something, considering my history. And for once, I didn’t even care about the power boost I was bound to get from the electricity sparking between us. No, what I had going on for this nameless guy was one hundred percent physical. Magic be damned. I wanted to enjoy everything he had to offer. But I couldn’t do that if I seemed like a needy fool.

I pulled my hand away from his mouth and held my own shot glass up in a salute. “A round of applause, please,” I said to the crowd. “He sure knows how to put on a show, wouldn’t you say?”

Sally Ann cheered the loudest and did a fist pump. “Do I know how to pick ’em or what?”

The blonde, who’d been hanging all over Shot Guy, scowled at her. “That was rude. How do you know I’m not his girlfriend?”

“Because, sister, I’ve seen half a dozen of your type hit on him in the last two weeks.” Sally Ann moved in and lowered her voice. “And I was right here when he said he wasn’t interested.”

Shot Guy sent the blonde an annoyed look and then glanced back at me with obvious interest. Good. I definitely had his attention. I moved in so our lips were only inches apart.

His dark eyes clouded with desire as he stared at my mouth. All it would take was one tiny movement in his direction, and his lips would be on mine. I was sure of it. I sucked in a tiny whisper of a breath and said, “Enjoy your night.”

With a satisfied smile, I pulled back and downed my rum in one gulp. Then I swept past him toward the table I’d been sharing with Ashley.

The crowd erupted with applause. Had he been anyone else, I would’ve been sure he was following me. But something told me he hadn’t moved an inch. I caught Ashley’s eye. She gave me a tiny shake of her head. Damn. He was still at the bar.

Time for phase two. Scanning the room, I narrowed in on Brandon, an ex-fling who’d become a good friend, and smiled. Perfect. He was talking with another guy I recognized from our psych class. Psych Guy’s eyes went wide with admiration when I silently took a place beside Brandon and slipped my hand in his. “It’s time to dance.”

He glanced down at me, humor in his clear blue eyes. “You think so? What about Shot Guy? Isn’t he on the menu tonight?”

I smirked. “Forget him. He’s old news. Or are you saying you’d rather sit here with no chance of getting laid?”

Psych Guy swallowed. I knew he thought I’d be taking Brandon home tonight. But after a few minutes of me sending Brandon’s pheromones out into the club, he’d have his pick of the ladies.

Brandon tightened his hand on mine. “Hell no.”

I grinned. I knew I could count on him. And why not? He’d get to go home with anyone he wanted… well, other than me. We were friends only. I didn’t date. One-night stands. That was it. Otherwise my magic was too much for the poor guys to handle. But to be fair, Brandon did handle it better than most. He was a witch, too. Non-practicing, though. He’d said he didn’t want to join a coven while in college. I couldn’t blame him. Who wanted to deal with that crap while trying to get an engineering degree? I wasn’t so lucky. My family made demands on me that kept me tied to my own coven.

Once on the dance floor, I pressed myself to Brandon. “Thanks.”

“Anytime, doll,” he said in my ear and wrapped his arms around me. “But it would be a lot easier if you’d just let me take care of your power needs.”

I snorted. “I bet that would be a real hardship for you.”

“Not in the slightest.” He glanced at the bar and then tilted his head to whisper in my ear. “But looks like tonight I’m gonna be out in the cold. Shot Guy can’t keep his eyes off you.”

Finally. I was starting to think I’d lost my touch. I glanced up at Brandon and smiled. He really would be the perfect boyfriend if I was looking for a nice, stable guy to lean on. Also he was exactly my type when it came to physical looks. He was on the basketball team—tall, fit, and a well-defined upper body.

But he was almost too nice. And I felt like shit when I siphoned his power. It left him physically depleted to the point he’d spend most of the next day sleeping it off like a hangover. It was different with regular guys. It would take them a little longer to recover, but they were at least functional. Brandon’s power was just too seductive. And I liked him too much to use him like that. Being a sex witch wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

“Excuse me,” my future one-night stand said.

I stopped swaying against Brandon. “Yes?”

“My friend here was wondering if she could cut in.”

I glanced around Shot Guy to find the waifish blonde making doe eyes at Brandon. I felt Brandon’s body shake with a suppressed chuckle, and it took all my willpower to not smack him as I stepped back. “Of course.”

Brandon leaned in, gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, and whispered, “Good luck with this one.”

Smiling, I nodded to his new dance partner. “You, too.”

Brandon held out his hand to the blonde, and eyeing each other with mutual interest, the pair disappeared into the crowd. I tilted my head, studying the tall, dark-haired guy standing next to me. “That was kind of you.”

He shrugged. “It was either that or figure out a way to let her down gently.”

“Not your type?”

Meeting my eyes, his lips curled up into that sexy half grin all the hot guys had perfected in high school. “I was hoping for more of a challenge.”

“I see.” I raised an eyebrow in question. “Who’s the lucky girl?”

He chuckled. “You already know the answer to that.” Then he held his hand out, offering it to me.

This guy was trouble waiting to happen. And I couldn’t wait. I slipped my hand into his, and a second later, he tugged me with enough force that I spun into his waiting arms. His hands clutched my hips, holding me against his hard, muscled body.

My breath caught. Was he the one spelling me and not the other way around? He smelled of clean soap and rum. I couldn’t help leaning in closer.

The song shifted to a faster number, but my partner kept our pace slow and sensual, barely swaying together. Everything was starting to heat. I wasn’t going to last if he kept this up. My magic was already skating across my skin, dying for his lips on me again.

It scared me a little. I hadn’t had a one-night stand in over a month. And I’d been working spells with Chessandra almost daily, so I knew I was depleted. But this response was shocking. It was as if I were dying of thirst almost. I had to have something to tide me over until we got down to business.

I moved my hands from his shoulders and curled my fingers into his hair at the base of his neck. He stiffened for a slight moment and then ran one hand up my spine, sending tingles to all my nerve endings.

What the hell was going on with this guy? I made a conscious effort to rein in my sexual energy. He was affecting me entirely too much.

“What’s your name?” he asked in a husky take-me-to-bed tone.

“Matisse,” I said, pleased when my voice didn’t falter. “And you would be?”

He inclined his head and his rich, bourbon-colored eyes met mine with lust lurking in their depths. “The guy who’s going to make you come in about five minutes.”

Chapter 2

Vaughn

The sexy siren froze at my words, and I held back the grin trying desperately to break free. There was no doubt in my mind that if I hauled her to the bathroom, I’d have her screaming my name within minutes. That is if I decided to give it to her. Everything about her was screaming sex, from her long dark locks to her never-ending legs. But those eyes. That’s where her heat was originating. I’d noticed them the moment she’d walked in the club.

My gaze landed on the Ken doll she’d been dancing with. Hell no. The last thing I’d let her do was go home with him. I didn’t see her with Mr. Nice. Not at all. Shari would take care of him. Not that I thought Matisse had any real interest in that other guy. He was just a casualty in the mating ritual we’d started the moment we’d each decided to let the other make the first move.

“What did you just say?” she asked.

I chuckled. “I think you heard me.”

“Presumptuous bastard, aren’t you?” But she said it with a smile in her voice.

This was going to be interesting. “Only when a gorgeous woman picks me for a round of body shots.”

She shrugged, not even trying to deny the game had been rigged. “I’m used to getting what I want.”

There it was again. That undeniable sexual tension radiating from her. It called to me, made me want to drag her off to the nearest hotel room and do unspeakable things until she was gasping in pleasure. My groin tightened. Son of a bitch. My control had all but left the building. “Want to get out of here?”

She raised one of those perfectly arched eyebrows. “Not the bathroom?”

I scanned her body, taking in her jewel-encrusted designer heels, her barely there skirt, and the silky, off-the-shoulder top. She screamed seduction and class. “I get the feeling you’d prefer something a little more upscale than a graffiti-covered stall.”

Her clever fingers curled into my hair once more as she leaned in, her warm breath tickling my ear. “What did you have a mind?”

“I have a place in the Garden District if you’re game.”

She glanced at the dark-haired girl she’d entered the bar with. A silent form of communication passed between them, and I assumed that was girl code for I’m leaving with this guy. If I don’t turn up in the morning, this is who you’re looking for.

There wasn’t anything to worry about. I already knew she was some sort of witch. My stepmom and brother were both witches. I could sense their magic. Only Matisse’s power was stronger than either of theirs. If she wanted to, she could probably spell my ass to Hell and back. But she wouldn’t. She wanted me. No question.

I’d never had trouble attracting the opposite sex. My stepmom speculated I had some sort of magical power that drew women to me. I didn’t know about that, but most nights I went out, I had more than my share of females to choose from. Real hardship, right? Only it wasn’t nearly as satisfying when I didn’t have to put any effort into the chase.

But this girl? She’d made it obvious she was interested and then promptly let me know I wasn’t the only game in town. And even though I knew she wanted me, knew I would have her before the night was over, she wasn’t handing herself over willingly either. If she were, we’d have already been in that bathroom stall.

“Maybe we should grab a coffee first,” she said, tapping a message into her phone. “You know… learn each other’s names before I let you get your hands on my black lace.”

Leave it to her to wear black under her white skirt. “It’s not your lace I’m interested in,” I lied. Nothing sounded sexier than seeing her creamy breasts spilling out of her bra.

“I bet.” She clasped her hand lightly around my fingers and led the way to the front door. I followed all too willingly. When was the last time I’d left a club with a girl for coffee? That was somewhere around never.

Out on the sidewalk, I took the lead through the residential streets that surrounded the university. “My ride is this way.”

Matisse hovered close to me, the cool December air causing gooseflesh to rise on her arms. I wrapped an arm around her and tucked her close to my body. Damn if she didn’t fit perfectly, as if she was made to be plastered to my side. Her hair smelled of berries and cream, making my mouth water with anticipation. If she smelled this good, what the hell would she taste like? I’d find out soon enough.

“This is it.” I stopped next to the 2000 Indian Chief I’d gotten in a trade for a restored vintage model.

“Nice. Love the custom paint.” Matisse eyed the black-and-silver marbled paint job, wrapping her arms around herself to guard against the cold.

I pulled my leather jacket out of the saddlebag and handed it to her. “Here. This should help.”

“Thanks.” She shrugged into the too-large jacket and smiled gratefully. “But I don’t think I can get on that thing with you.”

“Why? Too scared?” I said, with a challenge in my tone.

She laughed. “Not on your life. I’ve been riding since I was ten.”

I sent her a look of admiration, and a ripple of that sexual tension seized me. “Really? And what exactly do you ride?”

“A Harley Sportster. It’s easier to manipulate than your Indian and more reliable than a vintage model.”

Jesus, this girl was sexy. “Then why can’t you get on my bike? Is it the skirt?”

Her dark smoldering eyes met mine as she gave me a haughty smile. “No. I don’t take rides from strangers.”

A ripple of laughter reverberated through my chest. I never had told her my name. I held out a hand. “It’s Vaughn. Vaughn Paxton.”

She slipped her smooth hand into mine. “It’s nice to meet you, Vaughn.”

“Likewise, Matisse…”

“Call me Mati.” Her smile vanished as she bit her lower lip.

“Something wrong?” I asked, not letting go of her hand.

“Oh no.” Her sexy smile was back. “Nothing at all. Now, how about that coffee?”

At this point, I’d take this girl just about anywhere she wanted to go. The thought made me shift with unease. I’d gone from wanting a quick interlude in the club’s bathroom to taking her back to my place for a much longer night of passion to settling for just about anything she was willing to give. I shook my head, trying to dislodge the thoughts. Whatever was going on wasn’t normal.

“You okay?” she asked with an air of innocence that I wasn’t buying.

“Yeah. Just clearing my head.” I climbed on my bike. “Ready?”

She eyed me and my prized Indian. Then she nodded once, hitched up her skirt, and swung her exposed leg over the seat before settling in behind me. The fact that her bare thighs were clasped around me made me instantly hard. If I didn’t get her back to my apartment soon, I was going to lose it and take her right there on the bike.

I pulled my helmet on and handed her my extra. After both were secured, I fired the bike to life and roared away from the curb, reveling in the way her lean body was pressed to my back. Usually I preferred to ride alone as most of the girls clung to me, rigid and scared, when I leaned into turns or zipped between traffic. But not this girl. She kept a light grip, leaned into the turns with me, and whooped after I zigzagged past a line of cars stopped behind a broken-down SUV.

By the time I pulled up to my place, she was laughing and her hot breath on my neck was causing my blood to boil with intense need. Jesus. What happened to my self-control?

I turned my upper body and craned my neck, catching her lips in a scalding kiss. Her hot tongue caressed mine in a slow, sensual exploration. The underlying need was there, but she was holding back, enjoying the moment for all it was worth. I stifled a groan and pulled away. “Inside,” I ordered.

She raised both eyebrows in curious amusement, then slid slowly off the back seat. “I thought we were going for coffee.”

“There’s coffee inside.”

“What exactly do you think is going to happen once you have me all to yourself?”

I grabbed her hand and tugged her up the six steps to my front porch. I lived on the ground floor of an old Victorian that had been turned into a four-plex. At least I did for right now. In my line of work, it didn’t pay to hang around any place for too long. Being a bounty hunter means I’m often a target for revenge. Especially when I’m usually asked to track down those with paranormal abilities. I’d had to move five times in the last two years.

When we were standing in front of my door, I yanked her to me and buried my hands in her dark hair. Kissing her roughly, I forced my tongue between her lips and devoured her until she gasped.

I’d claim every inch of her before the night was over.

She tensed, her hands digging into my biceps. But as I backed her up against the door and pressed my body to hers, she molded to me, her arms wrapping around me and tightening as she moaned with pleasure.

Yes. I could stand right there for hours, making her mine without ever taking a piece of clothing off her. But then her breath grew short and she pulled away, whispering, “Take me inside.”

“In a moment.” With her lips swollen and her eyes glazed with lust, I grasped her hips and jerked her forward, letting her experience my hard length. “Tell me how this makes you feel.”

She didn’t hesitate. There was no careful consideration of thought. Just pure unfiltered passion. “Like I want to wrap my lips around you and taste every inch of you.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

I crushed my lips to her once more and then yanked away to jam my key in the lock. Once I had it open, I pulled her to me once more. Staring her in the eye, I walked backward through the threshold, never easing my hold. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” My voice was low, husky with promise. Or was that a threat?

She laughed and ran a red fingernail along my jawline. “Are you?”

Kicking the door shut, I spun us both around and pressed her against the wall.

Her smile never faltered. That confidence was so damn sexy. So alluring. Almost as if she believed she’d orchestrated this scenario. Hell, maybe she had. She’d been the one to make the first move after all. Well, if she started it, I was damn sure going to finish it.

With steady hands, I pushed my jacket off her bare shoulders. She leaned back, letting it fall to the floor. Lust hit me hard as I took her lower lip in mine and sucked gently until her eyes fluttered closed on a moan. Then with a willpower I didn’t know I possessed, I stepped back, leaving her breathless against the wall. My gaze started at her sparkling red toenails, traveled up her exposed thigh, and then over her long neck and those intense eyes.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked quietly.

“For you. I want you to strip.”

Chapter 3

Matisse

Amusement skated through me. This guy was perfect. Exactly what I wanted in a sex partner. Forceful, take charge, an alpha that had the control none of my previous partners could maintain. Not when my sex-witch pheromones were in full force like they were right now. I was depleted enough that I couldn’t rein them in. I needed this release more than he could know. And not just because I had a spell to work tomorrow.

I wanted him. Wanted him more than I could remember wanting anyone ever. It was as if he had his own magic affecting me in some way. I didn’t think so. At least I couldn’t feel it. But if he did, all the better. I couldn’t wait to get him naked.

Taking a step away from the wall, I slipped my heels off and stood barefoot on his perfectly polished hardwood floors. And then in slow motion, I carefully lowered the zipper on the side of my skirt. Holding the fabric together, I met his eyes. His long dark lashes lowered as his gaze narrowed in on my hands, anxiously waiting for me to drop the sleek skirt.

If I was going to strip, he was going to have to work for it. “Look at me,” I ordered.

His gaze didn’t waver, but after a long moment he glanced up. Raising one eyebrow, he pierced me with that look of dominance he embodied so perfectly. “What’s the point in stripping if you don’t want me to watch?”

My lips curled into a small smile. “I wanted to see that steely control you’ve got going on. It’s…” I swallowed. “Hotter than you can imagine.”

“Babe.” He focused on my hands once more. “I’ve got plenty of control. What I don’t have is patience.” His hand clenched at his side. “Now, let’s see that black lace.”

His voice was firm, but also full of quiet seduction. The will to continue the power struggle fled. My hands relaxed and my soft white skirt fell silently to the floor.

Vaughn’s dark eyes flashed with molten fire. Then he held his hand out to me. I took it and stepped out of the circle my skirt formed at my feet.

“Gorgeous,” he said, and slipped one finger under the edge of my panties, teasing the sensitive flesh on my hip.

I was certain he was going to yank them down right there in his entryway. The hungry expression on his face said he wanted to. Instead, he pressed the other hand to my hip and glided it slowly up my side, bringing my silk shirt with it.

“So soft,” he murmured and leaned in, trailing kisses over my bare shoulder until he reached my neck. A shiver tore through me at his light, spine-tingling touch. My body was alive with fire. I wanted him everywhere all at once. Instead, his gentle fingers were driving me insane. But I didn’t dare demand more. Oh no. This was a delicious torture that I’d never experienced before. I’d stand there and let him explore my skin all night if he wanted to.

His other hand abandoned my hip and glided up my stomach until he was cupping my breast.

I sucked in a breath, wanting his mouth on mine. But he bit down on my neck, sending a ripple of pleasure-filled pain right to my center. I swayed and arched into his mouth.

“Yes,” he breathed and lightly pinched my nipple through the fabric of my bra with his thumb and index finger.

Oh, Goddess. For a sex witch, I was ridiculously inexperienced in foreplay. Especially foreplay by a man who knew what he was doing. He squeezed my nipple tighter. I gasped as I tugged on his tight black T-shirt and splayed my hands over his rippled stomach. His muscles quivered beneath my touch as he once again bit down on my neck, hard, while his glorious fingers teased my other nipple relentlessly.

Intense fire shot from his bite, heating my insides to almost unbearable levels, making me claw at his chest, digging my nails into his rock hard pecs.

He hissed. “Fuck, Matisse.” Then he caught my mouth in his and thrust his tongue over mine as he pulled my top up, lifting my arms as he went. We broke apart just long enough for the shirt to be freed.

Once it was gone, I pressed up on my tiptoes and clasped my hands against his face, meeting his lips in a slow, drawn-out kiss that was full of possession. I wanted to brand him. Mark him with my magic. Make him mine in every way possible. I could do it. It was a power I possessed. But that would make him no better than a sex slave, doomed to be at my beck and call for eternity. The spell was not looked upon kindly by any of the modern covens. Still, the desire to do it was there. Strong and pulsing beneath my breastbone.

The thought scared me. What an awful thing to do to someone. It was bad enough my witch pheromones could attract just about anyone I wanted. But to bind someone to me? It was unthinkable.

I pulled back, standing before him in the black lace I’d promised.

“What’s wrong?” His gaze never slipped from mine. I admired him for it. If he’d been almost naked in front of me, I doubted I’d have had the control to not ogle him in appreciation. “Too much, too fast?”

I shook my head and wanted to laugh. If he only knew. Usually I was straddling my partner by now, well on my way to climax. “No. I just…” I took a good look at his flushed face and the hard outline of his arousal through his tight jeans. “Just wanted to savor the moment for a second.”

His lips twitched and he crooked one finger at me. “Come.”

I grinned. “I’m sure I will, just as soon as you’re ready to take me there.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Get your ass over here.”

One step. Two. A few more and I stood before him, my hands resting lightly on his waist. “This needs to go.” I tugged at his T-shirt. “I want to see what’s under here.”

Without a word, he raised his arms over his head.

I willed myself to not tear the shirt off and inched it up, letting my fingers graze his ribs. When the fabric bunched at his neck, he reached down and tugged it off over his head. He stood there, waiting for me to make the next move. “Tell me what you want,” I said.

The storm was back in his eyes, and I suddenly had an image of me on all fours as he slammed into me from behind. My mouth went dry as another part of me instantly became wet. I was going to climb right out of my skin if he didn’t touch me soon.

“Take your bra off,” he said.

My fingers trembled as I reached behind my back and undid the hooks. The fabric sprang forward as I hunched my shoulders, letting the bra slip to the floor.

“Cup your breasts, feel the weight of them in your hands.” His lust-filled tone was more of a command than any order he could’ve given me. It was the first time I’d been in a position to be the submissive in any seduction. And damn if I wasn’t enjoying it. I did as I was told and closed my eyes as I rubbed both thumbs over my taut nipples.

“That’s it, Mati girl.” His tone went soft, full of affection and praise. “Touch yourself for me.”

My lips parted as I stared at his bare chest and longed to mark him with my tongue.

“Now, pull those panties down. Let me see all of you.”

My eyes snapped to his.

“You heard me. Do it now. Let me see that soft mound.”

I couldn’t believe I was standing there taking orders from someone I just met. Getting ready to bare myself to him while he stood there in his jeans and boots. But then, it wasn’t as if I was helpless. I was a sex witch. Still, exposing myself was just as personal to me as the next girl. But the way he was watching and the fact that I could see him straining against his jeans had me slipping my panties down my thighs and letting them drop to my feet.

He stayed still and silent as he took in my bare flesh, marking me with those eyes. His fingers twitched, and I knew he was on the verge of losing control. I longed for that moment. Needed to see this man, who had so much sexual power over me, succumb to my touch.

“Do you want me to touch myself again?” I asked, inching my fingers down over my flat stomach.

“No,” he all but growled. “I’ll do the touching.” Then he kicked his boots off as one hand worked the fly of his jeans.

“Let me.” I reached out and tugged his zipper down, deliberately running my knuckles over the outline of his shaft.

He sucked in a shallow breath and reached out, caressing my cheek gently. The juxtaposition of the demanding lover with the gentle one only made me want him more. Holy hell. How was I ever going to make it through this?

His boxer briefs came down with his jeans and finally we were both bared to each other. I couldn’t help but stare. He was beautiful in every way. Tall and lean, with a well-defined chest and muscular legs. I wanted to touch him everywhere.

He held out a hand. “This way.”

I put my hand in his and ran my other down his arm as he guided me through a sparsely furnished living room and into his bedroom.

He stopped at the foot of the bed, running his hand through my hair. And when he kissed me, he pressed against me, his erection bobbing against my stomach. Everything quivered. Had I ever experienced this level of excitement before? No, not until right before I climaxed and my power was rushing through me. Is this how it was for normal people? If so, no wonder there were sex addicts. Much better than drugs or food. In that moment, I thought I could sustain myself just off his touch.

With one last nip of my lip, he pulled away and pointed to the bed. “Lie down.”

The roughness in his voice only served to ratchet up my excitement. I did as I was told and waited for his next command.

He stood over me, raking that gaze down my body. He was beautiful. And I knew I’d do just about anything he asked as long as there was a promise of release by his touch. “Spread your legs for me.”

Heat crawled over my face. Bashfulness was a first for me. Even though I was only in my early twenties, I’d had more than my share of partners. It was a given with my heritage. In order to grow my power, I had to feed off of sex. But I’d never let anyone be in charge before, and I sure as hell hadn’t ever let anyone speak to me like that. If anything, it was the other way around. I usually called the shots. But that night, I willingly spread my legs for this stranger.

And when he climbed on the bed, positioning himself so his head was level with my sex, it was all I could do to not demand he put his mouth on me. But no demand was necessary. Just when I thought I was going to go crazy with wild need, he dipped his head and his tongue darted out, tasting me with such delicious, slow intensity my muscles clenched and power built deep in my core, sparking through me like a lightning rod.

Every nerve was alive and sensitive as his tongue worked his magic. I clutched at the soft covers, holding in the scream struggling to break free. Not yet. I couldn’t come right then. I needed the magic to intensify, to build, to fill all my reserves. But when his fingers slipped along my inner thigh and teased at my opening, all rational thought left my head. Power be damned. All I wanted was him.

Chapter 4

Vaughn

I’d never been this hard in my life. With each moan and whimper I coaxed from Matisse, the more I wanted to be inside her, owning her, claiming her as mine. But I held back, denying the temptation. I couldn’t let this woman have that much control over me.

Hell-bent on bringing her pleasure, I redoubled my efforts, and although she clearly was enjoying it, she appeared to be holding back. With each new stroke of my fingers and tongue that made her quiver in ecstasy, she shifted slightly to ease the friction. Why? She was a live wire more than ready to go off. And damned if I wasn’t going to make it happen. Now.

Placing both hands firmly on her hips, I held her still, devouring her until her cries filled my ears and her body pulsed and trembled beneath my mouth. I glanced up, catching the utter rapture claiming her features. A faint glow materialized around her and the air shifted. It took me a moment to realize it was her power.

Sex witch.

Jesus. I was an idiot. No wonder she was so fucking alluring. It would also explain her confidence. But not her willingness to let me take control. Sex witches thrived on power. And control was a form of power. The fact that she’d yielded to me was mind-blowing. And fucking hot. It made me want her all the more.

“Vaughn?” she whispered.

I kissed my way up her hip and over her creamy stomach, stopping to concentrate on her right breast. Flicking my tongue over her nipple, I gazed up into her heavy-lidded eyes.

“That was…” Her back arched, pressing her breast deeper into my mouth as she moaned her approval. I didn’t need her to tell me what the experience was like. I’d been right there with her, felt her struggle to maintain control, and felt her release when she’d finally been forced over the edge. And now she was pliant and more than willing to take everything I had to give. It was mind-blowing.

“Vaughn,” she said again, more forcefully this time.

I smiled a wolfish grin and lifted my head, bringing my lips inches from hers. “Yes, Matisse?”

Her dark eyes flashed with mild irritation. Then she buried her hand in my hair and forced my head down as she kissed me with all the passion she’d tried to hold back earlier. I gave myself over to her, knowing she needed to call the shots in order to claim her power. I could do that for her. Was more than happy to.

She broke the kiss off but didn’t release me. For a long, tension-filled moment, we stared at each other. Finally she licked her lips. “No more orders?”

I shook my head. “It’s your turn to do as you will.”

Those expressive eyes narrowed slightly. Then she placed both hands on my shoulders, and with sudden force, she pushed me over onto my back and rolled with me, pressing her breasts into my chest. She reached between us and ran her hand along my shaft. “I want you inside me.”

My groin tightened as I gripped her thigh. “I’m ready for you, baby.”

Her fingers closed around me. “So it seems.”

I forced myself to let go of her hip and reached to the nightstand for a condom. “Here.”

Her eyes gleamed with anticipation as she protected both of us. And then she was sinking her heat onto me, her lithe body shuddering with the pleasure it brought. When I was buried all the way in, she paused as she tilted her head back, reveling in the sensation. Every inch of her was smooth and perfect: her full breasts, her slim hips, her silky skin. I could’ve spent the entire night just exploring the wonders of her body.

But then she started to move. The delicious friction made me want to flip her onto her back and grind into her with rough force. I denied myself though. The torture of letting her set the pace only drove my need higher. I rested my hands on her hips and teased my thumb down as I watched myself sliding in and out of her.

So damned sexy. I couldn’t stop the quick thrust of my hips, meeting her slow, excruciating pace.

“Oh, Goddess,” she moaned and moved faster. Then that glow started again. Just a soft outline over her skin.

“Holy shit, Matisse.” I couldn’t wait any longer. The power that was building inside her, I felt it too. It was a hurricane of sensation that set my nerve endings on fire. I dug my fingers into her hip trying desperately to hold her to me as I finally slicked my thumb over her clit.

She gasped and stared at me wide-eyed. The glow around her intensified, and I was completely lost. I jerked my hips up, slamming into her over and over again. Her cries grew louder and wilder with each thrust. And just when I thought I couldn’t last another moment, her muscles clenched and pulsed around me as her body went rigid. She moaned and ground against me one last time, holding me to her. Ripple after ripple of orgasm slammed through her until the light around her turned a brilliant white.

My entire body shook with tension as I let her ride it out. And just as she started to relax, I thrust up again, pulling a cry from her slightly parted lips. “Again,” she whispered on a moan.

Another thrust. She let out a second moan, her head thrown back as she moved her hips in tiny circles. It was too fucking much. In one swift movement, I had her on her back, her legs wrapped tightly around my hips. I quickened the pace, slamming into her, making her cry out with each hard thrust. And then it happened. Her magic pulsed over my skin and seized me, touching me deep inside. Her entire body wrapped around mine, and I buried myself deep inside her one last time as a firebolt seared through me. I shuddered against her, losing myself completely in the release.

It took a while to come back to myself. I was lying on my back with Matisse’s head resting on my chest. Her fingers were tracing a small circle over my abs. “Hey,” I said softly.

She tilted her head up and smiled. “Hey, yourself.”

I wanted to tell her how incredible she was. The words were right there on the tip of my tongue, but before I could say anything she rolled off, pulling one of the blankets with her. I watched her as she slipped into the bathroom. The sound of water rushing through the old pipes filled the room as I waited for her to return. I glanced at the clock. Two twenty-three a.m. Considering that I’d spent the day tracking the whereabouts of a sleezeball human who’d been selling spelled cookies to unsuspecting co-eds in an effort to get laid, and then climbed into bed with Matisse, I should’ve been exhausted. But I wasn’t. I was wide awake and all too happy to contemplate round two.

The door swung open. Matisse reappeared, her face freshly washed and her hair brushed back. Her relaxed posture and small, satisfied smile pleased me. I’d do whatever it took to put that look on her face again. She bypassed the bed and moved toward the front of my house.

I narrowed my eyes. “Going somewhere?”

She raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. “Home?”

“What’s the hurry?” I sat up, letting the sheet fall to my lap, ready to drag her back to the bed if I had to.

Her smile was back as she walked toward me. Reaching out, she pressed her hand to the side of my face and then trailed her fingers down the side of my neck. The gesture was gentle, almost romantic, and sent another ripple of lust through me. She could touch me anywhere she wanted and I’d be ready to take her in seconds. “I’ve got class in the morning.”

Dammit. College girl. And she sure as hell wasn’t the type to do the walk of shame. I slipped off the bed and pulled on a pair of pants I’d discarded the day before. “Gotcha.”

I followed her into the entry hall where all her clothes were scattered. I expected her to be a bit shy putting her clothes on after the fact, but she wasn’t. The blanket fell to the floor, leaving her entirely exposed. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was mesmerizing with her quiet self-confidence, so different from the hard-edged seductress she’d been at the bar. Even more alluring than before.

“If you keep watching me like that, I doubt I’ll make it home tonight,” she said as she clasped her bra back in place.

“Is that a challenge? Or a request?” I moved in, nudging her chin up with my knuckle, and before she could answer, I claimed her mouth once again. The kiss was slow and full of promise. The passion sparking between us hadn’t diminished one tiny bit. Blood rushed to my groin, making me hard once again.

She chuckled and gently pushed me away. “I really have to go.”

I let my gaze rake down her body, pausing to appreciate her ample cleavage. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” Her answer was so final as she zipped her skirt up there was no use trying to convince her otherwise. I pulled my T-shirt on and was stuffing my feet in my boots when she ran a light hand down my arm. “Thank you for the nice night, but there’s no need to take me back to the club. My friend is here to pick me up.”

I glanced out the window to see a small white car idling at the curb. What the hell? She hadn’t had a phone on her when she’d gone into the bathroom. “How did she know where to find you?”

“I used your phone. It was on the bathroom counter.” She leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Have a good night.”

She pulled the door open, but before she could stride out, I caught her wrist. “You’re leaving? Just like that?”

She frowned. “What do you mean, just like that?”

This wasn’t a place I’d been in before. I wanted this girl’s number. Wanted to see her again. Hell, what I really wanted to do was take her to bed again as soon as possible. But I liked that she challenged me, too. It was a thrilling combination. “I’ve only got your first name. How am I going to get in touch with you?”

Her lips turned up in that confident smile again. “You’ll find a way.”

This time when she walked away, I let her. She was right though. I damned well would find her again. And sooner rather than later.

Chapter 5

Matisse

Ashley sped away from the curb without saying a word. I knew she was waiting for me to give her a rundown of my night like I always did, but I couldn’t seem to find the words. Not this time. Vaughn had been something different. More. And yet, even though my power had reached new heights when I’d been straddling him, once we’d finished, my magic seemed almost fragile. Like it would slip away at any moment. On any other night, I’d be brimming with fresh energy, ready to cast any spell Chessandra wanted me to. Had I been that depleted? Something was off there, and I wasn’t sure what it was.

But sexually? Whoa. There was nothing wrong there. None of my past conquests could compete. Not even close. Like not even in the same state, let alone the same zip code. I couldn’t believe I didn’t give him my number. Maybe it was self-preservation. Because I could’ve easily stayed there in his bed for the next week, except I really did have class in the morning and an appointment with Chessandra to work on her special spell. The last thing I needed was a distraction. Especially one I knew I’d drop everything for. ’Cause, whew. If he knew how much I still wanted him…

I shook my head. No sense in thinking about that now. I’d made the decision to leave it at an incredible one-night stand. If we managed to run into each other again, that would be one thing, but I didn’t do relationships. Not when I used people for sex. It was wrong. Necessary for me, but wrong nonetheless. It seemed okay and bearable only when the person I was with was using me, too.

“Well?” Ashley prompted when it became clear I wasn’t talking. “How was it?”

“Good.” I stared out the window.

“Good?” She scoffed. “It’s getting close to three a.m. What the hell did you two do all night? Bake cookies?”

I couldn’t help the snort of laughter. “Definitely not.”

“So it was better than good then?”

She wasn’t going to let this go. I had to give her something. “If I were a dating person, I definitely would’ve given him my number.”

The car swerved slightly to the right, but Ashley quickly recovered and straightened the car. “Did you just say what I think you did?”

I gave her a rueful smile. “Yes. Definitely second date… er, second hookup material.”

“Remind me to write this down.” She took a left onto the on-ramp of the Crescent City Connection Bridge. “I do believe history has been made.”

I smiled even though I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. It had taken a great deal of will to leave Vaughn so soon after our joining. And then to walk out when he’d all but asked for my number… It was hard. But what was I to do? None of the females in my family maintained steady healthy relationships with the opposite sex. My mom couldn’t even give me the name of my father. She hadn’t asked nor had she ever seen him again. It was the life of a sex witch. It sucked.

When Ashley finally pulled up to our place in Coven Pointe, I placed a hand on her arm, keeping her in the car for a moment. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“It’s no problem. I was just hanging out with Brandon’s friend. Nothing exciting to report.” She frowned. “But I don’t get why you didn’t just shadow walk.”

“I was conserving my energy.” In addition to being a sex witch, I also worked for the Angel Council as a shadow walker. If I concentrated, I could slip into the shadow world at a certain point and slip out at another using only my mind.

Being a shadow walker also meant I could cross between our world and the one where spirits walked. It was the same world demons had to pass through to get in and out of Hell. Since my sister was the head angel in charge, fighting demons was her main concern. Having someone she could count on who could slip through the worlds was very important to her. I wasn’t that crazy about working with her. Dealing with the shadow world and possibly demons wasn’t exactly on my to-do list. But it meant my mom left me alone and wasn’t asking me to do much with the Coven these days.

And since I was in college, that was a good thing.

“Conserve?” Ashley gave me her you’ve-lost-your-mind look. “Aren’t you brimming with power right now?”

I shrugged. “It’s a big day tomorrow.” I was working with Chessandra, and that meant I’d need my strength. If I had any. I was feeling pretty light-headed at the moment.

Ashley frowned and then yawned. “Well, whatever. Can we go in now?”

“Sure.” I slipped out of her Honda and followed her into the entry of our Victorian four-plex. We both lived on the top floor. Me on the left and her on the right.

“Need a ride to school tomorrow?” she asked.

“No thanks. My bike is back from the shop.” I gestured to the gated driveway. “Brandon took me to get it earlier today.”

She rubbed her tired eyes and nodded. “Okay. See you tomorrow night then.” She disappeared into her apartment while I was still fishing my key out of my pocket. Only it wasn’t there. Shit! It was probably on Vaughn’s tiled entryway somewhere. Well, there was nothing else to do but break in.

I placed my hand flat over the deadbolt and called my power. It was there, brewing beneath the surface, but it flickered with instability. Damn. After my night, I shouldn’t even have had to think about the spell. What was wrong? I had been working very hard with Chessandra. Maybe I should’ve given Vaughn my number. I was going to need another fix in no time. At least I had an excuse to go back to his house thanks to that missing key.

After a few moments, my power warmed my hand and I visualized the lock turning. I heard the soft click and strode into my apartment, exhausted. If I fell asleep right then, I’d be lucky to get four hours before my alarm went off. Mornings weren’t my thing, so I took a quick shower and fifteen minutes later crawled into bed.

I’d missed class. Damned snooze button. It was early afternoon, and I stood on the bank of the river on the Coven Pointe side, waiting for Chessandra to show up. It was cold and the wind blew off the Mississippi as I gazed at the French Quarter, resenting my sister more than she would ever know. Where the heck was she?

The whole point of working for Chessa was so that I would have more time to devote to my studies. But so far I’d had less time, or at the very least, less energy. Chessa was obsessed with this new spell we’d been working on. If we didn’t get it today, I was going to have to take a break from her. I had too much work to do.

I was a double major in business and fine art. I planned to run a store devoted to my two loves: witchcraft and art. I’m not much of an artist myself, but I’m fascinated with all the creativity New Orleans breeds. I had visions of selling any creation that paid tribute to witchcraft and witches of all kinds.

My mom hated the idea. She’d prefer I not go to college at all and work in her spell shop. No thanks. I’m not too excited about whipping up love potions and luck charms and then having to replenish my magic with random one-night stands on a regular basis. Not that there was anything wrong with that, it just wasn’t my thing.

I pulled my jacket around me and swore. “Damn, Chessa. I can’t wait all day.” I had a test later for my accounting class. If I missed it, I’d end up on academic probation. And then Mom would most likely refuse to pay my tuition for next semester.

“Get over yourself. I’m right here.” Chessa materialized out of the gray mist and walked over to me, smiling as if I should find her amusing.

I scowled. “You’re late. Again.”

One of her perfectly groomed eyebrows rose as her chestnut hair blew in the breeze. “Cranky? I thought you were going out last night.”

My scowl deepened. “Ugh. You’re so rude.” Usually I was relaxed and easygoing after recharging my batteries, so to speak.

“Did it not go well?” There was real concern in her tone.

I waved a hand, dismissing her question. “It went fine. But I have a test later. Can we get to work?” I knew I sounded irritated, but I couldn’t help it. All I really wanted was to live the life of a regular college girl. But that would mean forsaking my coven and my family. I wasn’t prepared to do that.

“Mati?” Chessa asked. “You seem out of sorts. Want to talk about it?”

I blew out a breath, hating that I was taking out my frustration on her. She was the head of the freaking Angel Council, for Goddess’s sake. The fact that she was taking time out to work with me one-on-one instead of sending a minion was a true testament to how much she cared about me and what we were trying to do. I pushed my frustration aside and softened my voice. “Maybe later. Sorry. I don’t mean to be such a bitch.”

She nodded. “Obligations suck. I get it.”

A low chuckle bubbled up, catching me by surprise. Chessa would know. She was fifteen years older than me, making her only thirty-six. At the age of eighteen she’d been pressed into service as a low-level angel here in our world. Angels didn’t have a choice. They were born into witch families and were so rare that they worked for the Council or were shunned by the magical community. She’d handled that well enough, but then two years ago, she’d battled a demon and somehow in the fight ended up absorbing the demon’s powers. The experience had made her the most powerful angel in the angel realm. Now she was forced to be the high angel whether she wanted to or not. Yes, she knew all about obligations.

“I assume that means you’re ready to get started?” She grinned, knowing that was the last thing I wanted to do.

“Yes. The sooner we do our thing, the sooner I can stare at Professor Fallon’s bald spot.”

She reached out and took my hand. A second later, we were standing in the shadow world next to the entrance to Hell.

Now it was time to really see what kind of power I’d gained from Vaughn. I’d been feeling a little off all day, so I didn’t have high hopes. But there was no reason not to try. Except for that pesky problem of potentially attracting a demon. Chessa would kick its ass though. I swallowed my fear and concentrated on the spell Chessa had taught me.

Magic stirred from deep in my gut. It was strong and almost foreign, but powerful. More powerful than I’d thought it would be. Relief flooded through me. My night with Vaughn had replenished my magic even if it did feel a little weird. It didn’t matter. The power was there, and that was what I needed.

Chessa stood beside me, vibrating with her own intense power. If she weren’t an angel, she’d have had this spell completed weeks ago. Unfortunately, angels were too closely connected to demons to be able to modify any of their spells. Demons were, after all, fallen angels. Of course if she weren’t an angel, she never would’ve learned the spell in the first place. And it wasn’t one she could teach to just anyone. It could be used to open portals as well, if the witch was powerful enough. It was far too dangerous.

I raised my arms and focused on the shimmering outline of the portal. Spells were mostly about intention. But some required special sayings or chants. This was one of them. “Obfirmave.” The light flickered.

“More power,” Chessa demanded.

I closed my eyes and focused, imagining my magic sealing the portal shut.

“It’s working,” Chessa said softly. Then she started to chant a string of words in Latin. I joined in, having no idea what she was saying. It seemed she’d developed an ear for it after her run-in with the demon.

The more the light faded, the faster her words came. I struggled to keep up and to control my magic at the same time. It kept slipping from my psychic hold. Before long, I was sweating with the effort. My hold on the magic slipped. The light brightened and the demon magic rushed back at me, fighting with the power I was forcing into the portal. Pain rippled through me from the tug-of-war in my gut that threatened to rip me apart. Desperately, I reeled my magic in, unwilling to let the spell destroy me.

Then something snapped.

“No!” I cried as an invisible force slammed into me. My concentration fled, and I fell to my knees, clutching my stomach.

“Mati!” Chessa cried and kneeled beside me. “What happened?”

“It ah…” I sucked in a breath and forced out, “I think it fought back.”

Her head snapped up as the portal flashed brilliant white and a shadow formed behind the barrier. “Son of a demon’s whore,” she cried as she jumped to her feet and glanced at me. “Stay back.”

I scrambled to my knees and crawled away from the portal. There was only one thing behind that door. A demon. And it was coming for me.

Chapter 6

Vaughn

After Matisse left, I lay in my bed, breathing in the faint scent of her perfume, unable to find sleep. I could still feel the imprint of her body next to mine, and the sensation left me restless. The loss was wholly unfamiliar and very unwelcome.

When the clock ticked over to six a.m., I finally gave up and rolled out of bed. Thirty minutes later, I was showered, dressed in fresh jeans and a Henley shirt, and on my way to the garage. No one else would be there, but that was part of the appeal. Tinkering with the bikes would push the sexy witch from my mind. Damn. I hoped so anyway, because otherwise I’d be compelled to put a trace on her, and if that wasn’t crossing the line into creepy stalker, I didn’t know what was.

I parked my Indian in the shop’s lot and walked the four blocks to the neighborhood coffee shop. The moment I stepped through the door, I swallowed a groan. That chick, what’s her name? Norma? Norah? I wasn’t sure, but she was standing behind the counter and when she saw me, a huge grin broke out on her makeup-caked face. From across the room, she appeared almost decent, but up close it was impossible to not notice the chipped tooth she hadn’t ever gotten fixed and the too-tight clothes that showed every last flaw of her figure. What did she do, shop in the toddler section? I was so not in the mood for her today.

“Vaughn. Hey, gorgeous.” She flashed me what she obviously thought was her flirty smile, but it came off as more of a sneer. “You’re in early today. No action last night?”

I gave her a tight smile. “Lots of work to get done today. Large double espresso latte, please, and a coffee cake.” I tossed a few bills on the counter and said, “Stash the rest in the tip jar.”

“You’re simply the sweetest,” she gushed. “I bet you—”

Rudely, I turned my back to her and retreated into the lobby of the coffee shop. If I was forced to make conversation, this would turn ugly in two seconds flat. Today wasn’t the day for that shit.

Norah huffed something that sounded like, “Rude-ass jerk,” under her breath as she went to work on my giant cup of caffeine. When she was done, she called my name and cast me a dirty look. After placing my items on the counter, she stood there staring me down as I picked them up.

“Thanks,” I said.

She scowled. Customer service be damned, I guess. “You know, if you’re going to bring that attitude in here day in and day out, you can damn well find somewhere else to go for your morning coffee. Got it?”

Her outburst stopped me in my tracks. She’d never been anything short of bubbly and inviting before. This was a completely new side to Norah—that’s what it said on her nametag. And it amused me.

“Did you hear me?” she barked.

I laughed and put another dollar in the tip jar. “Yep, loud and clear, boss.” I raised the coffee and saluted her. “I’ll adjust the attitude if you will.”

“What? I’m always nice.”

I nodded. “Yes. But maybe too nice. It is seven in the goddamned morning. Most of us are barely functional at this hour. If you could dial it back a few notches on the flirty scale, we’d get along much better.”

“What’s wrong, Vaughn?” she said dryly. “Too many women and not enough sleep?”

She was half right. “Just busy and not looking for anything other than my morning coffee, if you know what I mean.”

Disappointment lined her face, but she smiled anyway. “Got it. Now apologize so we can be friends again.”

“I think you got all the apology you need.” I nodded to her tip jar and smiled as I walked out the front door.

I had a bike motor almost completely torn apart when the call came in. It was Mitch, my witch stepbrother. Holding the phone with my shoulder, I grabbed a rag and fruitlessly tried to scrape the grease off my fingers. “What do you need?”

“We’ve got a rogue witch we need you to track down. He or she appears to be summoning demons. Can you handle it?”

“I can track the witch, but don’t expect me to bring him or her in. Not if they’re knee-deep in demons.”

“Sure, sure,” Mitch said. “Just an ID. We’ll do the rest.”

“Okay, but I need about half an hour,” I said, eyeing my torn and grease-smeared jeans.

“The witch appears to be wielding the spells now, so the sooner the better. I’ll fax the information we have.”

“Got it.”

Mitch worked for the Witches’ Council, and his job was to bring in witches that were on their radar for some reason or other. But he had to locate them first, and that was where I came in. I’m a tracker, a bounty hunter, for the supernatural crowd. I didn’t have any real powers per se, only that I could sense magic when I was near someone wielding it. I was also really good at not being seen when I didn’t want to be. That’s what made me good at tracking. I could watch without being suspicious.

On my way out, I stopped by the boss’s office. “Yo, Rick. I’m taking off for a few hours. I should have that bike done by tomorrow.”

He waved me off without even looking up. He was relaxed in the extreme. It was one of the reasons I enjoyed working for him. As long as I got the job done, he didn’t give a shit how much I worked or didn’t work. In fact, the fewer hours I put in, the better, at least as far as his wallet was concerned.

My bike roared to life, and I took off for my apartment, where the recent memory of Matisse refused to disappear. The moment I walked in, I felt her presence with me again. “Son of a bitch,” I muttered as I headed to the shower. “Get a grip, Paxton.”

Ten minutes later, fresh from the shower and once again in clean clothes, I strode to the back of my apartment to my small makeshift office. The fax was waiting for me. The sheet was blank except for GPS coordinates. It would be the last known location, and that was all I was going to get.

Time to go. I bypassed my Indian and rounded the corner to my nondescript black SUV. After firing up the GPS, I took off. The mark was likely a young witch messing around with demon spells. It wasn’t uncommon for teens to start dealing in darker magic. It was sort of like a drug for them. Forbidden and exciting. But it wasn’t until my navigation system pointed me to the Coven Pointe neighborhood that I started to get a bad feeling.

The coven that lived there kept to themselves and rarely mixed with the rest of the witches of New Orleans. Not that I dealt with many of the other witches much. I’d met Beatrice Kelton a few times, the New Orleans coven leader. She ran a magic shop that sold some potions and healing herbs that even mundane people could use. If they knew what they were doing, that is. But I’d never had a reason to track one of her witches. That coven took care of their own.

The ones I was sent after were usually loners or ones who were just passing through. If this was a job dealing with the Coven Pointe witches, things could go south fast.

I drove down Opelousas and turned right on Sequin, heading for the levee. The location Mitch had sent over put the witch right on the edge of the Mississippi River. That was going to make fading into the background somewhat difficult. I’d just have to make do.

After parking my car on a side street, I shrugged into a dark jacket, pulled on a knitted cap, and grabbed my professional digital camera. It was used to take close-ups of my targets, but if anyone was paying attention to me, they’d likely assume I was a professional photographer. In New Orleans, photographers were a dime a dozen.

Damn it was cold. Up on the bike path that overlooked the Mississippi, the wind blew right through my jeans, nearly freezing my balls off. And to make matters worse, the entire waterfront was deserted. Not a single person populated the banks of the river. Shit. Had I misread the coordinates? I pulled the paper out of my back pocket and checked again. Nope. I must have missed the witch.

To make sure, I spent the next few minutes shooting pictures of the waterfront and then scanned the area once more. Nothing. Time to walk the streets. I tucked my camera into its pack and took off toward the neighborhood, but a tingle of magic caught my attention. It was coming from somewhere near the river.

Squinting, I moved to the edge of the ridge. There was no one. But damn, if that magic wasn’t there. Then a flash of light that had me shielding my eyes came out of thin air. On impulse, I pulled the camera back out and set it on rapid fire. Whatever was going on, I needed to capture it.

Chapter 7

Matisse

Chessa pushed me behind her as the shadow morphed into solid form. “Go back to our world,” she ordered.

“You want me to leave you here?” I asked, incredulity filling my tone. “Are you nuts?”

“Mati, you have—”

The demon charged out of the portal, his face contorted in rage. His red-tinted eyes narrowed at Chessa before he dismissed her and lunged, grabbing for me.

I jumped back, calling my magic to my fingertips. Sparks erupted, creating tiny lightning bolts of energy that fed into the ground.

“No!” Chessa’s voice boomed in the darkness as she hurled an impressive fireball at the demon. But he only opened his mouth and caught it, swallowing it whole.

“Holy shit.” Adrenaline fueled my magic, making the electricity come in stronger bursts. An electric barrier of pure energy formed around me, shielding me. And when the demon lashed out, connecting with the current, he yanked his gnarled hand back and screamed in obvious pain.

Chessa backed off, keeping a close eye on the demon, but I could see brilliant white power building around her in a fog.

“Who are you to knock at the door of Hell and deign to fight me?” Undeterred, the demon inched forward, advancing on me. “Your soul is worthless to me.” He sniffed. “Dirty, foul sex witch. You’re destined to spend the rest of your days trapped in stone for your sins.”

My eyes widened in surprise at his outburst. Demons had a problem with sex witches? Was he kidding me? Demons? Then I met his evil glare with one of my own. “And you’re destined to spend the rest of your days as ash, you evil soul-sucking bastard.”

Focusing on the rage-induced power streaming from my fingers, I lifted my arms and threw everything I had at him. But all he did was raise a hand and let it all stream into him as if he was feeding off me.

I gasped, suddenly feeling more vulnerable than I ever had before. A moment ago, my power had scorched him. Now it did nothing to stop this demon. And he’d swallowed Chessa’s fireball. She was right. I had to get out of there. But I couldn’t leave her. And what about the demon? We’d called one up. If we left now, who knew where he’d end up?

“Reverto!” Chessa cried and flung a bolt of light at the demon. Again, he opened his mouth to welcome the magic, but instead of swallowing it down, the magic grew into a giant ball in his mouth. He stumbled back, writhing and choking on the electric energy.

Chessa grabbed my hand and squeezed as we both watched in fascinated horror.

“What’s happening?” I asked, a tremor in my voice.

“I recalled the magic I threw at him earlier. Now it’s mixing and if I did the spell right—”

The demon’s eyes bulged and then a loud boom sounded as his head exploded, sending demon guts flying. We both ducked, but scaly flesh still landed on my arm.

“Oh, gross.” My stomach rolled, and I struggled to hold back a gag.

The horrified look on Chessa’s face told me she was doing the same thing.

The demon’s body was lying on the ground twitching, no head in sight. Then as we backed away, the body combusted into ash.

“Whoa,” I said, releasing Chessa’s hand. Had my sister really just blown up a demon?

“Disgusting.” She wiped dust off her white blouse and wrinkled her nose. “We better go.”

“Yeah.” I could barely breathe. Everything about what just happened was too horrifying.

“But we need to reappear in another spot. Preferably in a coven circle. If any more demons are coming, they’ll follow. It’ll be harder for them to burst through a properly sealed circle.”

Harder but not impossible. I suppressed a shudder. “Okay.” I could use our coven’s circle, but it was in the middle of the Pointe and far too exposed, so I opted to borrow the New Orleans coven’s circle. Theirs was shielded by a grove of oak trees. Aunt Dayla would approve. She’d been at war with their coven leader for years. Using their circle would be a bonus to her. Not that I had any issue with them. I just didn’t want to explain to the rest of the coven what Chessa and I had been up to.

Chessa could maneuver through the shadows, but she didn’t know them as well as I did, so I grabbed her hand again and focused on the circle, which wasn’t too far from my college campus. It was on the other side of the river and we had no way to get home, but we’d figure it out.

The shadows started to fade, and my vision blurred with a hazy reality of green. When everything came back into focus, we were standing exactly where I’d willed us to go—smack-dab in the middle of the New Orleans’ coven circle. Large oaks surrounded the clearing. The grass was pale green with patches of brown dead spots. No one was around.

The first thing I did was stop, drop, and roll to scrape away the demon remnants. Chessa stared at me, disgusted. I didn’t care. The guts had to go, and what didn’t come off easily, I rubbed on the patches of green grass. “You’re crazy if you think I’m walking around with demon guts clinging to me.”

She shook her head and waved a hand. Shimmering light spun around us both, and when it disappeared with a pop, we were both in fresh clothes, no guts in sight.

“Well that was… freaking awesome.” I climbed to my feet. “How long have you been holding that spell back?”

She gave me a noncommittal shrug. “I try not to show off when it isn’t necessary. But you’re right. There was no way I was going anywhere in those clothes.” She slipped her arm through mine. “Come on. I’ll walk you to class. I hear you have a test to take.”

We were only blocks from the university, but I wasn’t exactly prepared. I frowned and glanced at my watch. Forty minutes until class started. “My notes and supplies are at home.”

“Oh, no problem.” She snapped her fingers, and my backpack appeared from thin air.

“What? I mean…?” Jeez. When had she become Ms. Super Powerful? I rummaged through the backpack and found everything I needed. “How did you do that?”

She grinned. “Being head angel in charge has its perks.”

Vaughn

The rapid click of the shutter filled my senses as I focused on the bright magic pulsing on the banks of the Mississippi. I couldn’t see anything but light and hoped the camera picked up something of use.

“What’s that?” a male voice asked from behind me.

Fuck. Where’d he come from? My heart rate sped up with the surprise intrusion, and I took a deep breath as I turned around.

An older gentlemen dressed in a velour jogging suit squinted at the now fading light.

I shrugged and took a few more pictures. “No idea. Alien activity?”

“Government testing. Or radioactive contamination.” The man chuckled and saluted me as he continued on down the path.

“Riiight.” I turned back to the light, only to find it was completely gone and so was the magic. “Shit!”

I glanced over at the man. Had he been part of it? Been a distraction? It was possible. But that didn’t explain where the magic had come from. Frustrated, I packed my camera back in its case and took off to search the neighborhood. I spent the next hour scouring the streets, but it was virtually useless. Too many witches lived there. I sensed magic in at least a dozen homes. There was no way to know if the one who’d been casting on the riverfront was in one of the houses now.

Frustrated, I climbed back into my SUV and headed home. Maybe I’d find something on the camera.

Back home in the Garden District, I called the shop to let the boss know I wouldn’t be in until the next day.

“Whatever, man,” Rick said. “Have fun with the lady.”

“What lady?” I plugged my camera’s memory card into the computer.

“The one who came looking for you. I though that’s why you took off for the day.”

Matisse? Had she stopped by the shop? How had she known where to find me? “What did she say?”

“Nothing. She was just looking for you. When you weren’t here, she left. Real looker, too. Nice score, man.”

For some reason his words pissed me off. They shouldn’t, but they did. I didn’t like thinking about the old perv ogling her. “Yeah. All right. See you tomorrow.”

I sat at my desk, irritated at Mitch for sending me on a run that made me miss a visit from Mati. And if I didn’t find the witch he was after, I wouldn’t get paid at all. Shit. Get your head in the game, asshole. After a trip into the kitchen for a cup of coffee, I carried my mug back to the computer and got to work.

Chapter 8

Matisse

The test did not go well. I spent half the hour trying to block the demon out of my mind. But I just kept seeing him explode over and over again. The spreadsheet I was supposed to be filling in was just a sea of numbers. Who gave a shit about accounting when a demon had tried to kill me less than an hour ago?

Five minutes before class ended, I saved my file and clicked out of the program. No doubt I’d failed. I’d just sealed my fate. I’d have to retake the class for sure.

Outside in the hall I avoided Brandon, who was talking to one of his frat friends, and slipped out of the building. With my head down, I headed straight for Saint Charles. Once there, I hopped on the streetcar and settled in the back. I’m not sure I even knew where I intended to go until I jumped off near the Garden District. There was only one reason I’d ended up there.

Vaughn. Nervous energy skittered through me. What was I doing?

At least I had an excuse. With single-minded determination, I headed straight down Sixth Street until I was standing in front of the white Victorian. My breath caught in my throat. The light shining from his front windows told me everything I needed to know. He was home.

I could always leave after I got my keys, right? Yeah, that’s what I’d come for. I scoffed at myself. Who was I kidding? After the day I had, all I wanted to do was lose myself in someone and recharge. I took a deep breath and went for it.

My knuckles hit the wood door in three solid raps.

Footsteps sounded from inside.

I glanced around and seriously considered darting behind a large water oak, but the door swung open before I could move, and there he was in his dark jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and socks. He looked so relaxed. And even more inviting than he had the night before. My insides melted.

“Hey.” He leaned against the doorframe and gave me a smug smile.

Cocky bastard. I raised one eyebrow as I eyed his overconfident stance. “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong.”

He laughed. “You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

He stepped back and waved an arm, gesturing for me to come in. “It’s pretty chilly out there. You’re welcome to warm up in here.”

I stepped over the threshold and eyed my keys, which were lying near a side table. There really was no reason for me to stay. Except not even a demon could’ve dragged me away from him right then. The sexual attraction I’d felt last night seemed to intensify to magnified proportions. I couldn’t explain the phenomenon, and after the day I’d had, I didn’t even want to.

Vaughn clasped my hand and tugged me through his shotgun-style apartment, all the way into the kitchen.

“Coffee?” he asked.

I nodded, leaning against the counter.

He filled a cup and placed it near me with a bottle of creamer and a bowl of sugar. As I doctored the coffee he said, “I’m glad you were able to track me down.”

“Excuse me?” I took a small sip of the coffee and met his gaze.

“Rick said you came by the shop earlier.”

“Rick?” I frowned. “Your shop? I don’t even know where you work.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. A wrinkle creased his brow and he mirrored my frown. “You didn’t come by to see me today?”

“No.” I chuckled. “I’m not a stalker.”

“Really?” His lips twitched. “But you’re here now.”

“I left my keys. I came to pick them up.” I couldn’t let him think I was one of those weird, clingy girls who thought one night in the sack meant some sort of relationship. Hell no. We barely knew each other.

His face turned stormy, and I had to fight back a laugh. He wanted me here. And it didn’t appear to be some misguided ego boost either. I mean, seriously. He clearly wasn’t lacking in self-confidence.

“I see. So does that mean your friend is waiting for you?”

“What friend?”

He took a step closer, his eyes burning into me. “The one who picked you up in the middle of the night last night.”

Oh. Right. “Um, no. I took the streetcar.”

That smoldering gaze dipped to my mouth.

I took my time, wetting my lips just to see what he would do.

His right arm flexed, but to my disappointment, he raised his gaze and took a step back. Then he stuffed his hands in his pockets. It was almost as if he were forcing himself to not touch me. Damn. There was that disappointment again. I took another long sip of my coffee.

Finally he asked, “Are you hungry?”

What a loaded question. Hell yes I was. But not really for food. “What did you have in mind?”

He took the coffee cup from me. “There’s a French restaurant on Magazine.”

“Yeah, sure, I could eat.” Because if I didn’t go, I’d be ripping his clothes off in two minutes flat. Desperation didn’t look good on me.

His shoulders relaxed and some of the tension eased from his face. “Good. It’s been a busy day. I haven’t eaten.”

He took off through his apartment, and I followed. We had to pass through his bedroom on our way out, but when we got there, he sat on the edge of his bed. Memories of what we’d done the night before filled my head. I couldn’t stop the heat from burning my cheeks. I hadn’t been in this position before. How was I supposed to act? Did dinner mean he expected a repeat of the night before? And what would I do if he didn’t? Seduce him anyway?

Once he had his shoes on, he stood and placed a hand on the small of my back. “Ready?”

“Sure.” His touch was so comfortable and oddly familiar it put me at ease. And suddenly, I wanted more than the life I’d been leading. I wanted someone to drop in on. Someone I cared about enough to spend more than one night with. Brandon was a possibility. He was a nice guy, but this natural chemistry that I had with Vaughn was missing. We’d bore each other before too long. I vowed right then and there to enjoy myself while I was with Vaughn. Consequences be damned. Was it so terrible to care about someone?

“So,” I said. “You had a mystery woman come by your shop. Who do you think it could be?” The obvious answer was some other one-night stand who couldn’t seem to stay away either. But I was comforted by the fact that he’d immediately assumed the person had been me. Plus he’d clearly been pleased to see me.

“I have no idea.” He ran a hand through his dark hair. It fell in short waves over his forehead.

I had to stop myself from brushing it out of his eyes. “Ah, secret admirer. Exciting.”

“Or irritating.” He laughed.

I gave him a mock look of horror as we turned onto Magazine Street. “What? You don’t like random women just showing up out of the blue?”

His eyes gleamed with mischief. “It depends on the woman.”

Oh, I could play this game. Warmth spread through my belly with the knowledge he was going to enjoy this just as much as I was. “So you’re into stalkers then? You like being chased, rather than do the chasing? Seems about right considering how things got started last night.”

“Ha!” His body shook with mild laughter. “I seem to recall someone doing her best to torment me and then spending her time fawning over some Ken doll. If I hadn’t taken your not-so-subtle bait, I’m pretty sure I’d have ended up alone last night.”

It was my turn to scoff. “Right. Alone. That seems likely.”

The humor vanished from his face and he turned serious eyes on me. “You’d be surprised.” But before I could question him, heat filled his eyes again and he added, “At least last night anyway. After that body shot, I had to find out what was under that skirt.”

My body had such a visceral response to the memories of the night before, I bit my lip to keep from moaning right there on the street. Goddess, he was winning again! I couldn’t have that. I brushed my fingers down the inside of his arm. “And did you like what you saw?”

He stopped in the middle of the block, wrapping his fingers around mine.

“I thought we were getting dinner,” I said with a teasing smile.

He stared at me, his smoldering gaze searing me from the inside out. “You should know I spent most of the day replaying the image of you undressing for me. I think it’s safe to say I liked what I saw.”

Well, that was… hot. I didn’t have a snappy comeback. My mind was too busy recalling last night’s events.

“If you keep looking at me like that, we’re not going to make it to dinner.” Vaughn took a step closer and clasped one hand around my neck as he caressed my jaw with his thumb.

I cleared my throat. “I thought you were hungry.”

“That’s a fair assessment.” His husky voice was low and full of promise.

Excitement shot through my core. How fast could we get back to his apartment? His fingers were tracing my neck, sending shivers of pleasure from the exact spot he’d bit down on twice the night before. I knew there was a small mark there from his love bites and wondered if he knew it, too. “Kiss me,” I said, my voice just as husky as his.

His hand slipped lower, but my neck continued to tingle as he leaned in and granted my request. His kiss was hungry, sinfully demanding in the way he pulled me closer and lifted me onto my toes as he pulled me up to meet him. I matched his intensity, catching his lower lip between my teeth. Who needed food with this guy around?

He let out a small groan and tightened his arms around me. We were lost, overtaken as the world around us slipped away.

That is, until the whooping started from a small group of tourists across the street, followed by the squeal of brakes from a car sliding to a stop mere feet from where we stood.

“Son of a bitch!” Vaughn cried and yanked me out of the way, causing me to stumble and fall on the uneven sidewalk.

“Dude! What the fuck?” an angry male voice shouted from the car.

Vaughn ignored him and helped me stand.

Pain pulsed through my knee and when I went to inspect it, I found torn jeans and blood. “Ouch,” I yelped as I grazed my fingers over the wound.

“Vaughn!” the man yelled again, the anger in his voice intensifying. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t kill my date, you asshole.” Vaughn’s tone was laced with a dangerous edge. “What’s your problem?”

The dark-haired man in his early thirties jumped from the car and slammed the door. “I’ve been waiting for your phone call. Dude. You have a job to do.”

“I’m working on it.” Vaughn tucked me to his side, placing a protective arm around my shoulders. “When I have something for you, I’ll be in touch.”

The man’s nostrils flared in disgust. “You and your skanks. Man, that dick of yours is going to get someone killed one of these days.”

“What did you just call me?” I pulled away from Vaughn’s grasp, power pooling in my palms.

He finally gave me a long look and recognition dawned as his gaze landed on my hands. “Are you helping him?” He spun and glared at Vaughn. “What are you doing with a witch?”

“Mitch, get the fuck out of here before I beat the shit out of you.” Vaughn took a menacing step forward. “And don’t ever talk to her like that again. Show some goddamned respect for once in your life.”

I tamped my magic down and took a step back. “Clearly you two have something to work out. I think I’ll be on my way.”

Vaughn clasped his hand over my wrist. “No. We don’t. And if he has any sense at all, he’ll get back in his rust bucket and leave.”

I was startled at his possessive grip and panic flashed through me. But not because of the obvious dominance. Oh no. Because I liked it. When had anyone of the opposite sex had the balls to take charge in my life? Never. They were too busy doing whatever I said in the hope they’d get laid later.

Mitch scowled. “We don’t have time for this. Things are getting… out of control.”

“Not my problem,” Vaughn said through clenched teeth. A muscle in his neck pulsed.

Mitch gave me one last look of disdain and then pursed his lips in a flat line before saying, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Then he climbed back into his circa-1990s Toyota and sped off down the street again.

We stood on the sidewalk staring at each other for a moment. I wasn’t sure what to say.

“Well. That was… uncalled for.” Vaughn held his hand out. “Are you still up for some food? And maybe I can explain what that was about?”

As attracted as I was to him, I wasn’t going to sign up for a relationship that came with a generous helping of the criminally insane. No thank you. I was about to shake my head no when he let out a frustrated sigh. “He’s my stepbrother, otherwise I would’ve cut ties with him years ago. It’s hard to ditch family.”

Now that was something I could understand. Against my better judgment, I took his still-outstretched hand. “Dinner sounds great.”

Chapter 9

Vaughn

I led Matisse into the neighborhood corner bistro. Vale, the maître d’ who happened to be a good friend of mine, was on the phone and waved us into the dining room. I chose a secluded table in the back.

A waitress appeared, handed us menus, and took our drink orders. Abita Turbodog for me and a sweet tea for Matisse.

She sat back in her chair. “So…”

I scanned the menu, avoiding her gaze. There was no need. I always ordered the same thing, but I needed a moment to collect my thoughts. How much should I tell her? Not that I was a bounty hunter. Not yet. I had a cover to maintain. But I could explain about Mitch.

“Good evening.” The tall platinum-blond waitress pulled out a pen and a faux-leather tablet. “Would you like to hear the specials?”

Matisse flashed the waitress a sweet smile that made me want to reach out and caress her lips. “Sure.”

Dude, get a grip.

The waitress rattled off four or five things, none of which I retained. I was too busy watching my date. Date. That’s the second time I’d used that term in the last ten minutes. What would she say to that?

“And for you, sir?” the waitress prompted.

Right. Matisse had just ordered one of the specials. “Shrimp and grits, please.”

“Excellent choice.” The waitress wandered off once again.

Matisse cleared her throat. “You were going to fill me in on what happened back there?”

Better to just start at the beginning. “I already told you Mitch is my stepbrother. He’s also a witch.”

“It’s hard to believe you two are related.” She seemed more interested in my family history than the fact that he was a witch. Though, she’d probably already sensed his magic anyway.

“We don’t really get along all that well.”

Her eyes lit up as she laughed. She seemed so fresh and relaxed. It was even more alluring than the natural attraction that was running rampant between us. “That seemed fairly obvious.”

I grinned sheepishly. “I guess so. Anyway, I do contract work for the, ah, company he works for, and I gather he’s under a lot of pressure from his bosses.” I shrugged. “Apparently I’m not moving fast enough for them. But since I only get paid when I deliver, it’s not like they can fire me or anything.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And yet you’re here with me instead of working on the project?”

“I’ve been working on it all day.” I ignored the nagging doubt in my mind that I should be doing something more to find the rogue witch. But since I didn’t have anything else to go on at present, it wasn’t like I’d just dropped the job. Besides, I was right where I wanted to be. “There isn’t much more I can do today anyway.”

“Gotcha.”

Our waitress brought our drinks and set them down hard enough that Matisse’s tea sloshed onto the table. The waitress’s friendly demeanor had vanished, replaced by a scowl. She didn’t even apologize for spilling a third of the liquid.

We watched her stalk away. Once she disappeared into the kitchen, Matisse turned her attention to me. “Looks like someone’s having a bad day.”

“I guess so.” I handed her an extra napkin as she mopped up the tea.

When she was done, I was completely captivated as she wrapped her lips around the straw. She had to have felt the heat rippling from me because she lifted her gaze to mine and sent me her seductive smile. The same one that had lured me in so well the night before.

I placed my elbows on the table and leaned in. “Matisse?”

Her smile widened as she sat back, crossing her arms over her chest. She knew exactly what she was doing. “Yes?”

“Come here,” I commanded.

She didn’t move. Her eyes never wavered from mine. And for a minute, I was certain she wasn’t going to give me what I wanted. But then she placed her hands flat on the table, leaned in, and brought her lips inches from mine. “What exactly is it you want, Mr. Paxton?”

“I think you know the answer to that.” I inched closer, stopping just shy of pressing my lips to hers, tormenting both of us. I wanted her lips on me. Wanted to throw her down on the table and rip her clothes off.

Her breath caught. Was the witch reading my mind? Goddamn, I hoped so. The tip of her tongue glided over her lower lip as she stared at my mouth. I felt my lips curl into a self-satisfied smile.

But she didn’t seem to notice. Or if she did, she didn’t give a damn, because she inched forward and pressed her lips to mine, her hot tongue slipping into my mouth, tasting and exploring at her will.

I let my eyes close and breathed in her light honeysuckle scent. It was so subtle and not at all exotic, but it was intoxicating and made me want to taste every inch of her.

Bam!

The table shook as dishes crashed onto the surface. Matisse and I jerked apart to find our waitress with wild, red-tinged eyes glaring at us. Our plates had been slammed onto the edge of the table with most of the food splattered on the floor.

Matisse jumped up. “What—”

The waitress growled, and her form morphed into a gnarled, wrinkled version of herself as her jaw elongated and her nails grew to pointed daggers on her fingertips.

“Jesus!” I sprang out of my chair, but the demon reached out, slicing through Matisse’s sweater. Streaks of blood seeped through the white cotton.

“Son of a… Fuck!” I reached for her, but before I could intervene, Matisse let out a roar of pain. Magic sprang from her raised hands, and a flash of light encircled the demon, momentarily trapping her.

“You’re mine, dirty witch.” The demon spat green-tinged mucus at Matisse’s feet. She jumped back just in time before the mucus exploded into a puff of smoke.

Holy shit. Exploding mucus. I glanced around. Where was everyone else in the restaurant? The place was eerily empty except for the three of us. Without any idea of how to battle the magical creature, I grabbed a chair and swung.

My arms reverberated with the massive impact. The demon fell to her knees, but as she went down, red lightning shot from her mouth and caught Matisse’s leg. Matisse went rigid and convulsed in place as the demon cackled with victory.

Protective rage filled every inch of my being. My hands tightened around the solid wood chair, and with a force I hadn’t known I’d possessed, I swung. The makeshift weapon splintered against the side of the demon’s head. The demon sat there, stunned, as the chair broke apart around her.

“Dammit!” With one hand I grabbed a broken table leg and fisted a fallen steak knife with the other.

Matisse had slid to the floor and was clutching her leg as her body trembled with shock. The utter pain on her face cut me to the core. But there was no time to waste, because the demon had her sights on me now and was on her feet, coming straight for me.

“Come on!” I taunted, wielding the knife and crude wooden stake as if I’d been training for this my entire life. The defensive stance seemed so completely natural it was unexplainable. I’d taken a few boxing lessons, but nothing that would explain why I seemed to be trained in combat.

The demon reached both arms out, grabbing for my head, but I swung my left arm, cutting the blow off with the wooden stake and followed immediately with a strike of the knife. The blade hit home in the demon’s shoulder. She recoiled, hissing what appeared to be steam. But I didn’t stop. The demon had gone after Matisse. She had to be destroyed.

I surged forward on the offensive and just when I was about to drive the stake in the demon’s chest, she turned, spraying me with that steam.

“Fuck!” It burned like hell, almost as if I’d been pepper-sprayed. Tears flooded my eyes, and I stumbled back, blinded. “Son of a bitch,” I cried, my arms flailing, trying to connect with any part of the demon. But there was nothing but air.

“You opened the gates,” the demon said in a sinister tone.

What the hell did that mean?

“And you killed my mate, dirty witch.” Another snarl escaped the demon. “It’s time to pay. Your life for his.”

Matisse’s strong voice filled the room. “No! By my word to the Goddess, I command you back to Hell!”

Thunder rumbled, shaking the furniture as the dishes rattled on the tables. Then I heard a boom, followed by what sounded like an electric sizzle.

I wiped at my burning eyes and tried to peer through the blur. A fuzzy outline appeared before me.

“Vaughn?” Matisse’s voice was soft, full of concern.

“I’m fine,” I said, scooting back, not wanting to be coddled. “I need water.”

There was a slight rustling and the clink of glass against what must be a pitcher of some sort. Then her delicate hand wrapped around my wrist as she pressed a cold glass into my palm. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Still mostly blind, I fished the ice out of the glass. Then I forced my eyes open and dumped the water over my irritated eyes. “Holy fucking shit!” That burned. Blinking rapidly, I poured more water over my face, and after what seemed like hours, though it was likely only a few minutes, the restaurant came back into view.

“Welcome back,” Matisse said as I finally focused on her. She’d ripped apart one of the linen tablecloths and bandaged her leg. Funny how I hadn’t heard that while I’d been cleansing my eyes. “You okay?”

“I’ll be fine.”

We were both sitting on the painted concrete floor as the staff slowly started to emerge from the back.

“Where’s the new waitress?” one of them asked.

Neither of us answered. But only Matisse knew for sure where the demon had gone.

The front door blasted open, and two men wearing official-looking black jackets and odd badges burst through. They did a sweep of the restaurant. When they came up empty, they headed straight for us.

I climbed to my feet and held a hand out to Matisse. There were many questions for her to answer, but I’d be damned if I made her do it alone. She cast me a grateful look and struggled to get to her feet due to her injured leg. I wrapped my arm around her, giving her the support she needed to stand upright.

The taller official glanced over his shoulder at the restaurant workers, who were staring at us. Turning back to us, he jerked his head toward the door. “I think we should talk outside.”

“Fine.” I helped Matisse navigate the disaster created by the struggle. With each wince and hiss that escaped her sweet lips, a piece of me hardened. Had she really opened the gates of Hell? Was she the witch I’d been looking for? I didn’t want to believe it. But the more I tried to explain the demon’s words away, the more convinced I was that she was the rogue witch. Why else would a demon come after her in broad daylight?

Once outside, the official took a rundown of exactly what had happened in the restaurant, confirmed Matisse was a witch and that I wasn’t, and then they thanked us and left.

“Who the hell was that?” I asked her. They weren’t with the NOLA PD. Or any other government law enforcement.

She stared at her feet.

“Matisse?” I kept my tone low and as even as possible. We’d had enough conflict for one day.

“Can we go back to your apartment?” she asked, still avoiding my gaze.

“Sure.”

At first the walk was slow and tedious, but with each step, Matisse seemed to be getting stronger. By the time we reached my apartment, she was barely even limping.

“Did you cast a spell?” I eyed her as I unlocked the door. “Or do you have super healing capabilities?”

That got a smile out of her. “It’s a spell. Though it did take a lot out of me. I might be walking better, but I still feel like shit.”

I would’ve never guessed. Besides looking rumpled, she was as gorgeous as ever. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that. I held the door open for her. She stood in my entry hall, fidgeting. Fidgeting? She’d just beaten down a demon and here she was, consumed by nerves. Was it the fact we were alone in my apartment once more or the fact that she’d just banished a demon? I was hoping for the former.

Chapter 10

Matisse

How did a girl explain to a guy she was dangerously attracted to that she was a sex witch, related to the high angel, and was using him for sex in order to close the portal to Hell? Yeah. No. Maybe the demon-portal thing was enough.

I sat on Vaughn’s leather couch and waited for him to return. He’d disappeared into the kitchen after saying something about bottled water. But when he took more than a few minutes to return, I got up and hovered near the door.

“I’ve got it taken care of.” Vaughn had his back turned to me as he talked into his iPhone. “Yes. She’s here… No. Don’t come over. Fuck, dude. I told you I’m handling it.” He pulled the phone away from his ear, shook his head, and hit End before tossing it on the counter with enough force that it bounced a couple of times.

“Your brother?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe.

He flinched and turned in my direction, clearly startled.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I’m just a little thirsty.” I nodded toward the bottled water sitting on the counter.

“Right.” He grabbed both bottles and shuffled me out of the room.

We sat on his couch in silence as he studied me with a mix of curiosity and confusion. I took one of the waters and watched him struggle with himself while I drank a quarter of it.

Finally he squared his shoulders, looked me straight in the eye, and asked, “Are you a witch who deals with demons?”

I sputtered mid-sip. “What?”

“The demon.” He leaned in, scrutinizing me. “She said you opened the portal and destroyed her mate. Is this just another normal day for you?”

The way he asked the question ‘Is this just another normal day for you’ sounded very much like an accusation. Irritated, I sat back. “No. I don’t play around with demons. What the hell kind of question is that?”

He got to his feet but kept his gaze fixed on me. “Did you try to open a portal today?”

His no-nonsense questioning was seriously starting to piss me off. Never mind that he was almost on target. The implied accusation was uncalled for. He could’ve asked me without making me feel like a criminal.

I stood, ignoring the pain shooting down my leg. The wound had healed, but it would be sore for a while. I placed my hands on my hips and stared back at him with all the judgment he was laying at my feet. “What about you? How exactly do you know about demon portals?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“And you didn’t answer mine.” His brother was a witch. It wasn’t unfeasible that he would be knowledgeable about demons, but couldn’t he just ask what I knew about the demon without putting me on trial? The thought made my blood boil.

“Fine.” He stalked over to me and gestured for me to sit.

I held my ground.

He shook his head in exasperation and then sat across from me on his coffee table, resting his elbows on his knees. “Stand all night if you want to, but I’m fairly certain you’re still recovering. It’s probably better if you rest.”

I glanced at my leg and grimaced when I realized it was trembling slightly. Damn him for being right. Reluctantly, I sat back on the couch.

His lips twitched and a smug smile broke out on his face. I glared. The smile vanished, but the gleam in his eye didn’t. Bastard.

“Tell me what you really do for your brother,” I demanded.

“You first.”

We had a stare-off to end all stare-offs that was only broken by the incessant ringing of his phone.

“You should probably get that,” I said and leaned back into the couch.

“It’s Mitch.”

“So?”

He gave me a pointed look. “He wants answers I can’t give him.”

I sat straight up, holding back a wince from the demon slashes on my ribs. Damn, that hurt. “I knew you were asking these questions for him.” But then a realization settled over me. He’d said his brother was a contractor for someone. As a witch, that likely meant one organization. The Witches’ Council. “Wait. Am I being investigated?”

“Yes.”

“No way!” I stood again and winced when another dart of pain shot down my thigh. Grabbing it, I stifled a whimper.

A second later Vaughn was by my side, giving me a shoulder to lean on. “Come on. You need to relax.”

Because the throb in my leg wasn’t going away and he’d dropped the interrogator act to help me, I let him lead me into the next room and then into his bedroom. I came to an abrupt stop the moment we stepped through the door. What we’d done the night before was too fresh in my mind. We’d been two strangers using each other. Tonight we were something else. Friends? Enemies? Certainly not lovers. And being there was making it hard for me to breathe.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, concern lacing his tone.

I shook my head, totally out of my element. “Uh, nothing. What are we doing in here?”

“You need to lie down and the bed is a thousand times more comfortable than that old couch.” He tugged on my hand. When I didn’t budge, he swept me up in his arms, and despite my protest, he carried me to the bed and gently laid me on top of his comforter.

The gesture was far too considerate and sweet for me to continue to be pissed at him. He was an enigma. One moment he was acting the insensitive a-hole and the next he was taking care of me even when I was being stubborn.

My heart fluttered. Crap on toast. This was going to get messy.

Vaughn walked around to the other side of the bed and sat next to me, leaning against his headboard.

“Okay. I’ll talk if you will,” I said somewhat reluctantly. The work I did for Chessa was classified, but if I was being investigated by the Witches’ Council, it was better they knew I was working from orders. Not to mention Vaughn had been caught up in a demon fight. If there were any more coming after me tonight, he deserved to know he was in danger.

“Deal.”

We stared at each other, both of us obviously expecting the other to go first.

I chuckled. “All right. No, I wasn’t trying to open a portal. I was trying to seal one. And before you go thinking that’s the sort of thing I do for fun, it isn’t. I work for the high angel and that particular task is something she’s had me working on. I do not get off on dealing with demons.”

“The high angel?” He raised a curious eyebrow. “Isn’t it a little unusual for a college student to be working for the Angel Council?”

“Yes. It would be.” It sounded so absurd when he put it like that. “Except the high angel is my sister and this isn’t exactly sanctioned by the Angel Council.” Oh, oops! I bit down on my tongue, realizing I probably shouldn’t have added that last part.

“Really? So why is she so bent on sealing it up?” He seemed curious, not judgmental this time, which I appreciated. But I was still skeptical. He hadn’t told me anything yet. Not that Chessa’s reason was top secret or anything. “An angel she was close to was taken through the portal and fell. Chessa will do anything to seal it up.”

“I see.” He rubbed his five-o’clock shadow. I wanted to reach out and run my fingers over the stubble, but I refrained. Now wasn’t the time. “That’s rough.”

His voice was so full of compassion that I had a sudden change of heart. Now seemed like the perfect time. I reached over and lightly trailed the back of my fingers down his cheek to his jawline. We both froze, staring at each other for an intense moment.

When I dropped my hand, he cleared his throat. “Can’t say I blame her. Is that what you were doing today on the west bank? In the Pointe, right? Near the river?”

I turned to watch him. “How did you know that?”

He shrugged. “That’s what I do. I’m a bounty hunter—”

“What?” My spine went completely rigid and then I rolled off the bed, fuming. “Is that why you took me home last night?”

“Huh?” He looked up at me in confusion. “I didn’t… Oh shit. No, no. That’s not at all what happened.” He leaped off the bed and landed next to me. “Please. Sit back down and I’ll start at the beginning. I swear, I absolutely had no idea who you were last night when I brought you home. You were just too damn sexy to pass up. And that’s God’s honest truth.”

Too damn sexy. Well, I could live with that, I guess. Most men thought that about me anyway. It was the sex magic. Still, I sat on the very edge of the bed, ready to bolt if I suspected he was lying. Though I had no reason to believe he was. Except for the fact he was a bounty hunter and apparently I was on his radar. And that sort of pissed me off, too. I mean, he was the one guy I’d liked well enough to see twice and he’d been hired to hunt me. Eff balls. “Okay. Start at the beginning.”

“My brother is a witch, and he works for the Witches’ Council, keeping an eye on unusual supernatural activity. I moonlight as a bounty hunter, tracking down leads for him and others who do his sort of work. I wasn’t working on any case at all yesterday. I got the call to track you down today and the only information I had was GPS coordinates. But when I got there, for some reason I could sense you but not see you.” He cast me a sidelong glance. “Why is that, by the way?”

My shadow-walking ability wasn’t exactly a secret, but it wasn’t public knowledge either. I wasn’t sure how much of myself I wanted to reveal to this guy, especially if he was somehow working for the Witches’ Council. They didn’t really care for my particular coven. The old prudes weren’t real tolerant of sex witches. I met his questioning glance. “How is it you knew I was there if you couldn’t see me?”

He chuckled. “I knew you weren’t going to let that pass. While I don’t have any real magical abilities, I can sense when someone is using magic. And then there’s this.” He pulled his laptop from the nightstand and powered it up. After opening a file, pictures of the levee on the west bank filled the screen. In every single one of them was a brilliant flash of light on the deserted waterfront. It was the same spot Chessa and I had been standing when we’d stepped into the Shadow world. The pictures had to be me casting the spell to close the portal.

I met his curious stare. “You saw me?”

He nodded. “But I didn’t know it was you.”

“I had no idea my magic was visible while I was… Shit, you said you could sense me?”

That gleam was back and my stomach all but fell to my feet. Did that mean he’d known I was using some sort of magic to prime the pump, so to speak, at the club last night? Jeezus. How freakin’ humiliating.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said quietly.

I swallowed, horrified. He’d known the whole time. “Worry about what?”

“About the magic you used last night. Whatever it was, it didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to.”

Now his expression was completely stoic. Could I trust him? I wanted to. There’d never been a member of the opposite sex I could talk to about these things. It was new and entirely too comfortable. I shrugged. “It’s not much. A suggestion really. In order for it to work, the person has to be interested already. It’s not like I can control someone’s will.”

“Just their willpower.” He grinned.

There wasn’t any of that previous judgment behind his words, and that made all the difference. I shook my head, suppressing a smile. “You could say that.”

“At no point did I contemplate resisting. Does that make you feel better?”

I smirked. “I wasn’t feeling bad about it.”

He nodded. “I see. Well then, I guess we can move on.”

“Okay.” I shifted to stretch my sore leg. It was feeling better already. “Then tell me why the Council thinks I was opening a demon portal.”

“Nope. Not until you tell me how come I couldn’t see you. Do you have some sort of invisibility cloak à la Harry Potter or something?”

“Goddess, no. But that would be really cool.” I clasped my hand over his arm and leaned in. “Can you imagine how useful that would be? Especially in your line of work?”

“Nice try, Matisse. But stop deflecting the question.”

Damn him. I lifted my hands, palms up. “You can’t blame a girl for trying. Still, you have to admit it would be a cool tool.”

His body had relaxed as he leaned against his headboard and his face was set in a small smile. He was thoroughly enjoying this. And the realization made me warm all over. I wasn’t sending any pheromones out into the atmosphere. In fact, if anything, I was trying to keep myself pretty guarded at the moment. I didn’t really like exposing details about myself. And the fact that he was enjoying our time together made me ridiculously happy. Is this what it’s like to be in a relationship? The idea of being impossibly attracted to someone and being able to enjoy a good debate, to trust them with important matters, was terrifying. I’d never realized I wanted that before. But dammit if I didn’t crave it now.

Something must have shifted in my expression, because he reached out and caressed my neck just below my ear. The action sent a small tremor through my tired body and made me want to curl up next to him with his arms around me.

Again, totally new territory for me. Sex witches usually weren’t needy like that. Or were we? If we never got close to anyone, how would we know? Before I could act on my impulse, he pulled his hand away.

“If not a cloak, how does it work?” he asked, bringing me back to the conversation.

Oh hell. Might as well just get it all out there. What would it hurt if he knew anyway? “I’m a shadow walker.”

He frowned. “A what?”

“There is a world between ours and Hell, where spirits sometimes get trapped. I can walk in that world. There’s an open demon portal there. Chessa and I were trying to seal it so demons can’t reach New Orleans anymore.”

His gorgeous eyes widened as his expression morphed into one of awe. “That’s a lofty goal. I take it it didn’t work?”

I shook my head. “No. In fact, it brought attention to the portal and Chessa had to fight one of them off. It’s not like we were looking for trouble. Chessa had to do what she did. She had no choice. It was either him or us.”

He furrowed his brow, clearly thinking. “I wonder why the Council thought you were trying to summon a demon.”

“I have no idea. I work for the Angel Council, not the Witches’ Council. I can’t even venture a guess as to what they were thinking. But I should let Chessa know we’re on their radar. She should be able to clear everything up.”

Vaughn got up from the bed. “I’ll let Mitch know it’s taken care of.”

“No!” I lunged and grabbed his hand to stop him.

He gave me a stunned look.

I let go. “Sorry. It’s just that I’d like Chessa to talk to the Council first before you involve anyone else. The stuff I just told you, it’s confidential. If it gets out, I’m going to be in a heap of shit.”

He appeared dubious, but after a moment, he nodded. “Sure.”

“I’ll pay whatever your bounty-hunting fee is so you’re not out a job. Let me know how much and I’m sure Chessa will take care of it.” I slipped my phone from my jeans and started punching in Chessa’s private number. She’d banned me from even programming it. That’s how private it was.

But Vaughn snatched the phone from my hand and stood over me, a stormy expression on his face.

“Hey!” I stared up at him, irritated. “Give me my phone back.”

He shoved it in his pocket and shook his head. “Not until we get this straight.”

“Get what straight?” I got to my feet, not at all pleased with the way he was standing over me.

He took a step closer, invading the last inches of my personal space. “Under no circumstances am I going to let you pay my bounty-hunting fee. Not only is that unethical, but it’s offensive. I’m not here with you now because of the money. Got that?”

“I never—”

“I’m here because I want to spend time with the sexy witch who seduced the shit out of me last night and left me hungry for more.”

“Well, that’s flattering,” I said with heavy sarcasm.

“You should be flattered.” His voice was rough as his desire-filled eyes bored into me. “It takes someone special to catch my attention and keep it.” He let out a low, ironic chuckle. “And don’t be giving me that offended glare. You’re exactly the same way. I can sense it all over you. The way you left all those men wanting you back at the club. The subtle magic you use to attract whoever catches your eye. And then the way you flee after you’ve gotten what you want. Don’t for a minute stand there and act like what I said is any different from the way you operate. Because I can see right through you.”

And even though my head said I should slap him and walk away, or at the very least tell him what a piece of shit he was for his crass assessment of me after knowing me for less than twenty-four hours, I did neither of those things. Because he was right. And the fact that he had called me on it only made me want him all the more.

“Matisse?” he said, dropping his gaze to my lips.

“Vaughn?” I breathed.

“It’s going to be a while before you can make that phone call.”

My pulse quickened and something fluttered in my stomach. “And why is that?” I managed to force out.

“Because, my gorgeous witch, I’m going to take you to bed now and make you ache with need until you beg me to make love to you.”

Chapter 11

Matisse

Vaughn dipped his head and moved in to claim my lips. His words kept repeating in a loop in my head.

I’m going to take you to bed and make you ache with need.

I was already there. Just his words had ignited a passion so fierce, so lustful, that every part of me begged to be touched. My fingers curled into his shirt, fisting the fabric as our tongues met and tangled together.

The kiss was hot, full of pent-up tension, but the frenzy was offset by his slow, gentle caress of my neck. His fingers trailed lightly from the base of my skull down to my nape and circled the love bite he’d given me the night before. Once again as soon as he touched me there, electric heat shot from the mark straight to my center, causing me to gasp with the delightful sensation.

His chest rumbled with a light chuckle.

“What did you do to me?” I asked, my lips pressed against his.

He pulled away slightly to gaze into my eyes. “You’ve been marked.”

But before I could ask what he meant, he lifted me off my feet and covered my mouth with his. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me into his bathroom. Then the shower was on and he was peeling me out of my soiled clothes.

I stood there letting him do what he would, completely turned on by the intimacy of the moment. Every thought of the day’s events flew out of my head as each garment was stripped from my body, followed by his gentle touch over my bare skin. It wasn’t until his hand brushed over my neck and the tingling started again that I remembered what he’d said. Standing naked in his bathroom, I touched his hand, stopping his careful exploration. “What did you mean, I’ve been marked?”

His eyes focused on my neck and then he placed his fingers over the area, carefully tracing the faint bruise. “Only that I’d left a mark on you. It’ll fade.”

Why did I like the fact that he had marked me? The feminist in me wasn’t amused. But the woman in me thought it was hot as hell. I hooked a finger in one of his belt loops and tugged him the last few inches toward me. And as I undid his belt, he bent his head to my neck and went to work on loving that spot on my neck. My knees turned to jelly as heat flooded my body. “Oh, that’s nice.”

I felt him smile against my skin, and with a gentle tug, I relieved him of his jeans and boxer briefs. Then I traced my hands over his abs, exploring every toned dip and ridge. Eff me. His body was outrageous. I could’ve spent all night just touching him. That is until he tugged his shirt off and pulled me into the hot stream of water. He turned me so I was standing in front of him and then he went to work on washing every part of my body. The warmth and slippery touch of his soapy fingers soothed me.

He took his time washing my back, my limbs, and even took care to massage my fingers. The total luxury of giving myself over to someone else was tantalizing, and for once, I didn’t feel threatened by my own vulnerability. I loved it. Loved giving up the control and trusting this man to give me what I needed.

After carefully washing and conditioning my hair, he handed me the shower gel and stood before me, silently asking me to do the same for him. I was all too willing. My fingers were eager to touch, to explore, and to know all the ridges and angles of his tall frame. I took my time washing his hair, gratified when he tilted his head back with his eyes closed, clearly enjoying my touch. Once I was done, I grazed my fingers along the indent of his narrow waist, smiling when I reached around and ran my hand along the silky plane of his arousal.

A small, strangled moan escaped his lips as he grew harder under my touch.

Kissing his shoulder, I palmed him and slowly slid my hand up and down and then repeated the motion.

“Matisse,” he said, placing his hand over mine to stop the torment.

I squeezed gently, sending a small shiver through him. “Yes, Vaughn?”

“Maybe it’s better for both of us if we put the pause button on that activity for a moment.” He turned and flattened his hands against the tile, trapping me between him and the wall. “Because there’s a lot more I have planned before this evening is over.”

I raised my hands in surrender. “I’m all yours.”

His dark eyes sparked with intensity, and I bit my lip as I realized I’d just given up all control. But it was so freeing and so damned alluring that I stood there, waiting for him to make another move.

He dipped his head, gently kissing one of my fingers, and curled his right hand around my left. The gesture was so sweet and tender it nearly brought tears to my eyes. But then he slipped another one of my fingers into his mouth and sucked, sending a bolt of lightning that heated me from the inside out. A moan of pleasure tore from the back of my throat.

His low chuckle vibrated over my fingers, and the thought of his mouth on other more sensitive places made my insides churn with anticipation.

“More,” I said, arching so my nipple was inches from his lips.

He didn’t disappoint. He turned his head and clasped his teeth around my already pebbled peak and moved his hand down to my hip, possessively digging his fingers into my flesh.

“Yes,” I whispered.

That tiny word, yes, was like a dam bursting, and his mouth was suddenly everywhere, kissing and biting my flesh until my breasts were aching and heavy. The sensations were breathtaking in a way that left me unable to do anything except lean against the cool tile and let him devour me.

Before long, he shifted and kissed his way down my stomach, stopping just before his tongue dipped inside me. “Matisse?”

“Hmm?” I murmured.

He carefully shifted my feet so my legs were spread, giving him more access. “I’m going to make you come so hard you’re not going to be able to hold yourself up.”

“Oh, okay,” I whispered and buried my hands in his thick hair, my hips swaying with anticipation.

“Then I’m going to carry you to the bed, bury myself deep inside you, and claim you in the way only a man who’s had every part of you can.”

“Uh-huh,” I agreed, trembling now. “Yes. Do it now. Make me come for you.” In my lust-filled state, I didn’t care that I was begging. Didn’t care that I was at his mercy. He wanted to make me feel things I’d never let myself feel before, that loss of control while being pleasured by another. I wanted it. Craved it. And trusted him to be the one to do it.

His tongue darted out, licking my hot, slick flesh with practiced expertise. The orgasm started to build instantly. My magic sprang to life with each stroke of his tongue, as if his touch was calling my power forward. I had no control over it. Couldn’t stop it even if I wanted to. Not that I did. The sensation was heady and bringing me to the edge faster than ever before.

I moaned, magic sparking around me.

Vaughn raised his head, meeting my half-lidded eyes. His were full of untamed lust, and without warning, his fingers plunged into me as he sucked hard on my sensitive flesh.

My entire body trembled as a long, slow shudder rolled through me.

Sparks of magic flickered over my skin, serving only to intensify the glorious sensations. I’d never felt this good before. Never felt this alive. I rocked my hips forward, demanding more.

That clever mouth of his sucked harder. My muscles tightened, and a ragged gasp escaped me as the bundle of nerves went off like a rocket. The orgasm hit me fast and hard. If Vaughn hadn’t been holding me up, I was certain I’d slide to the floor of the shower. But his strong hands kept me in place. And all the while he kept his tongue on me, coaxing me into a greater frenzy of sensation.

I bit my lower lip, trying to hold back the screams of release, but I lost the battle and cried out his name, confirming that at least for that night, I did belong to him.

He held me there under the warm stream of water, his head pressed to my stomach as he waited for my shudders to fade away.

I wasn’t sure what to say. He’d made another promise. The one to claim me, to really mark me as his. Would he do it?

I didn’t have to wait long for my answer. Without a word, Vaughn flipped the water off and secured me in his arms. A moment later, he was on top of me in his bed, reaching for a condom. “Remember what I said before?”

I nodded.

“Good. Because I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone.”

As he deftly rolled the condom on, I jerked up and caught his lower lip in mine, sucking on his the way he’d been sucking on me less than a few minutes before. He groaned, and true to his word, he slammed into me, burying himself deep.

“Ohh,” I sighed, wrapping myself around him. “Yes.”

Our eyes met. In him, I saw a man I could finally trust to take me places I’d been too afraid to go before. Magic crackled around us, forming a cocoon of light.

Vaughn froze, taking in the fireworks show, but when I lifted my hips, creating that sweet friction, his attention snapped back to me. Then he started to move. He pulled back slowly, savoring the incredible torture. I clutched at his arms, digging my nails in, silently begging him to give me what I so obviously craved. He paused, staring down at me, his expression focused.

“Please,” I said.

That one word unraveled his control and he thrust into me. Magic rippled over my skin and then clung to him. I knew the moment he felt it. His hips jerked and he slid into me—deeper, if that was even possible.

“Shit, Matisse. You feel so damn good.”

I could only manage a nod. His touch was now sending tingles of delight into me at every spot we connected. It was overwhelming and intoxicating at the same time. The magic was wholly intertwined with our lovemaking now. With each stroke, each movement we made together, the magic got stronger. It encircled us and built to dizzying levels.

He gazed down at me in wonder. Our eyes locked, and together we moved in unison. We were lost in the moment, magic coursing through the both of us, spilling all around us, and building with each moment we were lost in each other.

The fire building inside me raged hotter and wilder than ever before. I matched his pace, raising my hips to meet his as he made me his in mind, body, and soul.

I was lost in the haze of sex and magic.

“Are you with me, Mati?” Vaughn’s husky voice brought me back to myself.

Nodding, I tightened my grip on his shoulders.

“Good, baby. That’s good. Do you like the way I feel inside of you?”

“Yes.” My voice was barely a whisper.

“How much?”

“Hmm. A lot,” I muttered into his shoulder as I clung to him, trying to get closer.

“Show me.”

His words were like a drug possessing me. I hooked one leg around his and we rolled together until I was straddling him.

“Ride me,” Vaughn commanded.

And even though I was on top, he was still in charge. His hands clasped my hips as he held me in place and thrust up into me. I moaned as the crescendo of pleasure flooded my senses. Another thrust. And another, as magic filled the room, bursting around us. I gasped as Vaughn ground into me one last time and we came together. The second orgasm bolted through me, hitting me so hard I collapsed against him, gasping for breath.

He kissed my shoulder and brought his hand up to gently caress my face. We stared at each other, each of us wide-eyed. He had a look of wonder, but all I felt was empty, and it scared the crap out of me.

“Vaughn,” I said and tried to lift myself off him, but I was too weak. Instead, I sort of slid to the side, one leg still draped over his body.

“Mati?” His voice was far away and my vision started to fade.

Then there was nothing.

Chapter 12

Vaughn

Confusion mixed with panic lined Matisse’s face as she collapsed at my side.

I sprang up and clasped her shoulders. “Matisse? Babe. What’s wrong?”

Nothing. She didn’t move and her body appeared to be totally limp. “Shit!” I climbed to my knees and scooped her up in my arms, holding her close. She’d spent too much of her magic. I was sure of it. Never in my life had I felt someone throw that much power around. I’d thought it had all been part of her sex-witch ritual, but now, seeing her unconscious, my gut told me something had gone terribly wrong.

“Wake up,” I said gently and brushed her hair back, panic slowly taking over. “Matisse, wake up!” I shook her gently. Her head lolled to one side. “Dammit!”

I positioned her head on a pillow and leaped off the bed. Pulling on fresh jeans, I grabbed my phone. Except I wasn’t sure who to call. A doctor? Her mom? Mitch? No, not him. Her coven. They’d know what to do. I ran into the other room and grabbed my notebook, which was full of supernatural contacts. After flipping to the correct page, I dialed.

“Coven Pointe Charms,” a woman said.

“I’m looking for your coven leader. It’s an emergency.”

“Who is this?”

“Vaughn Paxton. One of your members is here. Matisse, and she’s ill. It’s imperative that I speak with your leader.”

“Matisse?”

“Yes, dammit.”

“What happened? Can you put her—”

Crash!

A clamoring came from my living room. I spun and ran, hearing nothing but the sound of my heart in my throat. Had another demon come after Matisse?

But when I slid to a stop in my doorway, there wasn’t a demon. There was a man untangling himself from an extension cord that connected my television to an outlet on an adjoining wall.

“What the hell are you doing in my house?” I demanded.

The tall man with brilliant green eyes smiled and held his hand out.

I ignored it. “I said—”

A fog settled over my brain. My thoughts jumbled as if my brain had been scrambled. Then my arm rose on its own and I shook the man’s hand.

He gave me a warm smile. “Welcome to the Brotherhood, Vaughn. We were hoping you’d join us soon.”

I heard the words but couldn’t process them. All I could do was nod.

“If you’re ready, I’d be pleased to take you to headquarters.”

There was a nagging somewhere in the back of my mind. I was forgetting something important. But it wouldn’t come. “Yes,” I heard myself say.

“Excellent.” The man, dressed in a black jacket and jeans, positioned himself next to me, grabbed my hand, and then took a step forward.

The world turned gray as air rushed over my skin. I blinked, and my surroundings morphed again. We stood on a sidewalk in front of a large white antebellum home with a white picket fence.

“Welcome home,” my escort said.

I glanced from him to the house. The yard was lush and green with an old majestic oak taking up residence on the left side of the lawn. I had a sense of belonging, and I never wanted to leave. Without hesitation, I followed my escort up the walk and into the large house.

Seven figures all dressed the same were lined up in the large foyer. The one in the middle, the oldest, lifted his gaze and said in a formal tone, “Vaughn Paxton, welcome to the Brotherhood.”

I didn’t know what the Brotherhood was, but there was a feeling deep in my gut that this was where I was supposed to be. It felt right. Like something important was happening. Without being told, I was sure that man was the leader. I nodded, waiting for instruction.

The leader turned and walked through double doors. The other brothers surrounded me, and as a unit, we all followed him into a grand ballroom. The leader stood waiting for us in the middle of the room. The other seven men fanned out, forming a half circle around him.

“Vaughn, please take your place in the middle of the circle.”

Stuck in a trancelike state, I did as I was told. The moment my feet stilled, the confusion lifted and my memories came rushing back in. Matisse. She needed my help.

Rage filled me. I’d been spelled or possessed or something. Otherwise, I would’ve never left Matisse. Who were these people? Why was I here? I didn’t even want to find out. With single-minded determination, I spun and took off toward the exit. Only when I got to the edge of the circle, I slammed into an invisible wall and bounced back.

“What the fuck is—”

More memories flooded my brain. Only they weren’t mine. They were like a movie reel of past events. Demons were everywhere. And angels. And witches like Matisse. Battles were being fought. Angels fell. Others were kidnapped and forced into Hell until they fell. It was an all-out war full of chaos. Demons ruled and did unspeakable acts to witches and humans.

The despair and heartache rushed through me, seized me, gutted me. Created an intense need to do something. Anything to help the poor souls who were being destroyed.

Then the reel changed, and another group of witches appeared. They were locked up in some facet of Hell, waiting. Most of them were resigned. A few were angry, and still others were just plain broken. A fierce desire to help them overtook me, but there was nothing I could do about a memory.

The fact that they were trapped was bad enough, but then a group of lesser demons descended on them, and the reason for their entrapment was clear. They were sex slaves. Utter disgust rolled through me. Why was I being shown this? Was this happening right now? The need to protect, to fight for justice, seized me.

“Vaughn Paxton, do you willingly submit to spending the rest of your days as a demon hunter? To devote your life to fighting demons and protecting those who cannot protect themselves?”

My consent was on the tip of my tongue, almost as if it was being forced from me. Yes. I would do that. Nothing could stop me. But then Matisse’s image flashed in my mind. What had happened to her? And why had these people come for me now? Did it have to do with her?

A new reel of what had to be history flickered to life in my mind. The scene of the lesser demons and witches reappeared, only it must have been a different day. The witches appeared to be a few years younger than they had been. The light faded and the demons and witches faded with it, save but two. One demon and one witch.

Only instead of being afraid, the witch appeared to like the lesser demon. And he appeared to be in love with her. With these two, there was no forced sex. They were deeply in love. And after they joined for the first time, the witch gave every last bit of her magic and power to the demon, leaving herself on the verge of death.

But the demon, he morphed from a demon to something else. Something more than he was before. Moral. Determined. Honorable. Power radiated from him. He sank to his knees, gathered his witch in his arms, and bolted, determined to use his newfound power to protect her from the life she’d been forced into.

The leader studied me. “That memory is how the first incubus came into being.”

“Incubus?” I said, my tone low. Unease settled over me. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Your witch unleashed your power, Vaughn. You were born an incubus. And by birthright, destined to be part of the Brotherhood, an organization fully dedicated to fighting the existence of demons.” He waved a hand around the room. “Welcome home.”

An incubus. How could that be true? But a voice deep down whispered, How could it not be? The years of having any woman I wanted. The undeniable sex appeal. The way Matisse had called to me.

Matisse. Holy fuck. Her image once again haunted me. I had to see her. I’d been the one who’d broken her. I had to make sure she was all right.

“Do you, Vaughn, accept the induction into the Brotherhood?” the leader asked once more.

I crossed my arms over my chest, and with a will greater than I knew I possessed, I said, “No. I do not accept. Now let me the hell out of here.”

The circle tightened around me and the images became more vivid, more horrid, assaulting me to the point I wanted to gag. With a roar, I sprang forward and grabbed the leader by his shirt, pulling him up close. “What the hell are you doing, old man?”

He stood still, unaffected by my assault.

“Speak up!” I shook him, trying to elicit a response. Any at all.

“Release me, Vaughn.” His tone was mild, unconcerned.

Despite my anger, something unexplainable came over me and I stepped back, but that didn’t stop me from giving the bastard a push.

He swayed, took one unsure step, and then righted himself. “Are you prepared to reject your birthright, to let the innocent suffer, to let the demons corrupt our world? To corrupt you? Your power will be too much to handle without the Brotherhood. Eventually you’ll fall—become a full-blown demon.”

I glared at him. They’d taken me from Matisse when she needed me most. How was that protecting people? “Cut the shit. I’m not buying your Brotherhood bullshit or your demon scare tactics. What is it you want from me exactly?” Humans couldn’t fall. Only angels could. That much I knew. But I wasn’t human, was I? No. He’d said incubus. Anger coiled in my gut. Everything about this was too forced. Too heavy-handed.

He met my eyes, then nodded to one of the brothers. Without a word, the seven of them filed out of the great hall.

The leader held his hand out. “I’m Maximus. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

I ignored his hand and waited.

“Come with me.” Maximus crossed the room and opened a door into what appeared to be his private office.

I glanced back at the foyer. I couldn’t waste any more time here. Matisse was sick.

“She’s being taken care of,” Maximus said.

“Excuse me?”

“Your witch. She’s being taken care of. Soon after you were transported here, her people came for her. Even if you went back to your place, you wouldn’t find her.”

“How do you know that?” I was about half a second from tearing out of there to find out for myself.

He waved a hand, and a projection lit the ballroom wall. It was a scene in my apartment. The demon hunter and I vanished into thin air, and a moment later, a woman who had to be Matisse’s mom burst through my front door. Another woman followed, and the pair searched my apartment until they found Matisse unconscious on my bed. I watched the silent film as the pair stuffed a variety of herbals down her throat and cast some spell.

Matisse’s eyes fluttered open briefly, and she mouthed something that looked like “Vaughn.”

Relief at seeing her awake did nothing to squelch my desire to find her at any cost. I still needed to see for myself that she was going to be okay.

But the scene morphed and then Matisse was walking up the stairs to a shotgun double style house. Although she was clearly worn out, she was moving under her own steam. The knot in my chest eased, and I was finally able to breathe. “She’s with her family, then?”

Maximus nodded. “She’ll be fine.”

“What happened to her?”

He cast me a sympathetic glance that only served to piss me off. “Come into my office and I’ll explain.”

Reluctantly, I followed the man because if nothing else, I was going to get answers.

Chapter 13

Matisse

The last thing I remembered was being joined with Vaughn, magic pulsing around us in a heady stream of power. It had been intense, freeing, and I’d been completely in the moment, giving myself over to him. I’d loved it. And when we’d come together, something had exploded inside me and set my magic free.

But then as the elation of incredible sex had started to fade away, my head started swimming and my limbs became weak. I’d reached for Vaughn, but my strength was gone.

Everything had gone black.

I don’t know how long I faded in and out of consciousness, but when I did finally wake, I was still in Vaughn’s bed and my mother was hovering over me.

“Mati?” Her light blue eyes were narrowed and shining with concern.

“Mom?” My voice sounded far away. “What’s going on? Where’s Vaughn?”

She ran a soothing hand over my brow. “He had to go, love. Don’t worry about him right now.”

“Tell the girl the truth, Maven,” Dayla, my aunt, said harshly. “She has a right to know.”

I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus on Dayla, but she was only a blur. “Tell me what?”

“Never mind that now.” My mom’s tone was full of irritation. “There’s plenty of time to fill her in later. It’s not like he’s coming back.”

That made me sit up. The world spun as the sheet fell, leaving me exposed to my mother and aunt. I clutched at the sheet and huddled back down in the bed. “Can someone get me my clothes?”

“They’re right here,” Mom said. “Let’s get you dressed and take you home.”

I was too weak to argue and let my mom help me get dressed for the first time since I was six years old. Before long, they had me tucked in Mom’s Range Rover and then we were flying through the streets of New Orleans on the way back to the Pointe. I stared out the window, clutching my chest. The emptiness claiming my insides was almost too much to bear. Tears burned the backs of my eyes. And I did nothing to stop them from streaming down my face.

When we pulled up in front of Mom’s house, Dayla took one look at me and swore. “Look at what he’s done to her. Tell her everything right now, or I will.” She turned to me. “Matisse, pull yourself together. You need to be strong now.”

Mom sent her a dirty look. “Give her five minutes. Jeez.” Mom took me by the hand and led me to her guest room. “Lie down and I’ll bring you some healing tea.”

I climbed on the bed and curled up into a ball. There was no fight in me. There was nothing.

Sometime later, Mom came back, holding a tray with tea and some soup. “How are you, baby?”

I peered up at her. Mom wasn’t the coddling type. I didn’t think I’d ever heard her call me baby. Not even when I was a little girl. “What is it?”

She set the tray down and blew out a breath. “How long have you known Vaughn?”

“Just a few days. Why?”

She shook her head, her expression skeptical. “That’s all?”

“Yes.”

“It’s even worse than I thought.” She stood and paced the room, her bare feet silent on the wood floors.

I rolled over to my back and stared up at her.

“You’re not going to like this,” she said.

“Well, with a buildup like that…”

She chuckled, then sobered as she sat next to me. “Vaughn is an incubus.”

“Umm… what?” Did she just say what I thought she did? I tried to scramble so I was sitting up, but my arms were too weak and my head too heavy. Giving up, I flopped back down on the bed and hugged a pillow. “I had sex with a demon?” I whispered, utterly horrified.

“Oh, no.” She wrapped her warm hand around my cold one. “He’s a descendant of a demon, which makes him predisposed to be an incubus, but the only way to awaken that side of him is to have sex with a sex witch.”

I frowned, confused. “Having sex with me turned him into an incubus?”

“Yes. But it’s not just the sex. He must have gained your trust somehow.”

Well, he had. I’d opened up to him and shed my guards. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything. You had to have given him some of your magic in order to ignite the shift from human to incubus.”

Dread filled all the empty crevices in my chest. I had done that. I’d thought I’d been letting the magic build for myself. That afterward, I’d have plenty of reserves. And instead, he’d stolen it. And then left me for dead.

The bastard!

When I saw him next, I’d kill him. Rip his heart out and feed it to the gators. No wonder he’d been so hell-bent on saving me from the demon. He needed me for his own devious plans. I’d opened myself up for the first time, and he’d taken advantage of me in the worst way possible. He’d stolen the most important part of me. My magic.

“How do you know this?” I asked her, my voice getting weaker by the moment.

Dayla, whom I hadn’t even known was in the room, came into view. She placed her palm on my cheek and stared into my eyes. “Because, darling. It happened to me once. Incubi need sex witches to complete the change. And they’ll do whatever they have to in order to make it happen. Including breaking your heart.”

She knew. She understood what I’d given up without my knowledge.

“Sleep, my lovely niece. We’ll talk more when you get your strength back.”

I wanted to ask more questions. Wanted to know everything about what had happened and how long it would take to recover, but I couldn’t. My eyes closed and the world faded away.

I spent three and a half weeks on bed rest. The night I’d spent with Vaughn had taken more than my magic. He’d taken away my ability to live any sort of normal life. I slept twenty hours a day for the first week. I couldn’t concentrate on my schoolwork and ended up taking an incomplete in all my classes. I’d have to retake them all.

Plus my power was all but gone. Replenishing it would require sleeping with someone else. That was the last thing I wanted to do. It was almost as if I had PTSD. Even after I built up a little strength, I had no interest in trolling for a sex partner.

The day after I moved back into my apartment, I was sitting on my couch shoveling ice cream in my face when a knock sounded on the door. I didn’t even look up. Whoever it was could just go away.

But no matter how much I ignored the knocking, the person wouldn’t stop. Finally I got up, wrapped a blanket around my shoulders, and flung the door open. “What?”

Chessa stood on my porch, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Is this what your life is going to be now?”

I stared at her open-mouthed. Then, without a word, I spun and headed back to my couch.

She closed the door and followed me. “You can’t go on acting as if you’re not a witch.”

The coffee-flavored ice cream melted over my tongue. Swallowing, I made a point of shoveling another large spoonful into my mouth.

She shook her head and sat in the chair across from me. “Are you going to let him ruin your life?”

I knew what she was doing. She wanted to get me so pissed that I got my fire back. What she didn’t understand was that my fire was gone. Stolen. I couldn’t help her. “There’s nothing left, Chessa.”

“There is. You just have to see your way through it.”

“Riiight. I’ll get right on that.” I dug into the ice cream, scooping up another large portion. “The only way I’m going to get my magic back is by sleeping with someone. And that’s not going to happen. Never again. Got it? I was used. Violated. And I’ll never put myself in that position again. So go back to the realm and find someone else to help you with the portal, because I’m out.”

She stood and placed her hands on her hips. “You weren’t violated. Not in the way you think.”

I jumped to my feet and got in her face. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, angel.”

Chessa blew out a breath, clearly trying to stay calm. “You can be as mad at me as you want to. I can take it. But I’m here to tell you the whole truth, not Dayla’s distorted view. I’m an angel. We devote our lives to fighting demons. That means I have a little better idea of what goes down, don’t you think?”

I shrugged. Maybe, but what did that have to do with Vaughn?

“Incubi are rare. When they are made—”

“You mean after they steal the magic of a sex witch?” I said dryly.

“Well, that’s one way to look at it. But not all of them know that’s what they’re doing. You can’t know if Vaughn was using you or if you just happened to connect. A man who is predisposed to become an incubus has a sexual energy that’s hard to ignore. Just like a sex witch. Though sex witches know this about themselves and use it to their advantage.”

“Hey!” I tossed my spoon down. “I was out gathering magic for your project. Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not.” She stepped back, clearly offended I would think such a thing of her.

Whatever. She had no idea what it was like to be me right then.

“I’m saying he might not have known. All of this might have been as big of a shock to him as it was to you. That’s all.” She backed up and clasped her hand over the doorknob. “Think about it, Mati. Who targeted whom?”

Startled, I jerked my head up and met her eyes. I had targeted him. He’d approached me only after I’d made my presence known. But… “If he didn’t know and this was all a massive mistake, then where has he been? He’s a tracker. If he wanted to find me, he could’ve.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. But wouldn’t it be better if you knew the truth?”

I averted my gaze. Did I want the truth? What if everything I feared was true? What if it wasn’t? Either way, was I going to sit on my couch for the rest of my life wallowing in my Blue Bell ice cream? Seeing Chessa standing there and treating me as if I weren’t broken lit a fire in my belly. Was I going to let him ruin my life? Eff that. I glanced back up and met her penetrating gaze. “I have someone I can call. I’ll have my magic back in a few days. Come back then. I’ll be ready to work.”

“That’s not—”

“It’s all you’re getting.” I didn’t want to sleep with anyone, but if I was honest with myself, I missed my magic. Was lost without it.

She let out a long breath. “I was going to say I didn’t come here to put you back to work. I came to make sure you’re okay. But do what you have to do.”

I plucked at the blanket. “Chess?”

“Yeah?”

“I have nothing. No school. No job without my magic. And even Ashley’s avoiding me right now. I don’t blame her. I’ve not been myself.”

She eyed the ice cream and snorted. “Some things haven’t changed.”

That made me smile. “Right, well… Anyway. I need something for me. And as long as I can get my magic back, I want to keep working with you.”

“Good.” She pulled the door open. “Call me when you’re ready.”

Chapter 14

Vaughn

I was in my new house unpacking my extensive book collection when the doorbell rang. I frowned. No one knew where I lived. And there was a spell on the house to keep strangers away. Who could possibly be on the other side of that door?

Maximus was my guess. That guy just wouldn’t leave well enough alone. No matter how many times I refused to join the demon hunters, he kept coming back. Why couldn’t he understand that I couldn’t commit my life to something that was only available to me by stealing magic from someone I cared about? The idea I was susceptible to becoming a demon bothered me, but I wasn’t willing to be ruled by fear.

I’d been by Matisse’s apartment a few times, but her friend had said she was with her mom for the time being. I hadn’t had the balls to go looking for her there. Call me a coward, but a house full of witches was more than a little intimidating. Besides, what I had to say to Matisse was private.

I crossed through the living room to the small entry of my Lakeview home and peered through the peephole. I recognized her immediately, with her dark hair and intense, dark eyes. Matisse’s mother. What was she doing here? And how had she found my new place? I pulled the door open and leaned against the frame. “Good evening, Ms. Ballintine. It’s a pleasure to see you.”

She frowned, clearly unhappy to be there. “Can I come in?”

I stepped aside, gesturing her into the entry hall.

She walked in straight to my empty living room. “No furniture?”

“It hasn’t been delivered yet.” I nodded toward the kitchen. “I do have stools, though.”

“Fine.”

I led the way and waited for her to sit. Her hostility should have put me off, but I found it more interesting than anything. It had been weeks since my night with Matisse. Why was her mother here now? Unless Ashley had been mistaken and Mati wasn’t getting stronger with each day. “How is Matisse? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Or will be. And that’s why I’m here.”

I hated myself for hurting her. It didn’t matter that it had been unintentional. I was gutted by the knowledge. “What can I do?”

“Nothing.” Her eyes narrowed as she studied me. “That’s what I came to say. I know you’ve gone by her place at least once. Do me a favor and stay away. Nothing good can come of a visit from you. You’ll only make matters worse.”

“I need to apologize,” I said. “I don’t want to do anything to harm her. Quite the opposite, and she deserves to hear what I have to say.”

“Maybe she does. In that case, put it in a letter.” She stood. “Because if you go see her now, I’m fairly certain she’ll have a mental breakdown. But not before she tries to spell your dick off.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if she hadn’t just mentioned Matisse castrating me. “Got it?”

I nodded, not at all sure what I was supposed to say to that. But if Matisse really was that angry with me, if I did show up now, it would only serve to delay her healing. I could and would wait it out. “For now.”

“What does that mean, for now? Haven’t you done enough damage?”

“No doubt. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to find a way to make it right someday.” Matisse’s mother could think anything she wanted. It wouldn’t change the fact that even after only two days together, I cared about her daughter. Cared more than I should.

She scowled. “There’s no way to make it right.” Then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Never mind. Just stay away from her. If not, you’ll have me to answer to.”

“Understood.”

Matisse

It took me all day to make the damned phone call. It shouldn’t have been that hard. Sex wasn’t a big deal. At least it hadn’t been. Now? I felt differently. What I’d shared with Vaughn had changed me. Now sex held meaning. Just the thought of being with someone else made my stomach hurt.

But at the same time, if I was able to help Chessa close the portal and cut off the demons, she’d be safer. And just maybe that would mean there would be less need for incubi. Maybe it was stupid, but if I could save one sex witch from feeling as used and violated as I had, it would be worth it.

The fact that I was going to use Brandon was not lost on me. The best I could do was to be up front with him from the beginning. Make sure he knew this was only about the physical act in order to get strong again. As a witch, he’d understand what I meant.

The phone rang only once before he picked up. “Mati! What’s up?”

“Hey, you. Are you busy?” I held my breath. He could have a date… or even a girlfriend by now. It had been four weeks since I’d seen him.

“Not right now. Just sitting here thinking about going out for a beer. Why?”

I sucked in a nervous breath. The feeling was so unnatural. I was never nervous around the opposite sex. It was part of my gift. “I was wondering if you might want to come over for a while. I, ah… Damn. Look, I need to get strong and I’m not up for spending time with a random stranger.”

Silence.

“Brandon?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m here.”

“Did you hear what I said?”

He chuckled. “I heard you. Just took me a moment to process. I’ve never been propositioned like that before.”

“Oh, crap.” I sat on my couch and hung my head, keeping the phone pressed to my ear. “I’m sorry. Forget I even called. It was a stupid idea.”

“No!” Another pause. “I mean no, it wasn’t stupid. And it’s fine. We’re friends. Of course I can help you out. But are you sure you want me to come to your place? That’s unusual for you, isn’t it?”

Instead of relief, a strange trace of trepidation shuddered through me. But I shut my feelings down. This wasn’t about me and my desires. It was about getting healthy enough to go back to work. “I’m sure.” If anything went wrong, I didn’t want to end up naked and passed out in someone else’s space. Never again.

“Okay. What time?”

“Now?” Goddess. That sounded desperate. I bit my lip and waited for him to laugh.

But he didn’t. “Sure.” His voice had turned husky. “See you soon.”

Vaughn

After Matisse’s mother left, Mitch called. He had another job for me. I changed into dark jeans, a gray hoodie, and black boots. To someone who didn’t know me, I could be a student or I could be a drug dealer. Both were good cover options considering I was heading to Mitch’s neighborhood.

His house was in Mid-City, not too far from City Park. It wasn’t the best neighborhood, but it wasn’t the worst either. The paint on his shotgun double was peeling and the porch sagged with years of neglect. It’s not a place I would’ve chosen to live, but if the rent was low enough, I guess the house and large yard afforded him some privacy.

I knocked once and then let myself in. The front room was virtually empty, not a stick of furniture in the place. “Mitch?”

“In the kitchen.” His voice floated from the back of the house.

I found him at a Formica table. His laptop was open and files covered every inch of the surface. “Good. You’re here.” He stood up and passed me a beer.

I took it but made no move to actually drink it. “You have a job for me?”

“Yes.” He rifled through the papers on the table, his movements jerky and overly excited. Looking up, he called, “Sam! He’s here.”

Light footsteps sounded on the hardwood floors. My eyes widened and then narrowed when my old friend came into view. She seemed even smaller than her five-foot three frame. Her hair was rumpled and her face was blotchy from crying.

“Sam?” I met my best friend from high school in the kitchen doorway and caught her as she flung herself into my waiting arms. “What happened?”

“Where were you?” she said, her words muffled against my shoulder.

I caressed her hair, trying to soothe her as she shook in my arms. “When? Today? I was at home.”

She pulled back, her pale blue eyes fiery with anger. “No. A month ago when I came to your shop. You said you’d always be there for me. But the one time I needed you, you weren’t. And no one there would give me your number or address.”

A faint recollection of Rick telling me a woman had come by to see me resurfaced from my memory. “I’m so sorry. They didn’t tell me who it was. Otherwise I…” I clutched her shoulders and took a good look at the faint bruises on her neck and temple. My muscles tightened with all-consuming anger. “Who did this to you?”

Her lip trembled, but she sucked in a breath and forced out, “My ex.”

“That son of a bitch.” Wilson Waters. I’d never liked him and now I knew why. “I’ll kill him.”

I was halfway across the kitchen, determined to go after Wilson, when Mitch said, “He’s a witch.”

“So,” I said and kept walking.

“He’s dabbling with black magic.” Mitch’s tone was laced with excitement, making me pause. “After you find him, bring him to me.”

I turned and met his impassive eyes. Maybe I’d imagined the excitement. “Why? If he’s using black magic isn’t it better to call the Witches’ Council for an immediate pickup?”

“Not this time. Sam says he’s working on black curses designed to be used on other people. If that’s the case, we need to find out if he has any cohorts. The Council won’t share their findings with us. If we want to keep New Orleans safe, that’s information we need to know.”

Keep New Orleans safe? I’d never known Mitch to give two shits about anyone but himself. Maybe seeing Sam battered had awoken his conscience. One could hope. “If you say so.”

Sam hurried across the room and grabbed my arm. “I’m going with you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said, gently removing her arm from mine.

“Too damn bad.” She scowled at me. “I’m the one he’s been beating the last month, and I’m the one who knows exactly where he’ll be. I want to be there when you take his ass down. After the last police report, he promised to put me six feet under. I intend to see with my own two eyes that he gets exactly what he deserves.”

Fuck me. He’d been beating her for over a month. He’d threatened her life. And I’d moved and changed my number so often she hadn’t been able to easily get in touch with me. I tugged her to my side, wanting to hold on to her forever. She was the sister I never had. “How did you find Mitch?”

“A friend of a friend knew how to get in touch with a witch connected with the Council. I didn’t know it was Mitch until he opened his front door.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I know where he’ll be for the next hour. We should go.”

Goddammit. My self-loathing intensified. She was here by pure chance. No doubt she’d suffered more than she would even let on. I wanted to tuck her into my house and leave her there until I was certain this bastard was incarcerated, but I knew her better than that. She’d never go for it. “You’re staying in the car.”

Her posture didn’t relax, but I did sense a small bit of relief in her expression. “Fine.”

“Remember. Bring him here before calling the Council,” Mitch said.

“Sure.” I held my hand out to Sam. “Ready?”

“More than ever.”

Once outside, I opened the passenger door of the SUV for Sam and then climbed into the driver’s side. “Want to talk about it?” I asked.

“No. I have a therapist.” Her tone was firm. End of discussion.

“Got it.” I pulled away from the curb, heading in the direction of the university. “And you’re here now because things have escalated?”

She scoffed. “Escalated. Right. Yeah, when the death threats started, I figured it was time to take matters into my own hands.”

“Shit, Sam. I’m sorry.” I was fucking up all over the place with the women in my life.

“You should be. I needed you.” She crossed her arms over her chest and dug her fingernails into her forearms.

“You won’t have any issues getting in touch with me for now on,” I vowed. “Tell me about the black magic. I need to know what I’m up against.”

She went pale as the blood drained from her face. “He’s researching a Black Heart spell. It’s cast on witches and affects the people they fall in love with. It usually ends in death.”

Horror rushed into me. “And he wanted to use this on…?”

“My new boyfriend. He’s a witch, but I don’t want him involved in this. He’ll try to kill Wilson.”

“Shit!”

“That’s what I’m sayin’. Now hurry up. He’s hosting a weekly meeting for one of his frat committees.”

“He’s a frat guy?” Damn. I supposed everyone loved him, too. Classic abuser situation.

She didn’t respond and only spoke again to give me directions. We parked in front of a two-story craftsman house and waited until half a dozen college guys filed out of the front door.

“Which level does he live on?” I asked.

“Bottom. Apartment 1A.”

“Got it. Sit tight.” I grabbed my stun gun and zip ties. I could’ve used a tranq dart, but that would’ve been too kind for the likes of this bastard.

I didn’t bother trying to be stealth bounty hunter guy. Waters was going to know exactly why I’d come for him. The door was open a few inches, and instead of knocking, I strode right in. “Waters?” I called.

The tall blond guy appeared from what must have been a bedroom. When he met my eyes, he scowled. “Paxton, what the fuck do you want?”

“To kick your ass.” I took two steps and slammed my fist into his nose. He howled and crumpled at my feet. Idiot. He hadn’t even seen it coming.

Magic gathered around him, but before he could cast any spell, I slammed my boot into his gut. The power dissipated. He wasn’t a very strong witch, was he? Normally when witches were pissed their power raged out of control. His reaction implied he was scared.

Recoiling, he rolled and grunted. Staring up at me with hatred in his eyes, he asked, “What the fuck is your problem?”

I leaned down so our faces were inches apart. “My problem, jackass, is that you seem to think it’s fun to beat on women. This is the last time you raise a fist to anyone.” I was dying to break another rib or two, but the bastard wasn’t fighting back. Instead, I put my foot on his back and held him down as I reached for my zip ties.

The door slammed open and Sam stood in the threshold, shaking with anger. Before I could stop her, she was by my side, slamming her foot into his side, yelling at the top of her lungs. “You son of a bitch! Think you can threaten me? Think you can force me to sleep with you? I told you, you’d regret the day you ever met me!”

“Sam!” I grabbed her arms and pulled her back. “That’s enough.”

She turned on me, daggers shooting from her blue eyes. “It will never be enough.” A sob got caught in her throat as she collapsed against me.

A groan came from Waters, and then I felt his magic build again. It was stronger and more forceful than before. I spun, shielding Sam from him. My stun gun was in my hand, but before I could connect with him, a blast of magic came from across the room. The light slammed into Waters and he went limp, his face white.

“That should keep him under control.” A petite older witch stood just inside the door. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun.

Sam stepped out from behind me. “Ms. Anders?”

I glanced between the two of them. “What’s going on?”

The older witch strode forward and held her hand out to me. “I’m a professor at the University. I also happen to work for the Witches’ Council. We got a tip about Waters early this morning. I’ve been watching him ever since.” She turned to Sam. “I assume you won’t have any problems testifying against the accused?”

She shook her head. “None at all. He sent me a threatening message late this morning. Again. I thought I was his only target.” She swallowed. “Did he, um, hurt someone else?”

Ms. Anders’ expression turned to one of pity. “He tried. But she escaped.”

“That’s good,” Sam said in a small voice.

The older witch turned to me. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Paxton. The Council will take it from here.”

I wasn’t surprised she knew who I was. Bounty hunters were fully vetted before we were approved to freelance. Mitch was going to be upset he wasn’t going to be able to interrogate Waters, but there was nothing I could do about it now. I inclined my head. “Glad to be of service.”

Sam clutched my hand and squeezed.

I pulled her into a hug and whispered, “Are you going to be okay? Do you want me to stay with you?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine now.”

“You’re positive?”

Nodding, she stepped out of my embrace. “I’ll call you later. Don’t change your number again.”

I gave her a small smile. “If I do, you’ll be the first to know. Don’t forget to tell the Council about the black magic.”

“I won’t.” She kissed my cheek. “Thanks for the help.”

“Anytime, Sam. You know that.” I nodded to the Council witch and took off, ready to give Mitch the bad news.

Chapter 15

Matisse

I sat on my couch, tapping my foot. Brandon was supposed to arrive in less than ten minutes. My nerves were about to choke me. I knew this was something I had to do, but my insides weren’t really on board.

The doorbell rang, and I nearly jumped right off the sofa. Damn, Mati. Get your shit together. It’s just Brandon.

When I opened the door, he leaned down and gave me a kiss on my cheek. It was a sweet gesture. One that he’d made dozens of times before. Then why was I recoiling?

“Hey. You doing okay?” he asked, concern radiating from his eyes.

“Yeah. You?”

He linked his arm around my shoulders and led me back to my couch. “Great.”

We sat and even though he was relaxed and made no mention of the fact I’d essentially invited him over for a booty call, I felt so incredibly awkward I didn’t know what to do. Television maybe? I reached for the remote, but in my haste, I bumped my glass and water splattered all over the coffee table.

“Oh, damn!” I jumped up and ran for the hallway linen closet. When I got back, Brandon was clearing magazines and rescuing my remote from the river of water. “Thank you,” I said as I wiped up the mess.

“No problem.”

It took me a moment to realize he was standing there studying me. I straightened. “What?”

“You seem… different.”

“Different?” I folded my hands together and took a step back. “Different how?”

He shook his head. “Just different. Less cocky I guess.”

That was probably a fair assessment. Ever since my last night with Vaughn, my confidence had fled. And I wasn’t interested in flirting with or tormenting anyone of the opposite sex. It’s why I’d called him. I couldn’t stomach any of those things. I shrugged. “I’m just depleted I guess.”

He gazed down at me and then smiled, holding out his hand.

I didn’t move.

“Mati?” he asked gently.

“What?”

“It’s okay. We’re friends, remember?”

He seemed so relaxed, so unconcerned about anything, that it made me want to curl into him and forget everything. I moved toward him and instead of taking his hand, I wrapped my arms around him, pressing my cheek to his shoulder. His capable arms encircled me as he stroked my hair. It was nice, but not at all sexy in any way. How was I going to get through this?

Good God. I was a sex witch. How was I ever going to cast another spell if I couldn’t find the courage to get on with it?

Brandon took the wet towel from me and hung it in my bathroom. When he got back, he tugged me down onto the couch, tucking me into the crook of his arm. “Just relax.”

“I can’t.”

He chuckled. “I can see that. But seriously, Mati, we don’t have to do anything. I came over because you asked me to, not because I want to get laid.”

I pulled back and gave him a dubious look. “Really?”

His chuckle turned into a full-blown laugh. “Well, I wouldn’t mind getting laid. Especially if the activity involves you, but that’s not the primary reason I’m here. I’d have shown up even if you’d said you were going to force me to watch Real Housewives all night.”

“Seriously? Real Housewives? You’ve lost your damned mind. I would never ask you or anyone else to watch that all night. Talk about drama overload.”

“See?” He brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes. “That’s how much I care.”

“More than I deserve.” I smiled up at him. Then I leaned in and brushed my lips over his. In that instant, all my nerves were gone. And when he started to lead me to my bedroom, I didn’t resist.

It was awful. Not Brandon. He was respectful and attentive, but I couldn’t get past the fact that I was trying to force myself to do something I didn’t want to do. We’d fallen into bed and were deep into the make-out session when he started to peel my clothes off. At that point, I should’ve just gotten it over with. But instead, I’d freaked out. The moment he’d pulled my shirt open, I’d jumped up and wrapped myself in a robe.

Poor guy. He’d been understanding, and when I’d asked for some time to myself, he’d kissed the top of my head and asked if he should leave. I’d wanted to say yes. Wanted to walk him to the door and send him on his way. But I couldn’t. If I rejected Brandon, I’d just have to find someone else.

In the end, I’d gone through with it, but it had been awkward and impersonal. For the first time in my life, I truly resented being a sex witch. If this was what I had to do in order to work with my sister and the coven, it wasn’t worth it.

“Everything okay?” Brandon asked as he tied his shoelaces. He was moving slowly, as if he’d just woken up. His lethargic movements made me feel guilty for taking his energy. He’d recover, but it would be a few days.

“Yeah, sure.” I pulled a bulky sweater over my head and stuffed my feet into a pair of boots. “I really appreciate—”

He put his hand up, cutting off my words. “Don’t.”

I raised my eyebrows in question.

He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “Look. We both know you didn’t want to do this. And if it weren’t for the fact that I knew you needed this to get strong, I wouldn’t have gone through with it.”

“You wouldn’t have?” I sat on the edge of my bed and rubbed at the stabbing pain that had formed over my left eye.

He let out an ironic chuckle. “No one wants to be second choice, Mati.”

“What? You’re not second choice. You were my first choice. This isn’t about wanting someone else. It was about who I could trust.”

He sat down next to me. “I believe that’s what you think. And I know you trust me,” he said, his tone gruff with fatigue. He kissed the back of my hand and then tucked it between both of his. “But pretty soon I think you’re going to realize the reason you’re not that into this is because you’re wishing you were with someone else.”

I pulled my hand from his. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He watched me for a moment. “That might be true.” He leaned in and kissed my cheek once again, then got up. “Take care, Matisse.”

I nodded and let him go. After the front door closed behind him, I ran for my shower and spent the next half hour under the scalding-hot water.

By the time I emerged from my bathroom, my skin was bright red and the afternoon seemed like a vague memory. The only evidence that Brandon and I had been together was the magic coursing through my veins.

My magic. It was back. Thank the Goddess. I grabbed my phone.

Chessa answered on the first ring. “Mati?”

“I’m ready. Meet me in ten minutes.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Are you sure about this?” Chessa asked as we stared at the portal in the shadow world.

“Yes.” The more I thought about it, the more determined I was. Chessa wanted this. If the portals were closed, there wouldn’t be a need for demon hunters and Vaughn and his ilk would be out of business.

“Okay. I have another spell to try. It has more juice.”

I nodded. “Sounds good. I’m ready when you are.” But then nervous energy skittered through me. “What if we summon another demon?”

“I took care of the last one. Don’t worry.”

“Are you forgetting one came after me?”

“Right. We’ll cast a protection spell. Or maybe a deflection spell.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed. “I won’t let that happen again.”

Her matter-of-fact, no-nonsense tone put me at ease. “Then let’s get this done.”

“I did some research. It appears you need to be the sole spell caster. All I can do is back you up if a demon comes forward. You cool with that?”

“Yep. I got this.” I’d almost closed the portal last time. With a little more finesse, I could make it happen. I was sure of it.

“Good. Show me what you’ve got.” Her eyes were bright with excitement. I knew how much this meant to her. She’d lost a good friend to a demon. That was worse than anything I’d gone through.

With determination, I raised my hands over my head and concentrated on the outline of the portal.

“Obfirmave,” I cried and poured every last bit of my energy into the spell. This time instead of the light flickering, it turned a brilliant bright white. The light called to me, invaded me, and made me one with the spell.

Everything disappeared. All I saw was magic pulsing around me.

Chessa was gone. The shadow world was gone.

All that was left was power.

I flung my head back and let the seductive energy ripple through me. It was heady and made me feel so incredibly alive.

I’d never wielded that much power before. Never been so connected with a spell before. I didn’t want to let it go. I could have stayed suspended there in that moment forever. I would have too. It was that mesmerizing.

But then I felt a tug, and my magic started to slip away. No! Panic took over. I would not lose my power again. No one, not even a demon, was going to pry it from me.

The portal. I had to close it. Now. My power pulsed around me, and then with a burst of energy, I cast everything I had at the portal.

Chessa said something, but I couldn’t make out her words. I was too focused. All I saw was light shining back at me.

“Close, dammit,” I demanded.

Tears of sheer emotion burned my eyes. I had to do this. My heart ached too much not to. It was my way of making peace with the fact that I was a sex witch. Ever since Vaughn happened, I’d felt dirty. Using people for power was awful. I wouldn’t do it again. But if I could close this one portal, make the world safer, maybe I could be right with myself again.

My magic burst forth with one final effort. The brilliant white light vanished. The portal was gone, too. The wall was solid black, with no outline of light. I’d done it. It was closed. I turned to Chessa, bouncing with excitement.

“You did it! Oh my Goddess. I can’t believe it.” She flung her arms around me as we both squealed.

“Believe it.” I laughed out of sheer relief and pulled back. “This changes everything.”

She nodded, but as I watched her, Chessa’s image started to fade. One moment she was solid, then I could see right through her. “Chessa?”

“Mati?” She looked just as confused as I felt.

“What’s going on?” I asked, but it was too late. Chessa had faded away completely.

Suddenly all the magic I’d just used slammed back into me, burning through my veins. I writhed and twisted, screaming in pain, unable to cast it off. It was consuming me, charring me from the inside out. This was it. I was going to die right there in the shadow world. The pain was so intense I almost welcomed the end. But then my fight reflex kicked in. I couldn’t give up. Not now.

Without knowing what else to do, I forced the burning sensation from my mind and concentrated on the riverfront. I needed to get home. Needed to get to my coven. I took two steps, willing myself back through the shadows. Then everything fled and the river-scented air hit me. Only I didn’t land on the west bank of the Mississippi. I was on the east bank, or what I thought was the east bank, near the French Quarter. The only problem was no one else was there.

The pain was gone. It had vanished the moment I’d left the shadow world. Nothing was left except the horrific memory. I spun, looking for a tourist or cars going across the nearby bridge. There was nothing. The world was deserted. This had to be some sort of alternate reality. My heart sped up. Where was I? I had to get back to my world. Panic took over at the thought of stepping back into the shadows, but I couldn’t stay where I was.

I sucked in a breath and told myself the spell was broken. Whatever had happened wouldn’t happen again. It couldn’t if I didn’t cast any more magic.

Tamping down my panic, I let my eyes slide out of focus as I concentrated on the shadows. Only when I took the step to cross over, instead of slipping back into the shadows, a thick fog rushed in and I was trapped in a world of nothing but gray.

I flung my hands out, trying in vain to clear the fog as I stumbled backward and forward, searching for a break in visibility. No luck.

Shit! Now what?

Magic. As much as I didn’t want to call on that particular gift at the moment, it was my last and only resource. Gritting my teeth, I raised my arms over my head, pictured my apartment, and yelled, “Return!”

Nothing. Not even a tingle. My heart started to pound against my chest. No magic? Terrified, I reached deep in my gut for my power. I couldn’t feel even the tiniest spark. A cold, terrifying realization came over me. My magic was gone and I was trapped in some void world. There was no way out.

My only hope was that Chessa would find a way to bring me home.

Chapter 16

Vaughn

I was working at the motorcycle shop when Mitch’s name popped up on my cell phone. Now what? I’d already suffered through two rants about how I’d fucked up the last mission. Never mind that Waters was safely locked away and wasn’t getting out anytime soon. Apparently the information about the Black Heart curse was more important than keeping women safe from jackasses who thought nothing of using their fists to win an argument.

“Vaughn,” he said after I answered. “I have a time-sensitive job for you. Can you handle it?” His tone was a little testy, but nothing worse than normal.

“Depends on what it is.”

“There’s a witch who’s casting black magic. He just left here. I need you to pick him up.”

I grabbed a pen. “Name?”

“Lucien Boulard.”

I frowned. “Weren’t you friends with a guy by that name?”

“Sort of. Same guy. And he just tried to curse me. Pick him up and bring him to me.”

I swallowed my snarky reply. “I will if no Council witches show up out of the blue.”

“Make sure of it. I want to question him first. Consider it a courtesy since we knew each other once. Be careful, though. He’s a lot more powerful than most.” Mitch paused, and when he spoke again, I could hear the sneer in his tone. “Just don’t fuck it up this time.”

I ignored the barb. He could be pissed all he wanted. It wasn’t going to change things. “Last known location?”

“The abandoned Six Flags.”

“Six Flags? What were you doing there?”

He cleared his throat. “I’ve been dabbling in the movie-making business. Just a side job. Never mind that. Bring me Boulard and you’re in for a bonus.”

The line went dead. Bonus? Right. I’d be lucky to get one red cent out of him. He still hadn’t paid me for the last job. Maybe Mitch would get over himself if I brought him Boulard. But if he was as powerful as Mitch seemed to think, I couldn’t take any chances. I’d have to neutralize him before he even knew I was there. Otherwise, if he wanted to, he could kill me.

I sat at my computer and ran the trace on his car registration. Five minutes later a map with a flashing icon popped up on the screen. Boulard was on the move. I took careful notes of which route he was traveling. Even though I didn’t know where he was going, if I tracked him for any amount of time, patterns would form.

So far he was just tooling around town. Nothing special. Except when he finally stopped. “No way,” I mumbled. The bastard was parked right in front of the motorcycle shop. Interesting. Did he know he was being tracked?

It didn’t matter. He was on my turf. After grabbing my phone and keys, I took off in the SUV. Ten minutes later, I parked a block and a half down from where Boulard’s car was sitting. What was he doing? Using my binoculars, I focused in on him. Nothing. He was just waiting. Waiting for me no doubt. What else would he be doing there? Did he think he was going to use me against Mitch? Not if I had anything to say about it.

I hit a button on my phone and called the shop. “Hey, boss?”

“Paxton. Why are you bothering me?”

I grinned. “Because if I don’t, no one else will.”

“Tell the old lady that.”

“Not on your life. Listen. I need a favor.”

The boss mumbled something about pain-in-the-ass employees, then said, “Well? I don’t have all day.”

Suppressing a chuckle, I cleared my throat. “Right. You see that guy sitting outside your shop in a Jeep?”

“The pretty boy who looks like he needs to get laid?”

There was no stopping the laugh this time. “Yep. That one.”

“He’s waiting for you.”

Well, that was interesting. “Good. Can you go out there and wave him in. Don’t approach him, just yell that I came in through the back or something.”

“Did you?”

“What? Come in the back?”

“Yeah. Are you here?” he asked.

“I’m outside,” I said.

“Right. And you can’t approach him because?”

“He’s a douche who’s casing the place.” I stole another glance at him through the binoculars. “I’m going to take him out before he gets a chance.”

“I knew there was a reason I hired your ugly ass. You want me to do it now?”

“Give me five minutes.”

The line went dead. I grabbed my zip ties, a Taser, and a dart. If I did this right, he’d never know what hit him. Mitch had mentioned he was powerful and a black-magic user. I couldn’t take a chance. If at all possible, I’d use the dart. It was only a small pinch that would put him out for less than ten minutes. If things got ugly, I’d go for the Taser.

Keeping a close eye on the Jeep, I exited my SUV and then jogged around the block so I was coming at the Jeep from behind. The boss still hadn’t poked his head out yet, so I cut between two of the houses, acting as if I belonged there.

Before long, I heard Rick shout to Boulard. Time to move. With the dart clutched in one hand and the Taser in my pocket, I strode out from between the houses and came up behind my target just as he was exiting his car. “Mr. Boulard?” I asked, making sure I had the right guy.

He turned. “Yes?”

“Thanks for stopping by.” I held my hand out as if I was going to shake his hand, but before he could react, I jabbed the dart into his forearm.

His eyes widened and then went dark with anger. Magic crackled at his palms but just as quickly vanished. A second later, his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he collapsed at my feet.

I waved at my boss. “I’ll get him to the authorities.”

“Good deal. See you tomorrow.”

I reached down, hauled Boulard up, and then stuffed him back in his car. He could wait there while I got my SUV.

Matisse

Time seemed to stand still in my world of fog. There was no way to know if days or nights had passed. It was an endless stream of gray and nothingness. I felt nothing. Not even the pangs of hunger. Just despair at being trapped in a world of silence.

I was lying on the hard ground when I sensed a disturbance followed by a thud. I sat straight up, my heart racing. Had Chessa found me? Or had a demon found a way in? My breath came in short bursts as I waited, frozen in fear and hope.

“Kane?” a female voice called.

Kane? Who was that?

“Kane?” The woman’s voice was frantic now. There was some swearing and then I felt a brush of magic. It was warm and inviting, pushing my fear away.

I moved in the direction of the voice, desperate to find this woman, whoever she was. Anything was better than being in this place alone. Since I could feel her magic I said, “Banish the mist.”

“What? Who are you?” she asked.

Slightly irritated, I called back, “Who are you?”

“Mati? Is that you?”

Oh, Goddess. She knew who I was. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words formed. I was too overwhelmed. Someone had come for me.

“Matisse? If that’s you, your sister sent me. Chessandra.”

Tears welled in my eyes. Chessa hadn’t abandoned me.

The other woman ranted something about it being her wedding day while I tried to compose myself.

When she started to wonder aloud about my identity, I forced myself to speak. “It’s your wedding day?” Compassion filled me for this woman. And I thought my life had been disrupted.

“Well, not anymore.”

“Damn. That sucks. Chessa’s such a bitch.” The words were some sort of defense mechanism to keep myself from falling apart. Chessa had pulled out all the stops to make sure I made it home.

“Yes, it does. And yes, she is.”

I felt bad for her, but if she could get me out of here, I’d personally reschedule everything for her wedding. “Are you a witch? Or just a shadow walker?” I asked. Her cluelessness earlier made me wonder. The magic I felt could be from either. Shadow walkers had just enough magic to bounce between worlds.

“Both. Now what did you mean when you said to banish the mist?”

“You need to cast a banishing spell.” How was it possible she didn’t know what that was? It was a basic skill. “You said you’re a witch, right?”

She let out a huff. “Yes. But I don’t normally banish things unless we’re talking about evil spirits.”

That amused me and a small laugh bubbled out. She could banish ghosts, but not mist. I knew who this was. That white witch, Jade Calhoun, who’d come to town not too long ago and hadn’t even known she was a witch. She’d taken over as coven leader for the New Orleans coven when Bea stepped down. No wonder she was the one who was here. Not many were as powerful as she was.

I guess my laughter irritated her because she said, “Look. If you want my help, you might want to start cooperating. Otherwise, I’m out of here.”

Crap. That was pretty grumpy. I guess I would’ve been too if my wedding had been interrupted. “You’re the white witch, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” There was a bit of hesitation in her tone.

“Figures.” I let out a sigh and sat, too exhausted to keep standing. It wasn’t comforting that I knew more than she did. “This is the spell. By my mind, by my heart, by the power of my will, may the mists part.”

“Okay… but why don’t you do it?”

“I can’t.” Anger welled in my chest. “My magic has… well, it’s not working.”

“Oh.” Then she repeated the words and the mist parted.

I turned, catching sight of the pretty strawberry-blond witch. She radiated with power as she frantically searched the area.

“No! Dammit, this was not supposed to happen,” she said.

I turned to her. “What wasn’t supposed to happen?”

“Kane is supposed to be here. He jumped through with me. Where is he?”

Standing, I moved closer to her. “Unless this Kane is a powerful witch, he likely can’t come here.”

“Where are we?”

I shrugged. “Damned if I know. But it doesn’t mist in the shadow world, and this place is void of other souls.”

Fear rippled over her face. “We’re not in Purgatory, are we?”

I’d wondered that myself, but had ruled that out. “No. This… feels different.”

She cast about for a couple of other explanations and I answered as best I could, but really all I could think about was getting home. The rest of it was details I didn’t care about.

Finally she said, “I’m going to get you out of here.”

I raised my eyebrows. “How?”

“However I leave, you’re coming with me.” She furrowed her brow. “How did you end up here? That portal was a gate to Hell.”

I sat back down and buried my head in my hands. Seriously? Couldn’t she just cast a spell? I jerked my head up. “I was working on closing the veil from the shadow world to Hell. Chessandra’s orders.” This was the last thing I wanted to talk about right now. But if she was going to get us out of here, the information might help. “The spell seemed to work, too, but then it backfired and rushed through me.” I shuddered. “I was on fire. It literally felt like I was burning alive. I thought I was going to die.”

Tears were flowing freely now due to my ordeal. When it had just been me, all by myself, I’d been able to block everything out, but now that I was talking about it, I couldn’t hold back the horror.

The witch was kind as she gently asked more questions and promised help from her coven.

I stiffened. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“Sure it will. We just need to get you out of here.”

I’d do just about anything to leave, but she had to know the facts before she made promises she couldn’t keep. Her coven would never help the likes of me. Not a sex witch. “I belong to the witches of Coven Pointe.”

“So?” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

I fidgeted. “You don’t know, do you?”

Sighing, she ran a hand through her long hair and then rolled her eyes. “Obviously not. Why don’t you fill me in on whatever it is?”

She was so clueless and yet seemed so sincere. I couldn’t help but like her. “You’re the white witch who took over for Beatrice and you have no idea. This is just…” I shook my head. “She sure has her secrets. The witches of Coven Pointe live across the river.”

“You mean Algiers Point?”

I raised an eyebrow. “We call it Coven Pointe. Have you ever been there?”

“No.”

I figured as much. Most of the east bank witches didn’t have any reason to visit us. “There’s a reason for that. Before Algiers Point was founded, it was claimed by my ancestors and was called Coven Pointe. Over time, they were driven out. But fifty years ago, my grandmother and her siblings reclaimed what is ours. We’ve been at war—if you will—with the New Orleans coven ever since.”

“What?” A look of skepticism crossed her features. “Do your people dabble in black magic?”

“No,” I said, pissed she’d even asked.

“Thank the Goddess for that.”

I went on to explain we were more experimental than most. It had to do with our sex magic. But that wasn’t the real reason we had conflict. It was an old grudge between my aunt and Beatrice. No one really knew why.

“That seems… crazy. No offense,” she said.

I agreed, but what was I going to do about it?

“Never mind,” she said. “Let’s just get out of here and we’ll figure it out later.”

A moment later, I was clutching the white witch’s hand as magic swirled around her. This was it. I would be home in a matter of moments. Her magic brightened, almost blinding me. I clung to her hand, determined to cross over with her.

But as she took a step forward, it was as if there was an invisible wall. All I could do was watch as she slipped through it. The fog rushed in around me, trapping me once more in my gray prison.

Chapter 17

Vaughn

Boulard was unconscious for the entire ride over to Mitch’s house. At least I didn’t have to worry about him spelling me.

I waited outside Mitch’s house until the witch’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked and then shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs.

“Who are you?” he asked, his eyes bloodshot.

“Just a guy hired to do a job.” I got out of the SUV. Even though it was weird to bring a target directly to Mitch’s house, I dismissed the thought. If he wanted to question Boulard first, he was free to do so. I dragged the witch out of the passenger’s seat.

“Who hired you?” he demanded, straightening as the last of the drug wore off.

I said nothing and pushed him up the steps. I had no sympathy for black-magic users.

“You’re making a mistake. I’m a member of the New Orleans coven. When they find out about this—”

I kicked the door open and hauled him inside, expecting to find Mitch back at his computer as always. But instead what I found was a horror film in progress. Or what should have been a horror film.

Mitch was standing over a woman whose hands were bound. While she wasn’t actively building power, white light pulsed around her, indicating a powerful white witch. In contrast, black magic clung to Mitch. Holy fuck. What was he doing?

Another woman was sprawled on the floor, clearly in pain.

“Mitch? What’s going on?”

“None of your damned business. Leave Boulard and go.”

I’d never seen Mitch use dark magic before. And by the way he was glaring at me, I was certain he was too far gone to reason with. I glanced around, realizing if I didn’t do something, these people would likely die. I tamped down the rage consuming me and forced myself to keep my cool. Instinct told me if I challenged Mitch now, I’d be his next casualty with no way to help these people.

“Where do you want him?” I asked Mitch, glancing from the woman on the floor to the one at Mitch’s feet. I recognized her. Jade Calhoun. I’d made it my business to know who the most powerful witches in the city were. I couldn’t stop my next words. “What the hell, Mitch? Why do you have a white witch bound like that?”

“You can tell what I am?” she asked, her eyes wide and pleading.

“It’s a gift of mine,” I lied, kneeling in front of her. “Why are you here?”

Mitch scoffed. “She’s here because she broke into my house.”

She scowled up at him, pain contorting her face. How had he managed to neutralize her? And why was he wielding black magic as if it was second nature? Son of a bitch. This couldn’t be the first time he’d used black magic. He must have gone over the edge a long time ago.

Keeping my expression neutral, I stood. “What did she want?”

“She was looking for him.” Mitch pointed to Lucien. “I guess she thought he was already here.”

She lifted her head, shooting eye daggers at Mitch. “I came for—”

Mitch waved his hand, flinging a giant ball of magic. The witch gasped and curled into herself. He’d just gut-punched her with magic. Animal. I wanted to tear him apart. Would’ve too, if the three other people weren’t present. It was too dangerous for them. I knew I couldn’t beat him. But one solid punch would feel damn good.

Fuck. I’d never in my life wished I had supernatural abilities as much as I did right then. A voice whispered in my head. If you’d accepted your spot with the Brotherhood…

“She’s being difficult.” Mitch eyed me. “How did she know you were bringing the witch? Did you tell anyone you were working for me?”

I cast Mitch a bored expression, keeping up my act. “I don’t tell anyone about my work.” Glancing at the witch, I tried to keep the scowl off my face. Did he have any idea who she was? “You know she’s the coven leader, right?”

“No, she isn’t. The old lady took over again. But I’ve got this covered. You can go now.”

Every instinct told me Mitch had gone over the edge. He was dealing in some dark shit, and these hostages were paying the price. I continued to do everything I could to appear uncaring even though rage was burning through my veins. I had to if there was any chance of getting out of there and finding help. I held out my hand. “Payment.”

Mitch scowled. “Fuckin’ A. You know I’m good for it.”

“Payment on delivery. Those were the terms. If you ever expect to use my services again, you’ll make good on the deal.” I didn’t want to test him, but on any other day I would. If I let it go now, he might get suspicious.

Mitch reluctantly pulled out a wad of money from his front pocket and handed a stack of hundreds to me. Now I knew he was fucking around with dark forces. It’s the only way he’d have that kind of cash. I pocketed the money and turned to leave, anxious to make a phone call or two.

“Hey!” the witch at Mitch’s feet called. “None of this is what you think. Mitch kidna—oomph.” Mitch planted his foot in her ribs, and I had to use every last bit of will to not rip his head off. I wanted to. I didn’t give a shit what happened to me. But Mitch’s hostages? He was already all too willing to torture them.

“Shut up,” he said. “Lying bitch. She can’t seem to separate fact from fiction.” Mitch’s voice was cool, dispassionate, as if today was just another day. “I’ve got it from here.”

I took one last look at the two women and then glanced at Boulard. If Mitch did anything to permanently hurt any of them while I was gone, I’d never forgive myself.

The door slammed behind me, and I broke out into a dead run. Once I was back at my SUV, I placed a call to Maximus. I hadn’t seen any demons, but Mitch’s eyes had flashed red. That was a sure sign he was dealing with them. I couldn’t take any chances.

“Vaughn.” Maximus answered on the first ring.

“You need to send a crew to Mitch’s house. He’s dealing in black magic. He’s got three people held captive.”

There was a pause on the other end. “That’s really a job for the Witches’ Council.”

I stifled the urge to growl at him. “I don’t think you understand. His eyes are flashing red and he has a white witch tied up. I could call the Council, but they have a history of running things by committee. This can’t wait for them to decide who to send. These people need action now.”

“A white witch?” His tone was deadly serious. “Jade Calhoun?”

“Yeah. Her and two of her friends.”

“I’ll have a crew there in ten minutes.”

Relief flooded me. “Faster, if possible.”

“Stay there. Keep an eye on the house. If anyone leaves the structure, call me back.”

“Got it.”

I tucked the phone in my pocket and sat there in my SUV, completely rigid as I watched the clock tick. By the time five minutes had gone by, I was ready to crawl out of my skin. Waiting and doing nothing was killing me.

When the clock hit eight minutes, four men wielding long daggers materialized out of thin air right in front of Mitch’s house. Without pausing, they burst inside. The battle seemed to last forever, but after ten minutes the house was quiet.

My phone rang. Maximus. “Hello,” I said.

“You were right. There were two demons. The crew has them under control.”

“Okay. Good.” I gripped the steering wheel. “And Mitch?”

“He got away. Ran out the back door. You should probably go before he sees you watching his house.”

“I can’t leave without apprehending him. What he did…” The images turned my stomach. “He’s out of control.”

“No doubt. But maybe you shouldn’t be the one to bring him in.”

I appreciated what he was saying. But why not me? To spare my parents? They’d be horrified if they knew what he was up to. And nothing would give me more satisfaction than bringing him down. After what he’d done today? Yeah. Nothing. Still, I told the old man what he wanted to hear. Mitch was gone anyway. I was confident I could find him. My best course of action was to lay low, put a trace on him, and be patient. If the demon hunters had gotten the demons, Mitch would be out of commission for a while. “Okay. Thanks for the help.”

“Thank you,” he said. “You know, you’d make one hell of a demon hunter.”

I wasn’t ready to admit it, but the idea no longer seemed as awful as it once had. If I’d been a hunter, I could’ve helped sooner. “I’ll be in touch.”

“I hope so.”

A few hours later, I got a message that the white witch wanted to meet with me. It was the least I could do after what I’d allowed to happen at my brother’s house. Aware that she was a high-profile witch and wanting to keep my new house as undercover as possible, I sent her to another address first as part of a diversionary tactic in case she was being followed.

An hour later, I was fresh from the shower when a knock sounded at my door. I pulled on clean jeans and headed to greet my guests.

The strawberry-blond witch stood with Boulard, a woman with curly red hair, and Beatrice Kelton, the longtime New Orleans coven leader. “Mr. Paxton?” Jade said. “I believe you were expecting us.”

I flashed her a smile. “Ms. Calhoun. It’s good to see you well. Our last meeting… uh, that was an unpleasant piece of business. I’m glad the Brotherhood was able to get the situation under control.”

Lucien scowled. “Under control? You’re the one who delivered me there.”

My smile vanished. He had every right to hate my guts. “My apologies to you, Mr. Boulard. I can assure you that as soon as I assessed the situation, I called in the Brotherhood.” I opened the door wider. “Please, come in where we can talk.”

Jade glanced around outside. “No offense, but you do realize we could be being watched, right? I mean anyone staking out your apartment could’ve just followed us. Your wild goose chase seems a little pointless.”

I laughed, loving her spunk. “They could’ve, but why would they? As far as they know, you came by my apartment, realized I wasn’t home, and left. Besides, there’s a spell on this house. Only those invited can see it. We’re all safe here. Don’t worry about it. Have a seat.”

I led them though my sparsely furnished house until we got to my couch and two club chairs.

Jade introduced me to her friend Kat, and Beatrice and I exchanged hellos. Then they turned their attention to Jade. She was clearly in charge.

“I’m here for two reasons,” she said. “They are both of equal importance, but one matter is more pressing.” She waved to Lucien. “He’s been spelled with a Black Heart curse. One person has already died. And now one of these two”—she indicated Lucien and Kat with a wave to each of them—“is next.”

“A Black Heart curse?” Narrowing my eyes, I studied Lucien. And deep in my gut, I knew Mitch was a part of whatever had happened to him. Mitch’s anger at not being able to question Sam’s attacker was making a lot more sense now. “I see.”

“We know who cursed him,” Jade said. “We need him in order to reverse it.”

I turned to meet her gaze. “And how can I help?”

“It’s your brother Mitch. We need you to help us find him.”

Nausea rolled through me. My brother was responsible for the awful curse. I’d thought he was involved, but hearing it from her lips made me want to vomit. I stood and paced the room. “You’re sure it was him?”

“I’m positive,” Lucien said. “We were acquaintances back then. He was there when it happened and today he admitted it to me.”

“Dammit.” I ran my hand through my hair, frustrated. This was going to kill my parents. “This is going to get messy.”

“I suspect it is.” Jade’s tone was low and full of compassion. But her next words were straight and to the point. “And since the Brotherhood didn’t take him down, I imagine he’s on the run or in a safe house until this blows over.”

I sat back down. “I can probably take you to him.” I’d already started my trace and had some leads.

Beatrice gave me a grim smile. “You’re sure about that? You’ll be signing your brother’s death warrant before long.”

I met her eyes with a cold, hard stare. “Ms. Kelton, I’m an undercover agent. It’s my job to take down those who make deals with the devil.”

She regarded me for a minute and then nodded. “Understood.”

Turning my attention to Jade, I asked, “What’s the second piece of business?”

“It’s Matisse.”

Mati? Was she hurt? Fear sliced through my chest as I sat up straighter. Had a demon come for her again?

“She’s trapped in a void world and we need you to help her cross back over.” Jade kept her penetrating stare on me.

She was in trouble. And her magic wasn’t one hundred percent. Shit! That was my fault. Self-loathing gripped me and wouldn’t let go. “Trapped?”

“Yes, and she’ll fade away into nothing if we don’t get her out soon.”

“And why do you need me?” I shouldn’t be anywhere near her. I’d broken the strong, sexy witch with my incubus curse. Damn the Brotherhood. Damn my destiny.

“Dayla says you stole something from her. And in order for her to cross, she needs it back.”

“What?” I stood. “Stole? I took nothing from her.” But even as I said the words, I knew that was wrong. I’d taken her magic. But I didn’t have it now. How could I give it back?

She gave me a sympathetic smile. “But you did. Do you know what kind of witch she is?”

“Yes.” She knew. They all knew. Son of a…

She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Did you know that after the last time you saw her, she spent a month recuperating?”

Hearing the words, the nonjudgmental way she said them, only served to heighten my self-hatred. Yeah, I knew. And now this woman was confirming whatever happened to her was my fault. Fuck.

There were a million questions on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to know how Matisse had ended up in another world. And why. But none of that mattered. We had to get to her. “I’ll do whatever’s necessary. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get dressed.” I strode off to the back of the house, calling over my shoulder, “We’ll leave in five minutes. Be prepared.”

Chapter 18

Vaughn

In the end, it didn’t take very long to track Mitch down. The magic he’d been wielding must’ve fried his brain because he’d chosen to hide out in an empty rental that was owned by our parents.

I knew he was there as soon as we pulled up. It was the way the curtains were closed in the front. When it was empty, my parents were careful to keep them open for drive-by renters. I convinced the group to let me go in first. Told them I’d distract him to make the raid go easier.

My rage for what had gone down today consumed me, and as stupid as it was, I wanted to take a shot at him before the magical showdown. He wouldn’t run out on me. Why would he? He knew he could overpower me with that magic of his. I didn’t give a shit. As long as he didn’t kill me before I could help Matisse, he could do his worst. I knew I would.

Not caring if he heard me, I strolled right through the front door. “Mitch,” I called. Better he knew it was me. Maybe then he wouldn’t come out magic blazing like he would if he thought the Brotherhood was still after him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he said from the threshold to the long hallway.

“Looking for you.”

“Why? Planning on leading more meddlesome do-gooders my way?” The red was gone from his eyes, but his sneer was proof enough of his loyalties.

“Are you planning on torturing anymore innocent witches?” I wasn’t holding anything back now. He was going to hear every word I had to say. “Cursing your friends? Really, Mitch? What a bitch move.”

“You!” His eyes narrowed as he advanced on me. “You sent those assholes. You ruined everything. And after I kept you afloat all these months with bounty jobs. You ungrateful piece of shit.”

I held my ground, waiting until he was less than a foot from me.

“Think I won’t spell you, too? Think I’ll spare you for good old Mom and Dad? Think again, little brother. I hold all the power here, and you’ve crossed a line you can’t recover from.”

“Why did you do it, Mitch? Black magic? You had a sweet deal with the Council. Why ruin it?”

His face contorted with disgust. “Fuck the Council. They treat me just like Rissa did. Zero respect. Boulard and his bitches deserved what they got. Boulard especially. He stole the one person I ever loved.” His eyes flashed with buried emotion. “All I wanted to know was why the Black Heart curse that I hit him with failed. Why the white witch was able to neutralize it. Why do you think I wanted to question Sam’s attacker? I need to know more about that curse. But you fucked everything up!”

Rissa had been his girlfriend a long time ago. After she left him, I’d heard she died from a freak spell that had backfired, but now it was all coming together. Mitch was responsible. He’d killed her. And all because he’d been dumped. Sick bastard.

I cast him a horrified look. How could I be even remotely related to this monster? Without a word, I swung. My fist hit his jaw with a satisfying crunch. He went down in a heap. The loser. Without his magic he was nothing.

I stood over him, rage still streaming through my veins. “Get up.”

He rolled, curling into a ball.

“Jesus.” Disgusted, I pulled out my zip ties, ready to apprehend him. Only just as I reached for him, he twisted, and a bolt of magic caught me right in the chest.

Shit!

I collapsed, my entire body numb.

Mitch got to his feet and snarled. “You stupid, idiotic, no-good mama’s boy. Don’t ever touch me again.” Blood dripped from his lip. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll wish I’d given you to the demons.”

With me unable to fight back, Mitch dragged me from the living room into a room toward the back of the house. Grunting, he kicked me and spat his blood in my face. I couldn’t even flinch and had to endure the sickening ooze as it slid down my temple. Death would’ve been kinder.

Mitch was eyeing me, and I felt magic growing around him. But before he could attack me again, I heard the boom of the front door crashing open. The witches were here.

With his magic already pooling at his fingertips, Mitch spun and tore through the house. Shouts mingled with heavy footsteps and the sound of magic bouncing off the walls. I lay motionless, utterly frustrated and seething until finally the feeling started to come back into my limbs. I sat up but realized Mitch had cuffed me to an armoire. Goddamn him. I struggled to reach the knife stashed in my boot, but my hands were tied too tight. There was nothing to do but wait.

After what seemed like forever, the white witch finally came for me. She looked no worse for the wear as she asked, “What happened?”

“The bastard spelled me. My fucking brother’s a lunatic. He blames me for what happened earlier today. He’s figured out it was me that sent the demon hunters. Did you dust his ass?” I asked hopefully.

“First of all, he isn’t a vampire. And second, no. We need him in order to force Lucien’s curse to reverse itself.”

Beatrice came up behind her and with one zap of magic my hands were free of the zip ties.

I rubbed my wrists. “Thanks for saving my ass.” Then I staggered to my feet and strode back into the front part of the house, eyeing my piece-of-shit stepbrother. I sat there, doing nothing to help him while the witches forced him to reverse the Black Heart curse on Boulard. The way they worked together and the obvious love they had for each other was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. These witches would die for each other. Had I ever felt that way about anyone? Matisse’s image floated into my consciousness. Right then and there I knew I wanted to be that person for her.

When it was all over, they called the Witches’ Council and I felt nothing. No grief. No relief. Just resignation. I’d lost a brother today, and I didn’t even care.

“See you in the morning?” Jade asked.

I nodded as I headed out. We were going to bring Matisse back. Even if I had to die trying.

Matisse

The white witch, Jade, had come to check on me once more. And that’s when she dropped the bomb that she was bringing Vaughn to help get me home. I’d instantly resisted, but secretly I wanted to see him. Wanted to rage against him. Make him suffer for what he’d done to me. But at the same time, I just wanted to be near him. Being alone in this world was slowly killing me, and he was the one person I’d connected with. After all I’d been through, I no longer cared about my pride. I only wanted to feel something. Anything. And he was one who could make it happen.

After spending over a week in the void world, I’d started to waste away. The witch had brought me some nourishment pills. They’d given me a small amount of energy, but what had been the real help was the pendant she’d left me. She’d said it might help ground me to her and our world. I think she was right. It was infused with her magic. A magic I could cling to.

I lay on the bank of the river, clutching the pendant to my chest, just letting the power pulse through my hand. Time was nonexistent. All I had to focus on was the magic. It was like a spark waiting to go off. And then it happened. The air rippled around me, and power rushed into me, making me strong. I felt myself stand as wind whipped through my hair. Only the power wasn’t normal. It was like a psychedelic high, causing images of a life I hadn’t led to flash through my mind.

Me as a little girl sitting on a man’s knee. My father. The one I’d never known. Friends surrounding me at a birthday party I’d never had. And Vaughn, saying good-bye to me on the bank of the Mississippi.

“We’re not meant for each other, Mati,” he said, cold and uncaring.

“You don’t mean that,” I said softly, refraining from clutching at his shirt.

“I do. I got what I came for. Now you need to lead your life, and I’ll lead mine.” No emotion rolled behind his eyes. He was a completely different person than the one I’d given myself to.

The pain clutched at my gut and left me hollow. Used. Unloved. “You never cared for me.”

He said nothing as he stared at me, his blank expression morphing into one of pity. “Don’t, Matisse. You’re better than that.”

I hated him. Hated everything about him in that moment. He’d used me. Taken my trust. My power. And had left me for dead. The calculating bastard had gotten what he wanted. And I’d meant nothing. Gut-wrenching pain coursed through me. I wanted to scream. To beg him to stay. And I hated myself for it. He’d taken something precious from me. That piece of me that I held close and never gave up. The one I’d given to him freely and he’d stomped on it, leaving me broken and damaged.

I was lost in my pain, uncontrollable foreign magic sparking through me, when I heard a faint feminine voice. “Matisse?”

A war battled inside me as the voice worked to pull me from my vision. I fought it, not wanting to go back to nothing, to my world cloaked in gray. Power rushed through my limbs, and a bolt of lightning struck somewhere near me, crackling over the river.

“Matisse,” the voice insisted, compelling me to jerk my head in her direction. I stared at the wide-eyed witch, waiting to see what she wanted.

“You’re okay,” she said, taking tentative steps toward me. “We’ve come to take you home.”

“I don’t have a home,” I said, shifting my gaze past her to the one person I both hated and wanted to run to. “He stole it.”

“Who? Vaughn?”

I laughed humorlessly, still feeling the remnants of the vision. “You could say that.”

“Mati,” Vaughn said, his voice enticing and seductive in the worst possible way. His body was calling to me, making me want him. I couldn’t let that happen.

I stiffened, letting the power build around me. The glow shifted from pale blue to a brilliant purple as I focused on him. “You’re not welcome here.” I meant the words to be a command, but they came out soft and tentative.

He took two steps and was in front of me, clasping his hands lightly around my wrists. My arms cooled with his touch, bringing me back to myself. Love and desperation warred for dominance in my heart. “Why did you come?” I demanded, angry at the way he could make me feel things I never wanted to feel again.

“To restore what I took from you.”

The reminder of his betrayal sent me into a frenzy, unraveling any last shred of self-control that I had. The magic burst from my fingertips, owning me, using me, until all I felt was the sweet release of power.

Crack! The rocks beneath my feet rumbled as the magic tore through them. And through it all, I kept my gaze locked on Vaughn’s.

He raised his hand, holding it out to me, and said in the most soothing voice possible, “Come back from that place, Mati. Don’t let it take you.”

As I stared at him, something shifted inside me. The visions slowly faded away, taking the pain and utter heartache with them. The world started to right itself, and Vaughn, the decent guy I’d given myself to, stood before me, offering himself. He’d give me anything he had in order to save me. I knew it deep in my heart. Could feel it deep in my bones.

I slowly leaned into him, and when his arms finally came around me, tears burned my eyes. He cradled me, whispering, “Everything’s going to be all right now. I’m here to bring you home.”

He’d come for me. The scene at the river wasn’t real. I hadn’t been abandoned. Vaughn’s arms tightened around me. I pulled back to gaze at him, to see his intention in his eyes. And there I found love. Passion. Protectiveness.

Vaughn’s gaze turned soft as he searched my face. His look was so tender, so focused, that I brought my hand up and lightly caressed his cheek. The stubble beneath my fingers was so real it grounded me, solidified that he’d come for me.

“I’m here to give you what I took from you,” he said again, his tone so low I barely heard him. “And I won’t leave here without you. Not ever. You belong in our world… with me.” As he said the last words, he stroked my neck and the spot where he’d marked me. Instantly my insides lit with a small bolt of desire. He had marked me. The bruise was gone, but the memory never would be.

“I didn’t know,” Vaughn said. “I wouldn’t have—”

I placed my finger over his lips, silencing him.

He kissed my palm softly, then pulled me to him abruptly, holding me close.

I barely noticed as the white witch and her companion stepped out of this world, leaving me and Vaughn alone. All I could focus on was the man who’d come for me when no one else could. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me,” I said, unable to go on before I knew the truth. “You took my magic and left.”

Pain filled his dark eyes. “Not on purpose. I wouldn’t have ever left if I’d had a choice. The Brotherhood spelled me and took me from you. I had no idea that was going to happen. I didn’t know what I was. What I am. All I knew was that I wanted to be with you.” He scanned my face, peering at me, searching for something.

I couldn’t give it to him. Not yet.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, he continued. “By the time I was able to get away, you were already recovering with your family. I wanted to see you but thought I should wait until you were stronger. But then you were gone again. I fucked up. I should’ve come as soon as I was able. I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

It was what Chessa had tried to tell me. And the fact that he was here now was all the proof I needed. He was an incubus. A man who, through no fault of his own, had taken my power and was here to give it back.

I could live with that.

“Kiss me,” I said.

And then he did. His lips were soft, testing at first as he kissed the corner of my mouth. But I turned into him, pressing my lips to his. And as his tongue slipped over mine, magic sparked from him to me. My magic. The power I’d been harnessing before had belonged to the white witch. It had given me strength but at a price. A distorted reality. But now that I had a thread of my own, hers had vanished.

I was me again. If not whole, then not broken either. With each caress, each kiss, my power grew. And as our desire heightened, so did my strength.

The world around us vanished. I no longer saw the empty waterfront. Everything narrowed to just me and Vaughn and the heat between us. I wanted him. Needed what he had to give. “Make love to me,” I said.

He pulled back and for the briefest moment, I saw a flicker of fear in his gaze.

“You won’t hurt me.” I knew it deep in my gut. He was here to give, not take. I could feel it. “It’s the only way you’re going to be able to give me back enough power to let me cross.” My magic had been building, but I was still weak. And as a sex witch, I knew what I needed to get strong. He knew it too. I saw it in his eyes.

After a few moments, he pulled me to him, resting his chin on the top of my head. “I’ll do anything you need.”

“I know,” I said, believing he would.

Epilogue

Matisse

In the end, Vaughn did make love to me on the shores of the Mississippi. He was gentle and attentive, giving me everything he had, never once taking pleasure for himself. Not even when I tried to give it to him. He insisted he was making love to me. Not the other way around. And while I felt odd about it, I knew he was making sure he took nothing from me, ensuring that I got my power back. And boy did I.

By the time he finished, I was utterly satisfied in every way and brimming with more power than I’d known what to do with. Vaughn, on the other hand, looked a little pale. Still, with his new incubus powers, he had no trouble jumping with me back into our world.

That was two weeks ago. I’d seen Vaughn numerous times, but only briefly when he stopped by to make sure I was still okay. I was. More than okay, actually. Tonight was the first night we’d actually made plans.

He showed up at my door at eight o’clock sharp with a pitiful-looking bouquet of what appeared to have been sunflowers in another life.

I laughed as I waved him in and eyed his Indian. “Umm, rough ride?”

“You could say that.” He dipped his head and kissed me softly.

Heat seared through me as it always did when I was near him. I tamped it down though. We were taking things slow. “Maybe flowers and motorcycles don’t mix.”

He gave me a wounded look. “I still get points for trying, though, right?”

“Absolutely.” I took the mangled stalks and deposited them in my kitchen. When I returned, I slipped an arm around his waist and tilted my head up. “So, what did you want to tell me?” When he’d called to ask if I was busy, he’d said he had news.

He tugged me to sit down next to him on the couch and as he stroked my arm he asked, “How would you feel about having a boyfriend who works for the Brotherhood?”

My brain couldn’t get past the word boyfriend. Was he serious?

“Mati?” he asked after I bit my lip.

“Yeah? Oh. The Brotherhood. You mean you want to be a demon hunter?”

He sat back. “Not want. Am. I made it official today.”

I tilted my head up, studying him. Shit. I’d read that all wrong. He wasn’t asking me if I was okay with him being a demon hunter. He was asking me to be his girlfriend.

He grinned, waiting for my answer.

Goddess. Girlfriend? Did I want that? Was I ready for that? I knew right away the answer was yes. “You know there’s going to be a constant power struggle, right?”

His eyes sparked with molten desire as he lowered his lips to mine and whispered, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I shook my head, chuckling. “You have no idea what you’re in for.”

“Neither do you.”

And then he kissed me, giving me just a taste of what was to come.

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Jinni’s Wish

Marie Hall

A long, long time ago there lived a man. A Jinni, who had one wish. To know love. But the woman he thought he knew betrayed him and the love he thought they shared. Tortured for his crimes, he was cast out of Kingdom, stripped of all his powers, left to langour in pain and solitude, until eventually he becomes nothing but a ghost...

Paz Lopez is an artist with a dream. To buy a ridiculously large penthouse in the swankiest section of Chicago. But there's just one hitch, she has no man to share her dream with. A fateful visit to a carnival and Madam Pandora's tent sends Paz on a mission to find the love of her life before it's too late.

But the Madam forgot to tell Paz one very important detail... to meet him, Paz will have to die first.

Acknowledgments

To my girls, you know who you are. I seriously could never get these things done without you constantly forcing me to sit down and write instead of playing another round of solitaire. Ya’ll are awesome and I heart you!

This is to all the fans who write me and tell me how much they just love my books. Writing is such a solitary profession, to get a note is super rewarding. To my fans in Latvia (which is so freaking awesome, seriously), to my fans who bake the Mad Hatter cupcakes now because they sounded so yummy, to those who had to buy each book in a row because they were so hooked… I do this for you guys. Thanks!

Chapter 1

“What kind of name is that?” Paz Lopez hopped on one bare foot, while simultaneously gripping the cell phone with her chin as she attempted to slip on her blood red pump. She very nearly broke her neck in the process when she stumbled over the corner of her cream shag rug. “Dang it,” she hissed.

She could already picture Richard rolling his eyes on the other end of the line. “Diabolique.”

This time, she was the one to roll her eyes. Plopping down on the edge of her unmade bed, she did what her father used to always say: work smarter, not harder. So much easier to put shoes on when sitting, instead of hopping around like a broken jack in the box.

“I heard you the first time. But that doesn’t sound like any kind of carnival I’d want to visit. Sounds creepy.”

“Aww, come on, chicken. Todd and I are going and it’s sorta lame that all you ever want to do on a Friday night is vegg in front of that dinosaur you call a TV and down two point two glasses of vino.”

Paz loved her brother, she really did. But ugh… she rubbed her nose, stomach churning with nerves and irritation. Now was so not the time to be talking about carnivals, or whatever the hell this Diabolique place was. She had an art show in an hour, today was her make it or break it day. It’d taken months for the hottest gallery in town: Moderne, to agree to even potentially host an exhibit for her.

Of course they hadn’t. She was too new. But she had a friend, who knew a friend, who knew a guy who had an exhibit scheduled and was in need of ten more paintings to fill the space. Fast forward several boxes of tissues, lots of chocolate, and probably two (okay three) bottles of champagne later, Paz was here. Ready to break out. To become a name. Finally.

If only her stupid nerves would settle down and stop making her feel like she was totally going to puke all over her pearl gray goose down comforter. Pinching her nose, she counted slowly to ten. She only got to three before Richard starting acting obnoxious as usual.

“I know you’re there. I hear you breathing.” He proceeded to pantomime harsh deep breaths. “Answer me, or I will stalk you. I know where you liiiiveee.”

Giggling, she yanked her purple head pillow off the bed and shoved it against her stomach. Maybe pressure would ease the knee-knocking nerves. “You’re really annoying.”

He snorted. “Yeah, well Todd loves it. So tell me you’re coming.”

Paz shoved about a week’s worth of bras underneath her bed and lifted the teal shirt off the lampshade she’d tossed carelessly aside last night. Jeez, she was really a slob. Maybe when she got filthy stinking rich she could afford a maid.

“Are you coming to my show?” She plucked at her bejeweled skirt. Her first and only attempt at making clothes. Skirts were supposedly so easy to make.

Lie.

She’d had to undo the stitching four times before she felt certain she wouldn’t zip it up and have a wardrobe malfunction. Namely having the stupid thing fall down around her ankles when she stepped off her elevator into the lobby of her swank Chicago digs.

Though swank was sorta stretching it. She wasn’t sure the five hundred square foot broom closet she currently called home could ever be considered swank, but she had a great address in the hippest part of town and with any luck, she’d be moving to that penthouse suite after tonight.

“We wouldn’t miss it.” His voice was warm, reassuring, and Paz couldn’t help but smile. She loved her brother. “But Todd told me to ask you now, because we both know how you get when you’re talking about your art.”

“No I don’t.” She tossed the pillow away, fiddling with the large cream flower on her black cable knit sweater.

“Pfft. I didn’t even have to tell you how you act and you’re already defending it. So answer, sis. I’m not getting any younger.”

“Fine.” She stood, grabbing her purse and wallet off her green distressed thrift store nightstand. “I’ll go butt face. But I won’t promise to like it, so there.”

“You don’t have to like it, but you do have to visit Madam Pandora’s tent with me. Bye!”

“What?” Her brows dipped, but all she heard was the buzz of an empty line.

Rolling her eyes, she patted her flat blunt bangs and took a deep breath, ready to face her future. Her stomach nosedived. Well, unless she had to puke first.

The Chicago fairgrounds were magical at night. Neon lights lit up the park like a firework’s display. Crowds clamored from one red and white pinstriped tent to the next. The buttery scent of popcorn wafted in the air, tickling her nose.

“Mmm, I’m hungry,” Paz groaned when her stomach growled.

Todd’s expressive light brown eyes twinkled merrily as he hugged her against his broad chest. A good foot taller than her, with chestnut brown hair, and tanned good looks. Gorgeous and so her type, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was totally off the market.

“On me then,” he said, voice light and carefree. “A treat for my favorite artist…”

Richard gripped Todd’s waist, dark brown eyes glowing merrily, rich mocha skin gleaming shades of bronze beneath the neon glow of the Ferris Wheel. Perpetual black cowlick shading the corner of his left eye. “The only artist you know,” he finished, digging into Todd’s chest.

Todd clamped onto Richard’s hand and kissed the knuckle. A look passing between them made Paz’s knees turn to jelly. What would it feel like to have someone look at her that way? Not that she was old, only twenty-seven, but still, old enough to crave what she’d never known.

There’d been passion, maybe some toe-curling moments with past boyfriends, but nothing that had ever stuck beyond month six. Maybe she was cursed.

But she’d sold all ten of her paintings. She smiled, biting her bottom lip… well on her way toward that maid she’d always dreamed of. So maybe not that cursed.

“Okay, I’m so gonna barf if you guys keep looking at each other like that.”

Todd smirked, patting her head like she was a dog.

So not cool.

She gave him the evil eye. “Not a dog, Todd. Go get me my popcorn,” she clapped her hands, “and make it a large. With butter. Momma’s got a serious hankering from some greasy fat tonight.”

Todd saluted and winked. “Anything for you, baby?”

Richard shrugged. “Trying to watch my carbs. Whatever you have I’ll share.” Then he sighed, a silly mopey I’m-so-incredibly-happy kind of sound and again Paz couldn’t help feeling like the third wheel.

“I love him,” Richard whispered, quietly, like he wasn’t even really saying it to her.

She nodded, tucking his cowlick back. “I know. Aren’t you sure you wouldn’t rather me, yanno, be home and stuff tonight? I mean, this is your one year anniversary. Why in the world would you want me here? Shouldn’t you be bow-chica-wow…”

Richard tugged on the end of her thick black hair.

“Hey, ouch!” Paz slapped his hand away.

“You’re disgusting. And no. He loves you as much as I do. Besides, Madam Pandora’s awaits.”

A cool rush brushed against Paz’s legs. She was wearing thick stockings, and had traded in the killer pumps for a more ankle friendly pair of sparkling black flats, but she probably should have grabbed a thicker jacket.

Even with the sweater underneath, she was starting to shiver.

She grumped. “Why do you want me to go there so bad? What is it anyway?”

Glancing around, Paz frowned. The carnival was definitely as creepy as she’d expected it to be from the sound of the name. Diabolique made her think of the devil. Coming from a strict Catholic upbringing, anything to do with Mr. Red, Bad, and Evil still made her skin get the creepy crawlies.

Not to mention the carnival was just strange looking. Aside from the garish striped tents, and neon lights, the rides were all black. Thick, dark black. Blending into shadow if not for the lights affixed to the rides.

At first she’d had a mini heart attack when they’d bought their tickets, thinking maybe this night wouldn’t suck so hard after all. The man selling them behind the booth had been hot. No scratch that, he was way hotter than hot. Which sounded really lame, but how else could she describe the panty melting smile of his straight white teeth. The artfully arranged blond surfer hair, like liquid gold the way it’d gleamed beneath the light. And his face, oh man… she couldn’t paint something so pretty. High cheekbones and hard square jaw, dimples when he’d grinned.

But then she’d looked at his eyes-- glowing green eyes-- and something inside her had shrunk away from letting him make contact when he’d handed her the change. She’d been pretty sure those hadn’t been contacts.

And what was even weirder about this carnival was that everyone one looked just like him. Well, not just like him. But everyone working here was hot. Uber, smokin’, I’d sell my firstborn to have wild monkey sex with you kind of hot. And they all had strange glowing eyes.

Which seemed to faze Todd and her brother not at all.

“Hello!” Richard snapped his fingers, making her jerk. “Did you hear a word I said?”

She grimaced. “Umm…”

He gripped his forehead. “That’s a no. I said,” he stressed the ‘d’, “that I want you to go because Brody and Luke came here last night and they said they got their fortunes told and it came true.”

Paz snorted. “Oh my gosh, that’s ridiculous. You do know that’s stupid, right? They’re all quacks out here.”

He looked hurt, and then annoyed. Richard shoved his hands into his jean pockets. “You’re coming and I don’t want to hear boo about it.”

“Boo about what?” Todd planted a peck on Richard’s cheek.

The effect was instantaneous. Richard smiled, leaning back into Todd’s large chest.

“Mmm, popcorn.” Paz reached with greedy fingers for the steaming brown paper sack Todd handed her. “Yummy, yummy, yummy. Love,” she plopped a warm, buttery kernel in her mouth and groaned, “love, love, popcorn.”

Richard grabbed one out of her bag and tossed it at her nose. She swatted at it.

“And you say I’m weird. At least I’ve never written an ode to my food before.”

She stuck out her tongue.

“So are we going?” Todd asked, taking a bite out of his fried Twinkie.

White cream oozed out the side and Richard moaned. “Fried Twinkie, Todd? Cruel.”

Todd laughed.

Richard rolled his eyes. “My baby sister insists Madam Pandora is a quack.”

“You know what,” Todd said, and then took another bite, Richard swallowed hard, brown eyes wide as he stared at that Twinkie like it was his lover.

Paz knew her brother was drooling, Twinkies were his kryptonite. Todd was cruel. Which was probably why she loved him so much; he made her brother suffer. As he should.

“I totally thought so too, but then when Luke told me what she said, you can’t fake that.”

Wrinkling her nose, Paz nibbled on a piece of popcorn. That’d gotten her attention. “What happened?”

Growling, Richard stole the last bite of Twinkie from Todd’s fingers and popped into his mouth with a so-there look.

Smirking, Todd licked his lips. “She told him that he’d forgotten to pay his electric bill and that when they got home the power would be off.”

Snorting, feeling pieces of kernel jam in her throat, Paz coughed and then chuckled, wheezing around the bits still caught in there. So lame, she’d expected maybe Madam Quack would have said they’d be struck by lightning, or their dog would be run over. Electric bill? Get serious. She wiped tears from her eyes, the ghost of a laugh still on her tongue. “Duh, she works for the power company after hours. Totally doable.”

Richard rolled his eyes. “Paz, I came to your art show. Now you’re coming with us.”

Shoulders slumping, she licked the buttery goodness off her tongue. “Richard, seriously, that sounds so lame and I don’t want to blow ten bucks on something like that.”

Todd and Richard shared a glance. A wordless conversation passing between them that always made her both jealous and happy. She wanted that so bad, it was a desperate yearning in the pit of her gut, the depths of her heart. But she couldn’t deny how happy it made her to know her brother now had it. He deserved it. Though she’d die before ever telling him that.

“We’ll pay,” they said at the same time.

One dark hand and one light hand gripped her elbows, steering her (willing or not) toward Madam Quack’s tent.

“Ugh,” she groaned.

Ten minutes later she was staring into the deep lavender eyes of the most gorgeous woman she’d ever seen. Midnight oil black hair, smooth alabaster skin, and the plumpest red lips that would have made even Steven Tyler green with envy.

Add to that that Madam Quack wasn’t wearing a gold lamay turban, purple silk robe, or looking into a crystal ball. Paz felt totally out of her element-- hard to laugh at someone when they looked as sane and gorgeous as Madam Pandora did.

The tent was low lit a dark red, casting strange undulations upon the tarp walls. Paz gripped the wooden arms of the plush, floral patterned chair she sat on.

Pandora (because Paz refused to think of her as Madam Pandora any longer) sat in front of her, long legs crossed. Sparkling black cocktail dress draping like bats wings to either side of her. Red lips pursed and staring at Paz with an intense gleam in her strange colored eyes.

“Your brothers want you to be happy.”

Paz licked her lips. Didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out, especially considering Pandora had very likely seen them drag her inside, ordering Paz to stay put or the popcorn got it.

“But you’re successful, you made a lot of money tonight.”

Paz narrowed her eyes.

“Paintings, was it?” Pandora cocked her head, feathers on top of her tiny hat flopped forward.

“Oh please, this is insane,” Paz shook her head, “you probably heard one of them mention it. Why do you waste people’s money this way?”

Pandora smiled. “Because you’ll come. Though,” she cocked her head, “I’m very good at what I do.”

“I’m sure you are.”

What a waste of her time and Todd’s money. Paz stood, ready to head back out.

“Sit down,” Pandora’s voice brooked no argument, a shiver of heat zipped down Paz’s spine. Not fear, not exactly, but wariness.

She sat.

Pandora tapped blood red fingernails on her knee. “Go to Alaska.”

“What?” Paz snorted. “Alaska? Are you nuts? What’s in Alaska?”

“He is.”

Paz’s heart skipped a beat. He, as in he. The one? Prince Charming? Her Todd?

“Yes. The one. Your Prince Charming. Your Todd.”

Her mouth flopped open. Probably wasn’t pretty, but holy freaking cow batman, how had she done that? “I didn’t say that--”

“Out loud?” Pandora lifted a pencil thin brow. “You didn’t have to. I told you, I’m good at what I do.”

Heart thudding almost painfully in her chest, Paz’s left leg began to bounce up and down. So many different reasons why that was a cracked up idea floated through her mind.

Pandora pressed her lips into a thin line. “Stop over thinking this, Paz…”

“Wait?” She held up a hand. “How do you know my name? I didn’t tell you--”

She waved her hand. “You need to go. He needs you, he’s waiting. And he doesn’t have much time left.”

“Alaska?” Her voice sounded strained. Why was she even listening to this woman? This was so stupid. Totally dumb. And yet… “Where in Alaska?”

“Book a flight to Anchorage.” Pandora leaned forward, intense eyes never swerving from Paz’s face. “You have to leave tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” she squeaked. “This is nuts. You’re crazy. I’m crazy.” She laughed, voice sounding totally unlike hers. So why was she suddenly sweating, suddenly desperate to believe this lie?

“He’s dying, Paz, and only you can save him. If you don’t leave tomorrow, it’ll be over. He’ll be over.”

Something close to pain hammered behind her closed lids. Paz squeezed her armrests, nails digging in so hard she felt one break.

“You’re… lying?”

Pandora shook her head. “I never lie.”

How had she wound up here? Thirty thousand feet up in the air, flying to Alaska? Alaska of all places. Paz had gone to sleep last night, desperate to forget it all. But an ache, a gnawing need for truth, had begun to bloom in her chest.

What if it was true? So she’d be out a couple hundred bucks-- which would make her royally pissed, since she’d been saving for a screen press-- if it wasn’t true. But there’d been dreams last night. Lots of them.

A blue faced man, features distorted, but with hope shining in liquid black eyes. She’d woken up in tears and within seconds phoning the airport to confirm a roundtrip ticket to Anchorage.

Turbulence seized the plane and she yelped, biting down on her lower lip hard as her gut toppled to her knees. She hated flying.

Hated. It.

Why oh why, was she doing this? Time away from the carnival, the dream, made her think suddenly this was the stupidest idea she’d ever had. Richard and Todd had certainly been shocked, for a brief thirty minutes their wide eyes had made her feel brave, powerful. But now… the plane dipped, and she flopped in her seat, now she was just scared.

From the moment she’d stepped foot on the plane she’d gotten a strange sense of something being off kilter. Weird. But she’d ignored it, thinking she was just being the chicken Richard always accused her of being.

So she’d found her seat, not needing the compartment space, she’d packed light.

Literally she was flying to Anchorage with tickets back the very next day. Why had she done this?

She groaned when another round of turbulence tilted the plane.

She had no idea what she was looking for. Who she was looking for. She’d scanned the faces boarding her flight with an obsessive need to know if maybe one of them was Mr. Wonderful.

Then he’d sat next to her.

Heart pounding, trying to hold down the saltine crackers she’d noshed on earlier, she glanced at Mr. Tall, Dark, and Decadent sitting next to her. He was gorgeous.

Bronze skin two shades darker than her own, dark unruly hair that curled against the nape of his neck, and liquid black eyes. The eyes had made her think of her dream. It hadn’t been a huge stretch for her to think maybe it’d been him.

So she’d waved, and smiled.

He’d sat next to her, his delicious scent of clover and moss, teasing her senses. Paz had waited for the friendly smile in return. Nothing.

Like he’d not even seen her.

When the attendants had taken drink orders, he’d ignored her too.

He didn’t read, didn’t move, didn’t do a single thing. Which totally creeped her out. Stepford wife, or husband in this case, total weirdo.

The plane jolted again, this time listing deep to the side.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the pilot’s voice came on over the loudspeakers, “please put your trays in the upright and locked positions, we seem to be experiencing a bit of turbulence--”

“Oh sh--” the co-pilot cried and then there was static.

But that wasn’t the worst part, because now the plane was dipping forward, faster and faster.

Suddenly Mr. Creepy latched onto her hand, squeezing tight.

“Look at me,” he said, and oh man, so embarrassing that as they were crashing and getting ready to become nothing but a memory, all she could focus on was the flutter of her stomach at the sound of his whiskey deep voice.

Adrenaline spiked her veins, kids and women screamed. Oxygen masks dropped from the rough turbulence that shook her around like a rag doll.

“You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine,” he said and she nodded.

His eyes were so beautiful. Not black like she’d first thought, but a deep inky well full of stardust. His thumb caressed her knuckles, and she knew fire seeped through her skin, deep into bone.

A strange whistling rang loud in her ears. Paz lifted up on her toes, wishing she could run away. “It’s just like the movies,” she whispered.

He licked his lips and man they were nice. “What?” he said.

Tears crept into the corners of her eyes as her stomach bottomed out. A baby was crying. “The sound of death.”

His touch was so nice. So real and warm.

“My Todd,” she whispered as her vision blurred. He was looking at her, with an ache, a soul deep connection.

She’d finally gotten it.

Paz screamed when the plane pitched on its side. His grip tightened.

“Close your eyes, Paz,” he whispered.

How did he know her name?

Glancing over her shoulder, he licked his lips, and she didn’t miss the dilation of his pupils.

“We’re close aren’t we?” She knew they were, gravity was pinning her against the seat. The ground had to be only seconds away. Her body shuddered, tightened with goose bumps. Death breathed down her neck.

“Close your eyes, head on your knees. I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.”

She dug her nails into his fist, but he didn’t flinch.

“What’s your name?” she breathed, back of her neck tightening.

They were close, within a second of crashing. The plane unnaturally quiet as people prayed, cried softly, or closed their eyes and waited for the inevitable.

His smile was so achingly real, alive. She sniffled, throat working back a hot tide of tears.

“Tristan Black.”

Nodding, she dropped her head to her knees and squeezed her eyes shut. Her fingers still threaded through the hard strength of his.

She’d finally found him. Prince Charming.

So not fair.

There was a deafening whistle and then nothing else.

Chapter 2

He was floating, bits of debris sailing through a body that was once solid and firm. That’d once known pleasure, desire.

Jinni gnashed his teeth. Or at least, attempted to. There was very little substance left to him anymore. Trees towered in every side of him. The mundane world echoed with the faint buzz of animals at rest, sleeping insects, and stalking predators. But inside he felt nothing.

Nothing but an empty void. No joy, no sadness. He just was.

And he was tired of it.

Banished from his Eastern realms, tried for treason. And all for what? For something as insubstantial as the body he now called his.

Why was he here? Staring up at a liquid blue moon, gazing at an endless expanse of stars stretching far as his eye could see. He remembered the stars. Remembered dancing through galaxies, bending time and matter to his will.

He’d been powerful then. A being to be worshipped, feared.

But always, always with a weakness.

He stared at his wrists. A faint bluish white glow surrounded them, if he looked hard, he could see landscape through them. Once his arms had been burnished bronze, with sleek muscles that moved and rolled like a panther’s graceful glide when it struck prey.

At least that’s what she’d said. Nala, with her rose red lips and charcoal lined eyes. She’d been small, perfect… and he hadn’t been able to resist. Theirs had been a passion to rival that of Scheherazade for her King.

Magnetic. Powerful. And illicit.

Jinni dropped his hands.

Why was he here? He should have stayed with Ewan. He was not a slave to be commanded, ordered by a mere wisp of a fae to go and wait beneath the star.

And he’d known which star she’d meant. They all did. A bright jewel of a star that glowed like flame in the sky, mortals called it the North Star, but he knew it as home-- Kingdom.

So why had he come? Antipathy clung to him like a leech. He did not care what was soon to happen. Maybe he should? Maybe if he fought it more, he wouldn’t be a pale wisp of himself. But he was old. Ancient.

Older even than the fairy who called herself his godmother.

That thought elicited a whisper of a sound from him. He thought maybe it was a laugh, but he couldn’t be sure. There’d been a time when his services had commanded the eye of Kings and Queens, when to have a genie in your court proclaimed you to be a man of stature and power.

Now… he was nothing but a sad lyric in an old Eastern ballad: Beware, oh beware, ye of great power… the lips of woman beguile like ambrosia, but cannot hide the evil scheming of her heart.

Wind shoved through his body, a loud pop of indrawn air sucked at his back. He did not turn. He knew who was behind him. Her power rolled through him like a tingling tide.

“What?” he drawled.

“Jinni,” Danika flew to his side. “You’re here.”

She was in her mortal form again, though still wearing her translucent dragonfly wings. Her big blue eyes were wide and expectant.

He rolled a shoulder, his movements awkward and stiff. He didn’t even need to breathe anymore, everything he did now… breathing, smiling, even talking, it was all an act. A way for him to try and retain some sort of humanity. But he wasn’t sure he cared much anymore.

“Where else would I be, starflower?” His words no longer carried the sting of sarcasm. “I’ve nowhere to be, and no one to care.”

“She’s coming. Your mate.”

He looked up at the sky, studying the constellations. The night was clear, with nary a cloud to mar the exceptional beauty of this strange land. Jinni liked trees, but a part of him would always yearn for the endless rolling dunes of his homeland.

“Don’t you care?”

Should he? He waited for a spark, some thread of longing to fill him, breathe new life into his soul to brush away the decay that’d crept like a slow cancer through him. But it was empty and hollow.

“No.” He looked at her.

“Perhaps I waited too long for you, Jinni.” She wrung her hands together, her spider silk dress sparkling with dew.

He wasn’t sure, but thought maybe there were tears in the corners of her eyes. “Why do you cry?”

She sniffed, knuckling the corner of her eye. “I never wanted us to be like this. I know you can never fully accept me, but I would be your friend. If you’d let me.”

He studied her rosy cheeks, the pale circles under her eyes. She did not look well. “I was once a god. I do not think you could ever understand.”

Danika laid her palm upon his chest, a static tingle rushed through her fingers. “You’ve still got magic. It’s not been fully stripped.”

Glancing at his wrists, he said, “I was feared, a slave to no one. I owned land, animals, chariots. Within me was life or death, now…” he looked back at her, “there is just death.”

Straightening her shoulders, Danika shook her head. “I lost my sister, I will not lose my boys.” There was an edge of steel to her words. “Your mate is coming, she is your perfect match.”

Jinni glanced back up at the sky and narrowed his gaze when he caught sight of the flaming orange tail of a streaking comet.

“You can either choose to accept and live, or you can fade into the ether and never know true joy. The choice is yours, I cannot force your happiness.” She shoved something into his lax hand.

It took a huge amount of concentrated effort to grasp onto something solid, all the energy in him had to roll into his hand, just to make it substantial enough to hold on.

The effect left him dizzy and breathless.

Jinni unfurled his hand, within it lay two silver chains. A purple pendant attached to each, one square shaped, one heart shaped. “The stone of veritas?” he inquired with a raised brow. “What truths do I need to discover?”

“The stone can do much more than tell truth. It can show truth. Place the amulet around your neck, I’ve infused enough magic into it to make you fully fleshed and solid once and only once. Choose your moment wisely.”

“Why do I have two stones?”

“The other is for her. When the time comes. You’ll know why.”

Jinni shook his head. “I cannot regain solid form again, Danika. Even if I could turn solid once, what would that matter? I cannot retain the form for long, cannot know the erotic caress of a woman. Especially not a mortal. This is senseless.”

She frowned, blonde brows drawn into a tight vee. “You, a genie. You should know magic cannot be contained, cannot be denied. I tell you there is a way, I’ve already provided it.”

A soft humming filled the woods.

“How? You tell me my mate comes, and maybe I believe you. But how am I to know her, hmm? She cannot even see me. I’m a ghost among mortals.”

Danika jerked, her eyes went flat black and then she spoke, but the words were not in her voice. They were deep, a man’s voice. “Look at me. You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine…”

She was in a trance. Jinni cocked his head. Who did she speak to?

The first faint hum of curiosity stirred.

Suddenly he became aware of the absolute stillness of the woods and the whistle like shriek from the sky. He glanced up, and the comet was close. But he knew now, it was not a comet at all.

It was an airplane, and it was headed straight for them.

“Tristan Black,” Danika said, the name momentarily caught his attention and he glanced back at her. With a final shudder, she blinked. The black eyes returned to blue.

“Who is Tristan Black?” Jinni asked as the roar of twisting metal became deafening.

She smiled, tugging the square shaped pendant from his hand and slipped it around his neck. It settled with a flutter of warmth, spreading like tingling feelers through his body. He glanced down, the pendant had flared to life, a bright and glorious undulating royal blue. He didn’t feel it, didn’t have to push energy through his body to keep it on, it simply stayed put.

“You are, Jinni.” And with those final words, she disappeared in a bright flash of color.

He barely had time to turn, when the world erupted into chaos. The plane crashed into trees, a wing tip ripped through his midsection, causing a momentary shiver of discomfort.

Rocks and debris flew like shrapnel, pelting and sailing through his face, his chest. With one final groan the plane sank to its belly, kicking up clumps of grass and dirt in its wake. Then all was silent save for the licking of the flames curling out of the wreckage. Black smoke billowed high into the heavens.

But the strange and empty silence didn’t last long.

In moments there were groans, and then screams as humans kicked and clawed at their metal coffin.

A latch was turned with a loud squeal, and then a man appeared in the black doorway. Bathed in shadow and covered in soot, he wheezed and coughed. “Come,” he called to someone with a voice grown hoarse.

Fire grew higher.

Shadow man turned and then dragged a body out. A woman, judging by the length of her waist length black hair.

Her eyes were closed, her full pink lips scratched and oozing blood.

The man was tugging on her arm. There was a mechanized motion to his body, unnatural. His movements were robotic.

Jinni floated closer, drawn to the man for some odd reason. Quickly glancing inside the aircraft he noticed many misshapen lumps, humans clawing and crying to crawl away from the greedy flames that’d already claimed some. The stench of sizzling flesh and hair reached his nose.

He turned his back, again drawn to the man who continued to drag the woman out. Now that he was out in the moonlight, Jinni could see him better. The stranger was covered in blood, a large gash stretched across his forehead.

There was something about him. Something unusual that teased at the corners of Jinni’s mind. He’d seen the strange movements before. Human, but not quite. Off.

And then he looked into the stranger’s eyes and knew. They were dead and empty. Hollow, with no life.

Jinni reached out to touch the man’s shoulder when a terrible roar quaked behind them and a shot of glowing steel flew through the air, throwing the stranger flat on his back as the metal bounced off his skull and pierced the side of his neck.

He slumped in a heap next to the woman.

Cocking his head, Jinni finally looked down at her.

Ash and soot could not hide the rich caramel color of her flesh. She had a button nose and a small rosebud mouth, black hair curled becomingly around her heart shaped face. Then she opened her eyes and they were warm and molten brown, alive but glittering with pain.

In that moment something strange happened to Jinni. He sucked in a breath as heat zipped down his spine, curled long fingers through his heart and for the first time in years… he felt it beat. One strong, powerful flex of muscle in his dead chest.

“Help me,” she breathed, and then her eyes rolled back into her head.

How had she seen him?

Something a lot like panic clawed through his skull. It made him twitchy and with a violent shudder, he gripped the pendant in his fist. The ghostly echo of one time and one time only flitted through his head.

“Make it so,” he murmured and then winced as the fire engulfed him. Energy poured out of the stone.

It was like sinking in lava, feeling that terrible heat coat your flesh, sear your lungs. He screamed, dropping to his knees as the flesh covered his soul, bones and tendon knitting a patchwork frame throughout.

The plane roared as another flying spray of hot metal sailed through the air, whizzing pass his cheek. He hissed at the violent heat, shuddering at the sweat that coated his naked limbs.

He had to pull her away. Had to save her before it was too late.

Standing on feet that felt foreign and unsure, he dropped to his knee. Gritting his teeth, he tried again. Forcing his brain to remember what having a body felt like.

Somehow he managed to get his uncoordinated limbs to cross the distance to her and latched onto her wrist. There was strength in this body he wore.

With a loud grunt, he pulled her dead weight against his chest. Heart thumping wildly at the feel of her. She was soft, fleshy in all the right places, and it felt wonderful.

Hefting her against him, he walked in a drunken line deep into the woods, away from the exploding plane. She mumbled incoherently when he gently sat her down.

Then he went back for the man.

Danika had told him he was Tristan Black. Jinni hadn’t understood it then.

He grabbed the man’s wrist and had to strain to lift him in a dead man’s hold across his shoulders, his weight significantly more than hers had been.

Other bodies were slowly milling out, but Jinni had to leave them to fend for themselves. The plane was going to blow soon and he needed to reach safety now.

He was just entering the clearing he’d laid her in when the plane finally gave one final shudder and exploded in a nova of orange and blue.

Dropping to his knees, Jinni dumped the man and gathered the woman in his arms. She smelled of smoke and fuel, but she also smelled like lavender and roses. He ran his nose through her hair, breathless with wonder at his ability to hold a woman again. To feel alive in her presence.

She whimpered and gripped his waist, digging her fingers in.

He looked at the man who bled from the wound in his neck. But the bleeding wasn’t normal, it was thick and oozing, and a red so deep it appeared black. But of course he wouldn’t bleed like a normal mortal, the man was a golem.

What had Danika done?

Chapter 3

Doctors hovered around her fragile form. She was pale, her honey skin bleached out, her lips almost blue. Nurses ran through the room, sounds beeped and stirred, it was an obnoxious wail in the background Jinni fought to ignore.

His eyes were solely for her. Who was she?

Black hair, dark as moving shadow, framed her heart shaped face. Long lashes feathered and flexed as her eyes danced behind the lids.

“Code Blue,” someone shouted. “Code Blue.”

More people rushed the room, a swarm of white coats and humans in colorful scrubs.

Jinni cocked his head, reaching out a blue hand and trailed it down her cheek. He felt nothing, no firmness of flesh, no heat off her body. Just the static of energy buzzing along his vaporous body.

“Damn it, we’re not equipped to handle this,” a deep voice growled, “we’re a small clinic. Dana, you’re gonna have to call Anchorage, we’ve got to get the worst ones air lifted out of here, stat.”

He heard the voices, the sounds of panic, but it was white noise in the background. The woman took up his vision, all he saw was her. The soft rising of her breaths as the machine worked her lungs up and down, the unflinching beauty of a woman in sleep.

Jinni hadn’t meant to follow, he’d thought to stay in the woods and await Danika’s return. To show her he was unmoved, unphased by the woman Danika had chosen for him. But as his temporary form had faded, and she’d slipped softly through his hands, a part of him had felt irrevocably tethered. Like she’d taken the last shred of his soul, trapping it within her soft, soft body.

She’d felt so wonderful. Flesh firm, hot, and smooth, and he’d shuddered, having forgotten the sensation hundreds of years ago. The feeling of touching skin to skin, of holding a beautiful woman in the crook of his arms, feeling her breaths roll gently along his flesh. Making him burn with something close to desire.

Jinni had no idea how long he’d waited with her in the woods. Long enough for his body to fade to nothing but a glowing mist again, long enough for the emergency crews to arrive, long enough for him to completely change his mind.

When the E.M.T.’s had grabbed her, pronouncing her in critical condition and strapping her to a rolling gurney, he’d not given it a second thought. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t stay behind. It was that he couldn’t.

Out of curiosity he’d glanced at the second ambulance housing the golem’s body, wondering what the hospital would do when they realized how unhuman he was. The golem would bleed, could heal, and even on occasion … could talk. But the golem couldn’t feel. Because there was no life to it. A golem was a form without a soul. A shell with no emotions. Purely magic, which begged the question, why was it here?

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Ironic that the beeps should be soothing. But they were the sound of her heart, he timed his own to them. Was this his mate? This nameless woman with molten brown eyes?

Beepbeepbeep…

He cocked his head. The beeps seemed to be getting stronger. Was that a good thing?

Jinni glanced back, but none of the nurses seemed phased. They were grabbing packets, ripping them open to reveal long red tubes. Others were rolling in a large silver stand, hooking a clear bag of fluid to it, then twisting the tubes into the bag.

Beepbeepbeep…. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

A nurse finally glanced up, her face grew red as she shoved blond bangs out of her face. “Ah, hell. She’s flat lining. Grab Doc, Marshall. Now!” She zipped around the side of the bed, stepping right into Jinni.

Her energy mingled with his own, making sparks shoot through his form. She shuddered, but didn’t stop. The blonde opened the woman’s eyelids. “Honey, honey, can you hear me?”

Another white coat rushed in. “Paddles,” he cried as he raced to other side of the bed and threw the sheet back, opening the front of the woman’s hospital gown.

Jinni floated away from the bed. He couldn’t watch anymore. Couldn’t see what they did to her. He rushed through body after body, exiting the sterile room and leaning against the white washed halls, staring absentmindedly at the throngs running in and out of not only her room, but several others down the hall.

There were beds in the halls, stacked one on top of the other. Lumpy forms obscured by white sheets, the burnt odor of hair and flesh a macabre reminder of where they’d come from. Most hadn’t survived the crash. And those that did, would probably wish they hadn’t.

A cold shiver washed over him. Energy from a portal of time, which meant she’d returned.

“She will die,” he said, never turning to gaze at Danika. “Why send me a mate, only to kill her in the next breathe? Cruel, even for you, starflower.”

There was no venom in his words, he hadn’t the strength for it.

Danika flitted in front of him, mournful blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. “She’s not dead yet, Jinni.”

Finally he looked at her. “But she will die. Is that what you’re saying?”

She took a deep breath, dragonfly wings undulating gracefully behind her small fae frame. “Losing Miriam, that was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through.”

Jinni didn’t want to hear about her sadness. Didn’t want to do this, share and confide. He barely knew the woman. She meant nothing to him.

And yet… maybe she did. Because the spot where his heart used to be burned with a gutted sort of flame.

Danika patted his arm, or at least attempted to. Her fingers were cold as they slipped through. He clenched his jaw.

“But I can promise you, if you choose the right way. If you make the right choices, happiness can be yours.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes and staring at the milling bodies. “I’m tired, fairy. Tired of this half-life, tired of the endless days. Tired of it all.”

The words sounded so cold, spoken without the slightest inflection or trace of sorrow. They just were, a sentiment he’d had years to accept. And yet a siren’s song beckoned him from within the sterile room full of beeps and strange noises. A soft and quiet yearning he could hardly understand, for a woman he didn’t know.

“Don’t you dare say that to me!” She clenched her fist, yelling with fury, but also something almost like pain. When he looked back at her, it was to notice fat tears leaking out the corners of her eyes. “I’ll not lose you too. Miriam was many things, but never a liar. She told me what would happen. I know each and every outcome, each path every choice could make. Make it right, Jinni.”

“Why do you care? I have never liked you, fairy. I never wanted a godmother.”

Danika’s nostrils flared. “Because I will do my job, no matter what. You were given to my care, and I take my job seriously. I hope someday you can accept that, Jinni, but either way… I won’t stop.”

Swiping her hand, she opened a blue portal and without stopping to look back, flew inside. Only then did he realize he’d never asked about the Golem.

“What’s happened to me? Where am I? Can you see me?”

The sound of the dulcet voice drew his attention, made the memory of a pulse stutter through him. Jinni turned and sucked in a breath when he caught sight of the soft blue glow of a woman’s form filling the doorway. Beautiful brown eyes stared back at him with a hopeless gleam.

“Can you see me?” she asked, a thread of hope lacing the softly spoken words.

Jinni nodded his head.

She breathed a huge sigh of relief and ran up to him, throwing her arms around his waist, but quickly fell through. More insubstantial than a ghost, Jinni felt the ripples of her energy wash through him. Pure and clean, and lovely. He stared at her on the ground, wishing he could hold out his hand.

She wrapped her arms around herself, white hospital gown slipping down her pale brown shoulder. “Are you dead?” Then her eyes widened and she covered her mouth with trembling fingers. “Am I dead?”

“My name is Jinni.” It was the only thing he could think to say, desperately wanting her to know his name. Wanting to share a piece of himself, miniscule though it was.

She licked her lips. “My name is Paz.”

He smiled. A traveler had journeyed to his Kingdom long ago, bringing a caravan of servants who’d spoken in foreign tongues. One in particular, a green-eyed beauty, had taught him bits of her language. A lyrical, romantic language called Spanish.

“Peace,” he said, “Paz, means peace.”

She smiled and something painful twisted in his chest. “Yes, Paz means peace.”

Chapter 4

Paz stood by the foot of the bed, wondering when that strange man would return. After their introduction, he’d smiled and then vanished. A cold chill swept her, tugged at something deep in her soul, made her yearn for more.

Restless, she started to pace. Transfixed by the sight of her unmoving body lying in that cold, hard bed. She hated hospitals. Always had. Ever since the day she and Richard had walked out of the emergency room of Chicago medical center, doors swooshing shut behind them with the stark reality that their parents wouldn’t leave there alive.

It’d been cold, sleeting, and miserable. Paz had an art exhibition on the campus. She’d pleaded with her parents to stay home, that it was okay, she really wouldn’t feel bad if they didn’t show up.

But they’d known she’d lied. She never could keep the truth from creeping into her voice--the wistful ache to have her parents share in her first “real” show. They’d gotten into the car, and from what the police records had said … it’d been quick and painless. They’d never seen it coming.

She’d always held fast to that belief. That knowledge that they hadn’t known their lives were over.

And yet… maybe they had, because she was still here.

The walls of this sterile room were white, tubes ran the length of her body, a whir and beeping sound (she knew) were the only things still keeping her alive.

Or at least the shell of her. Because somehow, she was still here. The real her. The soul her. She glanced at her arms. They weren’t as pale a blue as the man she’d fallen through yesterday.

Had it been yesterday?

She frowned as her thoughts turned fuzzy. Time ran so differently here. A perpetual wheel of motion that she could trace, but never follow.

Sighing, she dropped her arms. She couldn’t leave the hospital. She’d already tried. Dozens of times, she’d walk down to the end of the corridor, but then some inexplicable urge to run back consumed her. Overwhelmed her, made her ache with a need to vomit or scream. The second she’d turn around, she’d feel better.

Where was that blue man?

Jinni? Was that his name?

She rubbed her cold forehead. How long would she have to stay here? Stuck in limbo?

In her twenty-seven years she’d gone to mass only a handful of times, but she’d always scoffed at the notion of a purgatory. A place where sinners went to work off their sins before they were clean enough to enter through the pearly gates.

Was this her punishment?

Floating toward the edge of the bed, she concentrated all her energy on lifting the hem of the white sheet tucked around her, (no, the body lying there wasn’t her. It was just a body and she couldn’t think of it as her anymore) the body’s feet.

A rush of fiery energy-- like the sensation of a numb limb suddenly burning as it filled with blood-- gathered in her fingertips. Clenching her teeth, sweating profusely, she willed the sheet higher and higher, with a final flicker of energy she untucked it and tossed it aside. Gasping hard for breath, feeling as though she’d just run a marathon.

It was getting harder. Yesterday she’d been able to do it easier.

Had it been yesterday?

Why couldn’t she remember anymore?

She bit her lip as the ugly truth of the body was exposed. Blood soaked bandages covered a leg so swollen it looked three times the size it’d been before. The toes were a deep crimson, the toenails gone.

The purple and silver rhinestone studded pedicure that’d cost her a small fortune, forever lost somewhere in the deep woods.

A bad smell emanated from the leg. Every time the nurses came in they couldn’t hide their grimace, or the worry scrawled across thin eyebrows.

With a shudder, Paz turned her gaze aside, but the sight of the body’s face was even worse. Clear tubes ran up the nose, a red snake looking thing was in the mouth, and the eyes were puffy. The skin that’d once been a healthy bronze was now a waxy yellow.

She swallowed hard and looked up when chatter disturbed her macabre thoughts.

The nurse, wearing a colorful smock and pants, stopped in the door with a swift frown. She flipped through the file and then shrugged. Swiftly she walked to the side of the bed, peered at the monitor behind the body, and then tsked.

“Well, Paz, good morning to you.”

Morning?

Paz looked over her shoulder at the window. A faint pink cloud crept along the horizon. When had it turned night?

“And how are you this fine morning?”

“Fine,” she said, wishing like hell the nurse would look her (not the body, but her) in the eye.

The nurse smiled, never glancing up as she patted the body’s cheek. “You know, doc says you’re in a coma.”

Really?

Paz nibbled her lip. Weren’t comas bad?

“But I don’t think,” the nurse smiled again, “you are. Because you see, for the past two mornings, you’ve kicked your sheets off, and I know comatose patients can’t do that.”

The young blonde nurse fiddled with a clear bag of fluid.

“And if you can hear me in there,” she peered straight at the body’s face with thinned lips, “you wake up, sweetie. We’re all pulling for ya.” With a nod she turned on her heels and made for the exit.

Paz’s heart sank. “But I’m right here. I do hear you.”

She trailed the nurse, trying to tap her, hoping in some way to make a connection to another soul.

“Oh, before I forget,” the nurse clapped the door frame, “we’ve found your brother. Says he’s headed here tomorrow! Exciting, huh?”

Then she was gone and her smell of vanilla went with her.

Suddenly cold, depressed, Paz hugged her middle.

“Where are you, Jinni?”

She didn’t know him. But he’d seen her. She’d seen him.

“I need you.” A solitary tear tracked like a cool pinprick of ice down her cheek.

A loud beeping sound blared through the busy corridor. Suddenly an explosion of bodies ran toward a room two doors down from hers. Curious, Paz glided to the doorway, shivering each time a body walked through her.

“Damn air’s too low again,” someone muttered, but never glanced back. Never stopped to think they’d walked right through her.

Her nurse was at the head of a bed. A very small body lay hidden within the deep folds of the blankets. Flowers were strewn all across the room, get well cards bedecked the walls. Children’s pictures graced every square inch of the place.

Hands were ripping the sheets off.

“Code Blue. Code Blue,” was repeated over and over and over, until the room seemed crammed with bodies desperately trying to revive the child.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Paz walked away. She couldn’t watch this. Death wasn’t as painful as she’d always feared (if this even was death), but watching a child transition from there to here wasn’t something she relished either.

She moved away, not really paying any mind to where she walked. So long as she stayed away from the end of the corridor she was fine.

She’d already seen a few bodies not make it. But not once had she seen someone else like her. Except for Jinni, and he hadn’t returned since she’d talked to him last.

Suddenly she stopped, gripped with a desperate desire to turn around. Heart thundering, or at least the memory of that emotion, flickered like a bright flame inside her. She turned and frowned.

A body lay in there. But this one wasn’t bruised, swollen, or dead looking. Without realizing it, somehow she’d found her way to his side, and stared at the face that she’d almost forgotten.

“My Todd,” she whispered, feeling the first faint echo of a smile tug at her lips.

She traced his face, hissing at the warmth of it, reveling in the texture of firm skin for as long as she possibly could before she became too tired and had to pull away.

“You are so beautiful.” The words spilled from the depths of her soul.

Thick black brows shaded a pair of eyes that were closed, but that when opened sparkled deep whiskey brown. His strong nose and square jaw covered in bristle made her pulse flutter for the merest second in time.

“Look at me,” she pleaded, feeling a hard lump work its way up her throat when he failed to do so. “Please, look at me. I’m so lonely.”

An awareness of something reached out-- like the gentle touch of a lover’s hand-- across the nape of her neck. Paz turned and then smiled a huge, wide grin.

“Where have you been?!” she demanded, uncaring that she sounded like a jealous girlfriend. Jinni was back, staring at her with his soulful black eyes, liquid blue face creased with a gentle frown. She rushed to meet him. “Why did you leave me?”

He stared at her, only stared. And for a moment she worried that he could no longer hear her either. Fear gnawed at her gut, but then pleasure blossomed like a rose opening up to morning dew when he shrugged.

“I did not know if you would want me around. I did not wish to bother you.”

The lyrical inflections of his voice did strange things to her spirit. She tingled, every inch of her. Even her lips burned, as if she’d been kissed, and kissed thoroughly.

“Why would you think that? You’re the only one who can see me. The only one who knows I even exist.”

Everywhere his eyes touched her face, it was like a feather light caress.

“I am sorry, Paz. I just did not know what to do.”

She swallowed, glancing down at her bare toes. In this form she still had her toenails, though they were no longer painted. The hospital gown draped across her body, flapping as she walked like a ghost moving through a still graveyard at night.

She laughed.

He frowned. “What is so funny?”

Shaking her head, she threw up her hands. “I was just comparing my hospital gown to a ghost. Which is ironic, right? All things considered.”

It took a second, but a flicker of emotion ticked swiftly across his brow. Then his lips curved at the very corners and she knew he smiled with her. “Ironic indeed,” he drawled.

She sighed. “You have such a nice voice.”

He did smile then. A fully fleshed out one and she couldn’t help but return it.

“So do you,” his deep voice made her breath hitch.

“Really?”

He drifted closer, so close she felt the pop and buzz of his energy roll through hers.

Breathless, she asked, “What does mine sound like?”

“What does mine sound like?” he asked back, cocking his head. He had black curls, thick and sleek, glinting like onyx in flame. Her fingers twitched, wishing she could touch it.

“Like the blue of the ocean floor, or the inky black of a midnight sky.”

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “You think in color?”

“I’m an artist.” She remembered the body with the bloated face and her shoulders sagged. “Or I was.”

A burst of static traced the line of her jaw. She glanced up as he pulled his hand away.

“You sound like my Kingdom. Like the golden brush of fairy light dancing through the night, the iridescent jade of a beetle’s shell in the moonlight.” His eyes searched hers.

“Where are you from that you see fairy light?”

“A place not of Earth. A place of fairy tales and magic.” His smile was self-effacing. “But I’m sure you do not believe me.”

“I’m half dead, Jinni. It’s not so hard for me to believe in the impossible anymore.”

His face was calm, nearly devoid of any type of emotion, save for the briefest twitch of his eyelid.

“Where did you go before?” she asked again. “Why did you leave me? Aren’t you bound to this place like I am?”

He shook his head. “I am not dead.”

She cocked her head. “Then why can I see you? Why can you see me?”

For a moment she didn’t think he’d answer. Taking a deep breath, he said slowly, “Because I am not bound by this world’s rules, I am a being made of magic. Though there is one similarity between us.”

“What?”

“I am dying. Just like you.”

Chapter 5

Jinni paced the length of his cave. The constant howl of the winds outside, normally so soothing, now irritated him like the constant drip of a leaky pipe.

He was angry.

But he didn’t know why.

He stared at his empty cave, at the pit of fire that burned perpetually in the center of the dirt floor. He stoked the flames, never letting them die, knowing they wouldn’t-- couldn’t-- warm him. That nothing could ease the icy chill that encased his soul. That nothing could break his antipathy. Each day an unbearable torture because it wouldn’t end. Because he was still here. Still existing in a realm outside of happiness, joy, life.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

He gnashed his teeth. She called to him, wakened something in him. A sleeping dragon with claws that’d slumbered for an eternity, now opening languid eyes with curiosity… and maybe something more.

Something volatile and violent.

“Why are you here?” the shrill voice of she interrupted his internalizations.

“Go away, Danika,” Jinni glared at the miniature, innocent looking fae.

She. His nightmare, his bondage, and constant reminder of what he’d lost. What he’d sacrificed so long ago. And for what?

For something as fleeting and inconstant as a vapor.

Danika quirked a pale blonde brow. She preferred the guise of a frail old woman. Doddering, and well past her prime. Most godmother’s did. He could never understand why. Did they assume it was because you’d trust them more that way?

But he was as dangerous as she. There’d once been a time, when his might could have quashed even hers. He could see the monster lurking beneath the mask of civility she’d worked so hard to cultivate, because he’d once worn one himself. For a time.

His soul trembled.

Danika’s blonde curls bobbed gracefully around her head as her lips twitched, as if she knew a secret he did not. A frothing swirl of fury burned his gut.

“What?!” he demanded louder.

Her grin only grew wider. “My, my, my… is that… anger?” She tapped her jaw, the silver tips of her nails glinting like jewels as the fire reflected off it. “Surely not my Jinni. Why, I thought antipathy was your friend now. Now tell me truth, honestly, why are you here and not there?” She flitted closer, dragonfly wings shimmering with pale threads of blue.

“I did all you commanded of me, master,” he sneered the last. “You told me to stay until the girl arrived. I’ve done that.” Forcing a grim smile to his tight lips, he sidled closer, until the electricity of his form crackled like static against her magic. “Are you here to demand I return?”

She licked her lips, then with a loud sigh crossed her arms and legs and floated before him, looking as dangerous as a gnat. “I’ve never demanded a thing from you. Not one thing, Jinni. I’ve always wondered about you?”

It was bait and he knew it, but he couldn’t help but ask, “How so?”

Danika toyed with the edge of her fingernail. “Why you hate me. Why you direct such venom at me when I never asked to take you.” She paused for a moment, as if waiting for him to speak, say something. But there’d be no words from him.

What could he say anymore? Though the memories were fresh and sometimes painful, it’d happened so long ago that it seemed pointless to care. Most days, he didn’t.

She shrugged. “I asked Betty,” she supplied, “and I’m fairly certain she’s got you dead to rights, as my Alice would say.”

Scoffing, Jinni laughed. “Betty? Gerard’s woman? Gerard has the mental capacity of vermin, what could she possibly--”

Danika narrowed her eyes, a terrible blue glow infused the depths of her cobalt orbs and her lips set into a tight grimace. “Mind your tongue,” she hissed, “I’ll not hear a foul word uttered against the girl. And aye, she did have some most insightful thoughts as to our,” she stressed, “current state of affairs.”

“Then by all means,” he genuflected, “do share, starflower.”

Refusing to rise to the bait, she ignored him. “You’re not mad at me. You’re mad at yourself. Mad at what you did. What you allowed to happen.”

Each uttered phrase was worse than a blow to his heart. Jinni couldn’t help but flinch, nostrils flaring as the horrible truth clawed at his skull. He did not know Betty. How could she have such insight into his psyche? Just who were these women Danika had found for them?

Who was Paz?

His soul thumped as if it were the fluttering beat of a skipping heart.

Danika nodded. “Your silence is answer enough. She is correct.”

Jinni turned his face aside as the memories, those awful, hated memories, tried to break free of the darkness he’d stuffed them in the night he’d been banished from his Eastern realms.

A cool ripple of power brushed against his cheek. He turned to look at Danika, allowing his plea, his pain, his grief, but mostly his fear, to reflect in his gaze.

“Betty is a doctor of the mind. Feelings.”

It was hard for him to refrain from snorting, but Gerard’s Belle had exposed him. Somehow, she’d exposed him without ever meeting him.

“She said you have to let the girl in.”

He closed his eyes. The girl. Paz. The dark-haired, dark-skinned beauty who shimmered with a pearlescent splendor. How was it that being in her presence could bring him such fear and excitement?

In centuries he hadn’t felt much of anything. Then he saw her, a strange woman in a strange land, and something terrible inside him quaked. A demon he thought he’d buried long ago.

“How can you say that to me?” he whispered. “You, who knows why I was ousted. I cannot trust again, Danika. I cannot allow her close. The last one cost me everything,” the last tailed off in a whisper so low he wasn’t sure he’d spoken it aloud.

He felt raw, like a jagged exposed nerve. Part of him wanted to rail and roar, demand his way. But another part, a shameful one, wanted to roll up into a ball in the corner and die. Jerking out of her reach, he once again paced the length of his cavernous chamber. If he continued to look her in the eye, continued to see the sorrow in her bright blue gaze, he’d do one or both.

“I will not go back to her. I will not go down this path again.”

Danika flitted in front of him, halting him with her hand. He didn’t have to stop. He could phase right through her now.

“You must. She is dying, Jinni.”

“Why? Tell me why? I am not a good man, Danika. You know my past. You know why I am here. Why subject her to me? Let her die. There is peace in death. I only envy that she can feel it so quickly.”

Her eyes were like cleavers, ripping through his words and exposing them for the wicked lie they were. To think of Paz dead, to think of that beautiful smile forever gone, made his insides hurt. He didn’t know her, but already he felt something. Curiosity, pleasure…

“A mortal ghost is like a delicate bloom. They need a tether, a reason for being, or else they vanish. I cannot bring her back if she does, your only hope for salvation and for meaning in this life is through her.”

“A woman cannot give me meaning.” The words were hollow and bitter, dripping with scorn.

He’d believed like Danika once. Believed he’d found his purpose within the arms of a doe-eyed temptress whose seductive ways had blinded him to her ruthless thirst for power and greedy ambition. He’d betrayed all he’d ever been, all he’d known for passion, only to discover in the end that her honeyed tongue had spun nothing but a silken web of lies.

Though his words spoke scorn, in his head he chanted for Danika to save him. To show him truth, purpose, life, to give him hope. He bit his lip, ache filling his throat with quiet despair.

She sighed. “She is your soul mate, of that I have no doubt. She will bring you back, but the choice is yours. She fades quickly, Jinni. Time is short, so you must choose.”

“Why is that golem there?” he asked before she could fade.

Danika’s face was solemn as she stared at him. Finally she said, “You know why. You worked that magic once before.”

Jinni stayed where he stood long after Danika faded into the ether. Staring out of the cave, at the darkness that engulfed like a shroud beyond. The violent whistle of the wind mingling with the jaggedness of his thoughts made him feel more alone than ever before. Slowly the fire died, until all that remained was the blackness.

In a corner of the cave rested the two necklaces Danika had given him. If he took them, if he acknowledged them, then he knew he’d never look back.

Could he do this?

Dare he trust her?

Not only Danika, but Paz?

The spot in his soul where his heart used to be bled raw imagining a world without Paz in it. Closing his eyes, he sealed his fate as he forced the energy to roll down and gather in his limbs. Floating to the necklaces, he picked them up and using a small bit of the magic still left to him, sealed it within his person.

The stones flared bright and hot, seeming sentient and joyful, as if a friend saying hello.

Before he could rethink this madness, he cracked open one of a million dream stones hidden within Kingdom-- a stone to give him the ability to travel swiftly through dimensions-- and opened a portal to her.

Paz huddled on the floor next to the corner of her bed, shivering and next to tears. He was gone again. She didn’t know why.

Why would he leave again?

Was she a bad person?

Terrible to talk to?

Boring?

“Is she going to be okay?” Richard asked the nurse standing next to him.

His voice was raw, rough, as if he’d been crying for hours. Which he had. Her brother had looked better. His skin was waxy, his eyes bloodshot and purple. His hair disheveled.

Paz rocked methodically back and forth, hugging her knees to her chest as the cold, cold floor seeped into her cold, cold soul.

“We’ve done all we can,” the nurse said softly.

But it didn’t hurt to hear it. She was dying. Which should have probably made her sad, but all she felt was relief. She was tired of existing in this weird place where nobody knew her, heard her, or touched her.

No, it didn’t hurt her at all. But it was killing her brother. Richard hiccupped, trying hard to stay composed, but Paz knew him. Knew he was seconds from completely losing it and if the nurse had any kindness left in her, she’d walk away before he bawled like a baby.

Paz should feel terrible for him. A part of her recognized that things that’d once mattered so much in life, the love of her family and her artwork, meant very little here. A restless desire to go was blooming in her heart.

She stared at the body that had once been her. The swelling looked better.

Maybe.

The hair was matted, greasy, probably smelled gross.

Paz touched her still silky hair and then frowned as it dawned on her that her sense of touch was further diminished. She didn’t know how long she’d been here already. A week? A year? Richard was losing weight, his sweater hung on him funny. So probably a week. He was drinking a lot of coffee too.

She knew that because she’d started counting the cups piling up in the trash bin of the body’s room. First time he’d started drinking there’d been three. Then there’d been six. Now, he was on cup fifteen and the day was only half over.

She stared out the window, startled to note the sun was already down.

It’d stopped freaking her out how time spun out of control here. What she thought she knew, she didn’t know, and what she hadn’t known, she now knew.

Like the fact that she kept seeing a lit tunnel glow at the end of the corridor, and that tunnel waited for her. And that now she could go further down the corridor than ever before, that at the end of the hallway waited a tunnel that smelled of a million different flowers and that warmth emanated from inside. That inside that place was joy and she desperately wanted to go.

“I want to go,” she muttered, shocked for a second to hear the scratchy tenor of her unused voice. “I want to go,” she said again, this time a bit more forcefully.

Paz stopped rocking and blinked.

“I want to go.” She stood up, phasing through the bed, through Richard who shook and shivered as she passed. The discordant claxon of the monitor’s beeping lit the room, startling Richard. His eyes were wide as he stared at the screen and with shaking hands he began to screech.

“Help. Help please!” he cried. Footsteps thudded quickly toward the room.

“I’m sorry, Richard.” She gazed at him with tear-filled eyes before leaving him and the room behind. “But I have to go,” she continued to mutter, over and over, until she came to the room with her Todd. What had he called himself on the plane?

Tristan was it?

Paz stopped, waiting for the quiet tug in her soul she always experienced when she got close to his room.

He really was beautiful. And so tall. She’d never have had to worry about wearing heels around him.

“Stop hanging on,” she told him. “It’s time to go, Todd, it’s time to go…”

“Go where?”

That dark decadent voice rolled over her body like sun warmed honey. Tingles of heat shot through a soul she thought might never feel warmth again.

Prickling force pressed against her back. She remembered that sensation. It was the hard penetrating gaze of a man liking what he saw. And for a moment she remembered how it felt to be alive, to feel empowered, sexy…

“Go where, little dove?”

Her lashes fluttered and all thought scattered. There’d been a tunnel, and light, a hot, hard desire to go… but now there was this. Him.

She turned. “Jinni?”

Her reflection glinted in the depths of his dark eyes. Soulful eyes. The kind of eyes that mesmerized, made her forget the cold, the soul sucking loneliness that shredded any resolve to stay.

“You left me,” she said, the words sprung from the depths of her pain.

Long, sooty lashes shaded his eyes. His full bottom lip turned down in a small frown. “It is hard to be around you.”

“I’m so cold when you leave. And the light,” she glanced out the door, knowing the light waited just down the hall, “it’s so warm. I need warm.”

Ripples of static buzzed along her jawline as his nearly translucent finger traced the curve of her jaw.

“I am here now, and I promise I will not leave again.”

She smiled as a lone tear slipped out the corner of her eye.

“Would you like to hear a story?” he asked.

“What kind of story?”

“One filled with romance, intrigue, and betrayal. My story.”

He sounded so sad, so unsure, and all she knew was she had to stay for him. She couldn’t leave. He needed her and somehow, deep down, she knew she needed him too.

Maybe they could save each other.

She smiled and nodded her head, feeling his tug of energy move against her wrist as he magnetically seemed to pull her close to his pale side.

“You told me once you like to paint.”

Colors filled her head, a miasma of differing shades-- bold blues and vivid reds. Her heart quickened and she nodded as joy trembled in her throat. “Yes. I do.”

He turned his hands over in silent entreaty. She understood and rested hers on top of his. His power buzzed along her arms, and for a moment, a split second in time she swore she could almost feel them-- strong, and firm, and slightly cool. They thrilled her, made her burn and ache, but then the sensation of touch was gone and all she felt again was the delicious hum of him ripple through her.

Something intoxicating and exciting filled the space between them, it shimmered like pale golds and glinting silvers.

“This is my magic,” he leaned in so close, his lips hovered by her ear, and she shivered as heat streaked from her fingertips. “Paint my story, and see who I really am. Then you can decide.”

He didn’t make sense to her, but it didn’t matter, because in front of them a white canvas stretched out and colors coalesced into exotic and lovely shapes.

“A long, long time ago,” his deep honeyed voice began, “a genie wondered what it would feel like to live as man…”

Chapter 6

Several hundred years ago in Eastern Kingdom

Look at the beetles, marching here and there. Filling the King’s halls with their colorful frocks and titillating laughter, Jinni could barely conceal the disdain, even within his own head.

He rolled kohl-rimmed eyes, sneering at the humans marching passed. They offered him furtive glances. Some were boldly inquisitive, but most trembled with fear.

He quirked his brow and lifted his turbaned head, jutting his chin out proudly. He was djinn, and they should fear him. The King’s newest and most powerful acquisition, a show of strength to all of Eastern realm.

Jinni guarded King Abdullah’s door, standing with his feet spread and his arms crossing his chest. A djinn didn’t need sleep, didn’t need rest, a djinn was power, might, god-like in every way.

“Who are you?”

Jinni turned at the sound of her voice, soft and sweet, hesitant, but sure. Her skin was firm and brown, her eyes seeming dipped in kohl. She was a child, barely more than five years of age. But there was a sort of maturity to her features, a twinkle in her dark eyes that said she saw more than the world thought she did. Tight braids circled her head, causing her ears to turn outwards just slightly. The effect was oddly endearing and made him grin.

“I am King Abdullah’s royal vizier,” he said, quirking a brow, asking without words what she wanted.

She inhaled sharply, glancing over her shoulder. “I do not know you. I have not seen you around before.”

High-pitched girlish giggling drew his attention. Gathered deep within the shadows, several jasmine-scented barefoot maidens hid their smiles behind their hands, gawking openly at him.

Her maids in waiting, which meant this girl draped in lush pink silk could be none other than the princess. “What is it you desire, princess? Hmm? A pony? A rabbit? Sweets?”

Her dark eyes widened as she swallowed nervously. “Indeed, Djinn, I want nothing from you. My father has given me all that I need.”

Of that, Jinni had no doubt. The tiny maiden was covered in silk and draped in gold. She’d even strung gold threads through the length of her black hair, the gentle tinkling of anklets sounded as she moved. Even the silk looked as if it’d been woven, not by mortal hands, but by the gods themselves. There was a luminescent quality to the fabric, as if morning dew sparkling upon fine moth silk thread.

“Then why are you here, girl?”

She puffed out her bird chest. “My name is, Aria. And I came to you because you look lonely.”

The twittering continued behind them unabated. Jinni could hardly refrain from rolling his eyes. “I am not lonely. I am master of all, I’ve no time for loneliness. Now get along, child, before I decide to turn you into a toad.”

The laughter stopped, and the maidens hissed and trembled at the perceived threat they’d heard their tiny mistress receive. But Aria did not shake, she quirked a brow. So adult like in her response that for a split second, a ghost of a smile graced his lips.

“Sometimes,” she continued in that small child-like voice, “when I’m lonely, I sit and look at the stars. I try to count them all, but I can’t,” she scrunched her nose, “I get muddled up around number one hundred fifty-seven and then lose track.”

“One hundred and fifty-seven?” He snorted. “That is an arbitrary number, is it not? Does it hold meaning for you?”

She shrugged. “Too hard to concentrate after that.”

“How could you possibly get bored, child?” his voice drawled, beginning to get bored himself. “You are surrounded by maidens to heed your beck and call, I’m sure there are children aplenty to play with.”

She nodded solemnly. “Yes, but they only wish to play with me because of who my father is.”

“Aria,” the tallest maiden in the back called, her skin was honey rich and smooth, the fine strands of her hair plaited high upon her head. “Come now, leave the King’s Djinn alone.” She clapped her hands and Aria winced.

But then the smoothness was back. Only five, and already the girl had mastered the façade of royalty. Gathering up the edges of her pink silk, she curtseyed gracefully. “I live in the tower, if you’re ever bored.”

With that, she was gone…

“You liked her,” Paz said, slowly lowering her hands.

The canvas which had once been a pristine white, was now a picture of a proud genie, wearing Eastern garb, cream colored vest open, exposing the long lean muscle of bronzed skin. The cream turban upon his head sat as regally as any crown.

Standing before him was a small child dressed in yards of pink fabric. Black braids entwined like snakes around the crown of her head.

The magic was Jinni’s, but Paz had painted the picture and the likeness was astonishing. From the gilt framed frescoes on the wall, to the jade veins cutting through the marble halls of King Abdullah’s palace.

Jinni cocked his head, studying the painting. It was so lifelike, that he wondered why he couldn’t smell the sweet scent of jasmine on the air, or the roasted haunch of lamb cooking for dinner. Shaking his head, he had to blink twice to recall he was not within the walls of the palace, but in a cold, sterile hospital that reeked of antiseptics and death.

For a moment it’d felt so real. He looked at Paz. “What you paint . . . it has a magic all its own.”

She smiled, water glistened in her cocoa rich eyes. “Thank you.”

Her skin was so pale, tinted with a light shade of blue, but coldly beautiful all the same.

“Yes, I liked the girl,” he admitted reluctantly, something he’d never spoken aloud to another.

Sad, haunting eyes roamed the length of his face. So beautiful, the thought came unbidden and he jerked. Instinct urging him to leave, to back off, that he’d sworn an oath to never allow himself the luxury of such thoughts. He clenched his jaw, wishing with all his soul that he’d feel the ache of teeth grinding on teeth.

Physical pain so much better than the metaphysical memory of it, physical pain fleeting, but still something you could sink your teeth into and forget all else, because it demanded complete attention. But without that distraction, all he had left was the guilt and it ate at him like a goblin gnawing on a thigh bone.

“You don’t sound happy about it,” she said softly, tracing the swirl of black color that was Aria’s hair.

He kept his eyes on the floor as he muttered, “I can’t be.”

After a long pause, he looked up at her, expecting to see curiosity staring back at him. Censure even, as if by divine will she knew the secret he hid. But she wasn’t looking at him.

Well, not the real him. Paz was staring at the painting, her eyes glued to the tall figure of the man he used to be. Her slim finger tracing the fine lines and swirls of paint, as if memorizing each stroke.

Jinni trembled as he watched her finger slide slowly down the length of his neck, across the width of his once broad chest, down each leg. But it was the spark of fire in her eyes that made him groan and wonder at the thoughts behind it-- wishing he could feel the touch of her caress, envious of a sheet of canvas. How pathetic he’d become.

“So that was your first day?” she finally said, turning back to him.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

A secret simmer of a smile graced a corner of her plump lips. “Did you ever see them as something other than beetles?”

He snorted. “My arrogance knew no bounds. But yes, eventually I did come to befriend a few.”

“Like Aria?” She narrowed her eyes. “And who else?”

Standing under flat lighting, awful fluorescent lights bouncing off her shimmery form, her hair looked like rich oil-- liquid and black and tempting to touch. It spilled around her head in a halo effect, wild and wavy, he wanted to twine an end around his finger, bury his nose in the crook of her neck and inhale her scent deep into his lungs.

Paz looked so pure, innocent, and lovely. She’d been named well, because whenever he was around her, the guilt and anger bled out, leaving only her peace behind.

“I wish I could touch your hair the way you touched that painting, Paz,” the words spilled from him, he should take them back, wish them away, unspoken.

The center of his chest flared, the spot where he’d placed the necklaces. As if they woke and sparked to life. He knew what that meant.

Jinni closed his eyes, confused because he shouldn’t want this as desperately as he did. It wasn’t fair to her.

“The first time I saw you,” her words were close, whispered in his ear--Jinni shivered--“I felt the currents of your static roll against me. Do you feel mine now?”

She smelled of fresh turned earth, new life, and liquid sun. But he did not feel her. Every day was getting worse. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly parted. Jinni swallowed, if he was a man, he’d kiss her.

Desperate to remember, he ran his nose along her cheek, feeling nothing but void beneath him. She shuddered, her mouth tipping into a slight curve. “I can feel you. Can you feel me?”

There was such hope in her voice. She opened her eyes and he did it. He leaned in, and brushed his lips against hers, trying to remember what it would feel like to touch her again.

Wisps of memories came to him. The firmness of flesh, the give and take of two souls discovering one another, the taste of berries settling on his tongue… he swallowed the sigh of disappointment and uttered a lie. “I feel you, Paz.”

Her smile, more brilliant than a diamond, made him smile in return.

She looked out the window. “It’s morning again. Are you going to leave me now?”

He should. He should go and never come back, be the coward he wanted to be. Run away from her, from this, from the story that must be told.

Jinni shook his head. “I will stay.”

“Then tell me more,” she whispered and held out her hands, waiting for him to grab them as before. Another roll of canvas fluttered open before them.

Chapter 7

“Little princess, arise,” Jinni whispered, tip-toeing softly into her palace chambers. Gauzy drapings of the finest silk adorned marble walls, a colorful splash of teals and azure. The princess was fond of water.

In the year he’d been the King’s royal vizier he’d gotten to know the child well. Their land was fertile and rich, overflowing with milk and honey. But apart from the small river that bisected their boundaries, water wasn’t in much profusion out here.

She poured over tomes, enamored by the Western side of Kingdom and the miles and miles of deep blue and turquoise waters. He could never quite understand her fascination, for Jinni the beauty of this land was in its ruggedness, in the endless rolling hills of sand and the swaying palms. The heat that sizzled through his veins and the dry smell of jasmine and salt, more and more he forgot the stars he’d been born in. This was his land, and he never wanted to leave.

“Princess,” he whispered harder. It was forbidden for any member of the palace, aside from her handmaidens and royal family, to ever visit this side of the tower. “I’ve brought you a trinket.”

A slight breeze pulsed through the room, flapping the silk curtains and fingering gently through her riotous curls. She rubbed her eyes, squinting in the purplish lavender spill of moonlight and sat up. “Jinni?”

He grinned, cupping the hard gift behind his back and nodded. “I’ve found one.”

Sleep fled her eyes instantly, she shoved thick curls behind her large ears and gestured with her tiny palm for him to hand it over.

He held up his finger. “I do not know if you deserve this, princess.”

Brown eyes turned softly pleading as she clasped her hands together. “I’ve been a very good girl, Jinni. Lady Ellie demanded I eat all my grains this morning and you know how much I despise cook’s grains. Mush and tasteless, but I swallowed it all. I did not even argue with papa when he demanded I play with that rotten Ishmael, who always thinks it is funny to dunk the ends of my hair in ink.” She held up a curl of hair, a woeful expression turning her lips.

He grinned. Never in his life could he have expected this moment. A djinn who chose to leave his place in the stars to live amongst humans. Knowing humans would be in awe of their great power, but never able to see the creature beneath it-- the one who yearned for friendship and affection, a morsel of kindness that did not involve the granting of a wish.

For most djinns it was not a problem. Jinni had never known of another like him. Most enjoyed their vaunted position of power. But the day Aria had accused him of looking lonely, she’d been right. He’d always ached to have a friend. The fact that he wanted one so badly settled like a hot coal in his gut. Should anyone ever see him now, he’d bring shame to his people.

Jinni shrugged the offending thoughts aside.

“That is not why.”

Aria crossed her arms, eyes quizzical. “Why then?”

“Because when Ishmael dunked your hair in ink, you should have asked me to turn him into a toad. That you did not offended me greatly.”

She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand to try and prevent anyone from overhearing them out in the hallway. Sentries walked the halls routinely, especially upon the royals’ floor.

“Father says I’m to marry that rotten Ishmael someday and I’d much rather a man than a toad.”

“Oh well,” he nodded sagely, “wise decision.”

They shared a secret smile.

“What treasures have you found me this time, Jinni? Is it the star in the sand?”

Withdrawing his hand from his back he slowly opened his hand, revealing a hardened, cream-colored starfish.

Aria gasped, her small fingers trembling as she grasped onto a spindly end. She jumped from the bed, a bundle of energy racing toward the treasure chest hidden in her closet. Her navy blue bed gown flowed behind her like water in motion.

Jinni reclined on the bed as she pulled the small wooden box full of her ‘treasures’ out. Bits of things he’d scrounged up when given time away from his duty to the king. It was difficult for Jinni to ever get away and the few times he did, he always made side errands to seek out new articles for her chest.

She had a vial of sand from the Never Sea, a mummified seahorse, and now her starfish. Running back, a breathless smile on her face, bare feet barely heard above the rustle of her nightdress, she held the box out for his inspection. She’d laid her treasures reverently upon a turquoise silk scarf.

“Thank you, Jinni, thank you!”

He was getting ready to say “you’re welcome” when he heard the unmistakable swish of a woman’s skirt move away from the door. Aria’s eyes grew wide and she swallowed hard. “Oh, Jinni, you should go. You should…”

He shook his head and jumped to his feet. “No, princess.”

“But if you’re caught, they could kill your body and then you’ll be gone from me forever.”

Tweaking the tip of her nose, he moved toward the door. “Get in bed now, Aria.”

He didn’t look back to see if she’d listened, instead he opened her door gently. Heart in his throat, not fear for himself, but for Aria if he’d been discovered in her chambers. Jinni would never dream of harming the girl, or of even entertaining the idea of mating her, she was but a child. But the law was law and in this realm, an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth still ruled. Not only would he be executed, but the princess’ reputation would be soiled. Child or no.

Quietly he exited, glancing both ways, he spotted the bulky shadow half hidden behind a large potted fern.

There was only one way to ensure Aria’s reputation stay intact. Jinni withdrew his hooked cutlass.

“I will not tell.”

Jinni sucked in a harsh breath, the voice reminded him of velvet-- all soft and luxurious, and so tantalizingly familiar. He narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

Then she stepped out of the shadow and his eyes widened.

She was beautiful.

As any Queen would be.

Her hair gleamed like rich oil in moonlight, her skin was a dusky hue and bronzed golden by the fierce sun. Piercing green eyes held his and fire burned a hot trail down his spine.

“Queen Nala,” his voice came out choked as he quickly thrust the cutlass back in its sheath. Jinni bowed low. “Forgive me, Queen.”

“Arise, Jinni. There is no need for formality around me. Not now.” Her words were soft and coaxing, but the shiver that raced across his skin and the heat that burned in his gut was anything but soft.

His gaze roamed slowly up her bare feet, along the peek-a-boo bit of ankle and then up the long expanse of legs and waist. To the ripe fullness of her breasts (and here he swallowed harder), before he finally came to rest on the beauty of her face.

King Abdullah’s newest acquisition held a whisper of a smile on her lips. Younger than the King by a good decade, if not more, she was the epitome of sensuality and verve. Married only two weeks ago, the Queen had kept to herself.

Until now.

“I came to see the girl, though I see,” she cocked her head, “she was not alone.”

The husky tenor of her voice rocked through Jinni’s core and made his legs tremble. “I should not have gone to her. But she is lonely and considers me--”

“A friend?” She stepped forward, her emerald green robes crinkling slightly with her movement.

The rich scent of nightshade and sage perfumed the air between them as she lifted up on tiptoe. Then her finger was pressed against his mouth and he knew he was drowning in her kohl-rimmed gaze.

“She needs a friend,” she whispered, “we all do.”

Then she turned on her heels and walked away. Jinni stood by, as if deaf and dumb, watching long after her shadow had fled.

Paz lowered her arms, and her gaze hooked his.

“You loved her,” she said, and it wasn’t a question. But Paz didn’t sound angry, or sad. Merely, stating a plain truth.

“It was forbidden.”

Her look was tender as she glanced over her shoulder at their newest painting. Him, in the traditional garb of genie, and Nala slightly disheveled, hair mussed (as if she’d just woken up), and a secret smile playing on her luscious lips.

But Paz had painted Nala too perfect. He walked up to the picture and with a swipe of his hand altered the scene, put a tiny cleft in her chin, and small gap between her two front teeth. He brushed her hair back (the Queen had never looked mussed), though the bare feet and ankles peeking out from below the gown were exactly right.

“Forbidden doesn’t mean you didn’t love her. It just means it ended tragically.”

Jinni stilled his hand, letting her words sink in. She didn’t know the rest of the story, and yet she didn’t have to. He turned on his heels, putting his back to Nala and all that she represented.

“Wise words for one so young,” he said.

She shrugged and glided toward the golem on the bed. Jinni had nearly forgotten where they’d been, retelling his story felt so real. So alive, and seeing her paint the pictures in front of his eyes, made the reality of the hospital seem dreamlike and ephemeral.

“Who is he?” she asked, switching subjects.

“Just a man,” he said, eyeing the piece of formed clay lying prone on the bed. If he didn’t know better, if he didn’t know the magic at work within that shell, he’d never suspect it to be anything other than human. It breathed, it grew hair and nails, it seemed so human. Except for its lack of a soul.

“But you know him?” she continued, tracing her pale blue fingers along the length of the golem’s hairy forearm.

“It is just a body, Paz.”

She stopped rubbing his arm and shook her head. “No, it’s more than that. He’s more than that. He saved my life on that plane.”

Jinni clenched his jaw. “It is not alive, it is a golem.”

“A golem?” She frowned and slowly pulled her hand back. “What is that?”

“Have you not wondered why he sleeps, and yet looks perfect? Why he is not connected to a life support machine, but refuses to wake?”

She blinked. “I don’t understand. He talked to me on the plane. He called me by name.”

Her last words were wistful and full of longing, the sound of it made him ache. Being around Paz, made him remember what it felt like to feel. To want and need. To see her reaching out to an inanimate object made his fingers twitch with anger.

“When your plane was crashing…”

How could he tell her this so that she would believe him? Paz hadn’t had a difficult time believing in ghosts, obviously, since she was one now. But would she believe in fairies and fairy tales? In creatures beyond this realm, fantastical beings that lived and breathed and required no soul to do it? He didn’t want to scare her.

“Yes?” she asked.

“My… friend,” he swallowed the lie that stuck in his throat like gall, “spoke those words to you, through its mouth.” He jerked his head in the direction of the golem.

“What?” Paz glanced at the golem, disbelief gleaming in her eyes. “No. No,” she laughed, “I don’t believe you. He called me by name, he was my Todd.”

Jinni didn’t know who Todd was, but he did not like the sound of it. Irritated, he flicked his wrist. “It is as I say, Paz. That thing is little more than animated clay. Without a soul to breathe life into it, there it will remain. Never rotting, never living, never moving.”

She hugged her arms to her chest and instantly Jinni wanted to apologize. He hadn’t meant to sound so curt, but to see her looking at that thing that way, it made his form buzz with anger.

He clamped down hard on his teeth as he watched her slowly turn aside and make her way out the room. Sadness clung to her like a parasite, filling the walls, the room with a soul sucking void of loneliness.

Her negative energy was gaining strength. She seemed to be happy when he was around, which helped to keep her grounded to this world and this reality.

“Wait, Paz, wait!” He chased after her, his fingers brushing through her shoulder blades.

She shuddered and stopped. “Go away, Jinni. That’s what you want to do anyway, right?”

He floated in front of her, soul clenching at the sight of her perfect teardrop tears tracking down either side of her face.

“I am sorry,” he admitted. “I do not know how to befriend others well. I did once. Or so I thought, but I am mindless and cruel at times. Please forgive me.”

She nibbled on the corner of her blue lips and his heart clenched.

Though Jinni wasn’t much more than molecules of vapor, he felt her. Being around her, seeing her smiles, she made him feel alive. He needed her as much as she needed him.

“Don’t go to the light, peace.”

Her lashes fluttered and a soft chuckle dropped from her lips. “My mother used to call me that.”

He smiled. “Then maybe it’s your turn to tell me a story.”

Paz flicked at her thumbnail with her finger and nodded shyly. “I will. But only if you promise to finish yours.”

“I will tell you everything. But some of it is hard. Give me a moment to smile.”

“And how is telling my story going to make you smile?”

“Because it is about you.”

She inhaled sharply.

“But first,” he held up finger, “are you hungry?”

“Hungry?” She laughed and the sound reminded him of the silvery twinkles of starlight. “But we’re ghosts. I don’t get hungry. I don’t think.” She frowned. “Should I?”

Her innocence and naiveté amused him. The smile on his face would become permanent around her, of that he was certain. He’d never felt like this with Nala. With the Queen it had always been passion and sparks, fire and fury.

But with Paz, it was a gentle brook burbling through a quiet meadow. And he was hungry for more.

“No, little dove,” the endearment slipped easily from his tongue, “we do not get hungry. But we do get abysmally bored. So,” he gestured with his hand, “lead me to the food area, I’ll teach you how to eat, while you tell me all about Paz.”

“My life was pretty boring.”

He placed a hand on her back, shoving what little bit of energy he had left to him into it and for a split second he felt the cool shivers of her energy roll along his. He trembled and she purred.

Jinni couldn’t sustain the power long, but it’d been enough. He stared at his hand as she walked toward the dining area, sure he’d see a mark upon it. Something tangible to mark the beauty of the moment.

But there was only a faint blue hand staring back at him, curling his hand into a fist he pressed it against his chest. She stopped and turned to look at him, all innocence and sweetness.

“Are you coming?”

Forever. Endlessly. Eternally. “Always.”

Chapter 8

Paz glanced shyly from out the corner of her eye as he laughed at her. His laugh was rich, like dark chocolate cocoa. It warmed her and made her feel like she glowed.

Maybe she did glow. She stared at her arms.

“Shove it out, Paz,” he instructed again. “Push all that energy you feel rolling deep, deep below the surface, shove it up to the surface. Force it into your hand, your feet. You’re a fresh ghost, you can probably maintain it for a while.”

“I keep trying, but it’s not easy. You’ve had how many years of practice?” She huffed, and narrowed her eyes, concentrating on that stiff ball of crackling energy he’d talked about. She felt it like a witch’s brew bubbling and fizzing just beneath the surface of her chest bone.

There was no one else in the cafeteria, which really didn’t surprise her. It was past four in the morning last time she checked, not that it mattered.

It was one thing to flick aside a sheet, quite another to try and lift a cup of coffee, let alone drink said cup of coffee.

Visualizing the energy like a hard steel ball, she mentally imagined herself pushing it up to her collarbone and then rolling it one hard turn at a time down her arm. Her entire frame shook and rattled, silverware at the end of the long white table began to make a buzzing noise as it softly bounced upon the hard top.

“Seven hundred years,” he said, and she snapped her eyes wide, losing the ball and her concentration.

“What?! You’re seven hundred years old?”

He laughed. “No.”

She snorted and shook her head, rolling her shoulder, feeling an ache at her shoulder joint. The same type she used to feel after a hard workout. Paz rubbed her arm, reveling in the ache that made her feel more alive and real than she had in days. “Good, because for a second there I was about to totally wig out--”

“I’m infinitely older.”

The words died on her tongue. Did ghosts lie? Were they capable of it?

Even though she was a ghost now, Paz had no idea what it really meant to be one.

“Wow, that’s…”

His molten brown eyes sparkled and she giggled.

“Yeah, ancient. You’re ancient. So genies don’t fade into the light like we do?”

Paz eyed the cup of lukewarm coffee before her. Jinni had brought it to her hours ago, it’d steamed then. The scent rich and bitter and so mouthwateringly tempting she’d been sure she’d have learned the trick long ago. If only because her desire for the cup of java had been so strong. But no beans (pun intended).

She’d abracadabra’d, open sesame’d, and counted to three, none of which had worked. The coffee had gotten colder and colder and Jinni had laughed harder and harder.

He shook his head. “No, we don’t fade like that. But we do fade. Gradually.”

Giving the coffee up as a lost cause, she settled her chin on her fist and shrugged. “So you don’t fade, but you do. Trippy,” she teased.

When he laughed again, she sighed. That smile of his made her belly squeeze and her body tingle. “You have such a nice smile.”

The laughter died on Jinni’s tongue and Paz froze the moment she realized she’d said it out loud.

“What I meant to say was--”

He held up a hand. “No need to apologize. There was a time in my life once when I enjoyed laughter. Medicine for the soul Aria had called it.”

“You miss her?”

The flicker and buzz of the fluorescent lighting suddenly dimmed, leaving them in near darkness. But his glow was so bright, Paz had no problem making him out. He reminded her of a movie she’d seen once long ago, a corny stupid movie Richard had made her watch…

“You’ve a smile in your eyes. What are you remembering?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s silly.”

“Stories go both ways, Paz, and I do recall you saying you would share yours with me.”

She flicked her wrist. “Just when I was ten, my brother was really into aliens and space crafts, you know, U.F.O. nonsense. Which is probably why he’s working on his astronomy doctorate.”

Jinni nodded, and it felt so easy to talk to him. Memories she hadn’t thought of in days assailed her, but not only the memories, also the warm feelings associated with them.

“Aliens do exist, but continue,” he said with a regal nod.

Her jaw dropped. “Really? You’re yanking my leg.”

A twinkle danced in his dark eyes. “As much as I would love to yank your leg,” his voice reminded her of the slow burn of whiskey sliding down her throat, “I do not jest. He is correct. I am one, in the human sense I suppose.”

She frowned. “But I thought you said you came from Kingdom?”

“And Kingdom is another planet, ergo…” he lifted his brow, a smug look on his face.

Snorting with laughter, she shrugged. “I guess you’re right.”

“Anyway, you were saying?”

“Oh, the movie. Yeah. Well, he wanted to watch some stupid movie about an alien coming to our earth. And the only thing I can really remember about that movie was that the aliens glowed blue at night and how pretty I thought that was, and you reminded me of that movie. You glow too.”

Neither spoke, each one letting the words settle in, maturate and root. If she could have blushed, she might have. But it seemed pointless to pretend something she didn’t feel, they were both semi-dead after all.

“Have you ever been in love, Paz?” Jinni asked, so quietly she’d barely heard it.

“I thought so. Once. I even got engaged. But I broke it off two weeks before the wedding.”

“Why?”

She rolled her eyes, fingering the table, attempting to push some of her energy into the tip. Just so she could feel it, but apart from the brief shock of static, she felt nothing. The “touch” sensation was fading rapidly. The first day she’d felt the world around her still, now… it was getting harder to even remember what “touch” felt like.

“It would be so much easier to say he cheated on me. Or he was a jerk and I was naïve and the injured party. But Harrison was a good guy. He and Todd, my brother’s partner, work together in the same chiropractor clinic. He was really nice.”

Saying it only made her feel worse, she couldn’t look Jinni in the eye. Didn’t want to see his scorn or anger. Richard and Todd, bless them, had been two of the few people to stay on her side after the messy break-up.

“You left him?”

Nodding slowly, she said, “Yes. He was so nice, but…” finally she looked at him, and didn’t see the judgment so many others had cast her way.

“He was not the one,” he said softly. Not a question, just a statement of fact.

“No, he wasn’t. And I didn’t think it would be fair to him to marry him. He deserved someone to be as madly in love with him as he’d been with me.”

“Do you ever regret it?”

Paz stood, and paced in front of the table. “Sometimes. Sometimes I wonder if he was the one and I was just expecting too much.”

She stopped then and looked at Jinni. A perfect stranger. His large brown eyes made her feel slightly dizzy and breathless. He might be blue, but she’d painted him as he’d been. Dark and olive toned, with a proud nose and sensual lips. Her body pulsed, literally beginning to glow brighter. She frowned.

“It means you are experiencing great emotion,” he said gently.

“How come you don’t pulse?”

Jinni stared up at the ceiling, but she knew he wasn’t looking at it, he was looking beyond it. Seeing something she couldn’t. “Because the longer you stay in this form, the more deadened you become.”

The bitterness in his voice made her ache.

The euphoria of earlier began to fade slowly away. Paz glided to a corner window, pressing her nose against the glass. Or at least attempting to, the moment she touched it, she felt a subtle shift in pressure and then her face was sinking through. Like pushing her head through a gentle fall of water.

Jinni’s head poked out a moment later. She sighed bitterly.

“When I was little I used to love pressing my nose against the glass. Feeling the cold shiver up my nose and settle in my cheeks. It made me feel alive. Mom, hated it though, said I was staining her clean glass.”

Crazy, the things she remembered now. Things that’d seemed so insignificant and meaningless before now mattered so much.

He tipped his head.

Again that feeling of needing to get away, of wishing she could go, slowly crept back into her conscious mind. Outside the manicured lawn glinted with the first silvery drops of dew, a gentle breeze stirred through her. The parking lot was vast and completely empty. Streetlamps, with their orangey glow distracted from the surreal beauty of the full golden moon. Stars, too many to count, filled the black sky like a shower of silver glitter.

But gazing at the beauty of the still night couldn’t detract from the knowledge that behind them a warm and inviting golden tunnel waited for her. A tunnel that she knew would bring her a measure of peace.

“I want to go.”

“Where?”

“Away. Out of this hospital,” she glanced at him, at the proud lines of his jaw and sharp slash of cheekbone, and wished again she’d met him before, “I hate it here.”

“Where would you go if you could?”

She glanced up at the sky. The sky her brother had been so obsessed with growing up. Richard had always wanted to find life on different stars. He’d spun magical tales of aliens and monsters. She’d never wanted to see the creatures, but Paz had fallen in love with the murky blue unknown of the universe.

“The stars,” she whispered, “I want to dance on a star.”

Chapter 9

Jinni didn’t have much magic left to him, and what he did, came with a price. But it was a price he’d be willing to pay, if only to see her smile again.

“Do you want to see where I was born?”

Brown, soulful eyes studied him. Then she nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“I can show you. But first, you need to take my hand.”

She slipped her hand into his, but it fell through. “Paz, I am not strong enough to hold you. You have to focus, like I taught you. Concentrate all your energy, and then hang on to me. Can you do that?”

She nibbled on her lower lip and not for the first time he wished he was more of a man than what he was. That he hadn’t spent so many decades lamenting his fate; that he’d at least fought to remain corporeal. If he’d known in the future he’d meet her, he’d have fought tooth and nail to overcome the misery of the last decades. But he hadn’t known, so he’d let himself slowly die inside, a little every day, and now he was a shell of a man who couldn’t even grasp her hand.

“I’ll try.”

She closed her eyes and his body hummed, willing her to do it this time.

Her energy pulsed again, a bright blue glow that made his soul flare in response. Her face looked lit from within as her radiance sparkled and shimmered over her form. There was a snap, a quick rolling spark shifted down her arm and then she released a strong breath and opened flustered eyes.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

If ghosts could sweat, she’d look haggard and worn. As it was her hair had lost some of its shine, her face appeared slightly puffy from energy drain-off.

Paz shook herself and pulled her head back inside the window. Misery clung to her. Jinni shook his head.

“Do not give up.”

“I’m not trying to. This is hard. I was able to lift the sheets up before, I don’t know why I can’t even do this now.”

“I’m immortal, in a sense. It took much longer for me to experience energy drain off. But your humanity accelerates it. It is okay.” He clasped his hands together, mainly because he desperately wanted to hold her arms, comfort and sooth her, but knew he’d never be able to latch onto her. “I know it is hard, Paz. But you are blocking yourself. You believe you cannot do this. So you cannot. Now close your eyes.”

She growled low in her throat, a delicious heated purr that sent shivers straight through him, but did as he asked. She huffed hair out of her face, must have been a habit, because her hair was tucked behind her ears.

“Now, imagine yourself on a beach,” he began, voice lulling and soft, gently hypnotizing. Once, long ago, he’d been good at this.

Her nose scrunched up in the most adorable fashion and his lips twitched. “Do you see the beach?”

“I see blackness. Lots and lots of it,” she whined.

He chuckled and closed his own eyes. The magic resting in his soul flared softly to life, like the gentle glow of candlelight. It flickered low, but steady. Reaching deep within himself, he grasped a hold of the flame and drew that heat through his body. It trickled through him, and for the first time in ages he trembled with joy. With the remembered knowledge of what it meant to grasp the fire.

But he no longer had what he used to have, what he’d taken for granted. Using too much would be dangerous. Hard as it was, he tamped down the thrill of the magic and took only what he needed. Even this little bit would cost.

Making sure to keep a connection between his mind and the flame, Jinni opened his eyes and smiled into Paz’s startled face.

She glanced around, mouth slightly open. “You’re here? In my head?”

In here she did not glow blue, her skin was a tanned olive, her hair darker than midnight, and her eyes the piercing brown of an owl. Dressed in a Grecian gown of sheer white-- Jinni lost his breath-- as her each and every curve came into exacting focus. Exotic and curvaceous, the type of body only a master sculptor could hope to capture. Round, firm breasts rose high as her breathing inched up a notch.

With the same degree he studied her; he felt her eyes on him like a hot brand. He’d dressed himself in the style of the King he’d served. Tunic and pants, the cerulean fabric threaded through with veins of gold.

Around them was nothing but darkness. Her mind was unfocused. Though all of what he was about to do was illusion, there would still be the sensation of touch. Jinni walked up to her. Her eyes were huge in her face, but she didn’t utter a word as his warm hands slid up the length of her bare arms. A rigid rise of goose bumps traveled in their wake and she hissed.

Touching her was like touching something hot and explosive. He licked his lips, his stomach bottoming out. He’d already touched her. When he’d carried her from the plane, but the desire to truly know her hadn’t yet been born in him.

Now it was, and this was so different.

Jinni forced himself to breathe. “Imagine the sand, dove.”

Her lashes fluttered, her gaze held his, as if spellbound.

With a flick of his wrist he helped her to see it.

She gasped as the land swayed around them, the blackness bled away as a wave rolled in.

“Stop the water.” He continued to rub circles on her arm with his thumb, enjoying the touch of her silky, soft skin much more than he’d ever expected.

Paz glanced at the wave barreling toward them. Her mouth set into a tight line, a frown marred her brow and then she said, “Stop.”

Power rippled through the air, danced across their skin, and the wave froze. A curl of blue water forever frozen.

“Good,” he said.

She smiled.

“Now, pick up a grain of sand.”

“Jinni?”

“You can do this, dove. You can.” He grabbed her hand. “Push all that power into your hand and pick it up.”

Paz knelt, studying the sand as if it were a science experiment. Jinni pushed a small measure of his magic into her palm, a tiny flutter of “will.” She inhaled deeply, then reached out and dug her hand deep into the sand.

A delighted squeal fell from her tongue. “I can feel it, Jinni.”

“What does it feel like?” he asked as his thumb traced the curve of her knuckle.

His entire body quaking and alive with the sensation of touch.

“Cold. Hard.” She looked at him, joy shining in her eyes.

“Pick one up.”

Tip of her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth in concentration, she focused, and ever so slowly held the grain aloft. Her hand shook, and her body trembled, but her laughter was full of light.

“I did it. I did it. Jinni, I did it!”

He kissed her.

Couldn’t help himself.

Her joy was infectious, made him forget that he shouldn’t do it, that it wasn’t a good idea. He wanted her joy inside him. Wanted to drown in it. It’d been so long.

At first her lips were unresponsive. Then she softened, grew pliant in his arms and threw her own around his neck. Pressing in with the fervor of a woman parched. The kiss was chaste, no tongues, no moans, and yet it transcended all that.

It went beyond shadows, loneliness, even death. It was the joy of discovery, of birth and rebirth-- the very beginning of possibility, that sacred moment when it was new and perfect, and beautiful.

“I am sorry, I forgot myself,” he murmured against her lips, leaning his forehead against hers, running his hands up her back, the touch of her skin softer than any he’d ever felt. She grabbed the hands he’d placed on either side of her face and shook her head.

The rich earthy scent of jasmine flooded his head and senses.

“Don’t be.” She looked at him, holding his gaze and forcing him to keep hers. “It’s just too bad that I had to die to learn what it finally meant to live.”

“You want to know where I was born, Paz?”

“Yes.”

“You want to leave this hospital?”

“I do, but what will happen to me if I leave? I have this terrible feeling that if I walk away, I’ll never be able to return.”

“We cannot be gone long, dove. But I’ve still some magic left to me. Enough to safely show you my home. Do you trust me?”

She didn’t stop to think, simply nodded. “I don’t know why, but I do.”

“Then let us go dance.”

Concentrating his magic, he focused on his place of origin. Above the clouds, within the stars. They shot up like beams of pure light.

Paz laughed-- a rolling, booming sound that spewed from the depths of her belly. She glanced all around as the ground around them faded, as the sky opened up. A giant canopy of stars and gases and planets.

She ooh’d and aah’d, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the woman in his arms. Lush curves, huge smile. Hugging her tight to his body, Jinni wished for more, wished it didn’t have to end as he knew it would. If only he could have met her years ago.

Then they were there. At the beginning of his time. He stopped and thrilled at the way she hugged his neck fiercely, almost cutting off his breath. Not that he needed to breathe up here, he’d turned them into balls of pure energy.

Paz looked all around. At the vastness of space, at the colors that exploded in a miasma all around. The deep hued greens and neon blues, the silvery stars, and rose pink expanse of space and time.

“Where are we?”

Jinni turned them, and pointed to a blue sphere. A pinprick of light, almost insignificant, except for the surge of powerful energy that sucked at them, drawing them closer to its sphere.

“That is my mother.”

She laughed. “So you’re the starman, huh? Didn’t they make a movie about that once?”

“Starman?” He shook his head. “She is not a star. She is life itself. What you mortals have called a quasar.”

Just as he spoke a brilliant burst of light streaked from the pinprick of light, anywhere it touched stars evaporated. The brilliance lasted only a second, but it was so bright, that had they been in human form they’d have had to shield their eyes.

“What was that?” Paz asked when the light faded. “New baby starmen?” Her lips quirked.

Laughing, Jinni shrugged. “Sure. Let us call it that. That power, that energy, that is another djinn being born.” He waved his hand all around. “We are born masters of the stars. We create and design. You cannot see us in this form, but we are here.”

Looking, she frowned. “Then how did you get to Kingdom?”

“I left. I wanted more than creation. I wanted to understand and know the creation. And perhaps I wanted to rule them as well.” His last words were sad, humbled. “I was not a good person then, Paz.”

She traced the curve of his cheek. “That was a long time ago. You don’t seem like a bad person now.”

He snorted. “You do not know the end of my story, dove. Save your kindness until you learn it. You just might change your mind.”

Her lips compressed and Jinni fought to shake off the self-recriminations. This was for her. Not for him to wallow and dwell in his misery.

“I do believe you mentioned wanting to dance on a star.” He held up his hand.

The effervescent smile was back and, as she slipped her hand in his, a symphony only they could hear rode the winds of time, embracing their light in a tight hug. They danced and swayed, hopping from one star to another. Paz laughed and laughed, throwing her head back, breathing in deeply as a rosy flush touched her cheeks.

“I wish I’d known you before, Paz,” he whispered so low he knew she wouldn’t hear. “You would have saved me.”

Chapter 10

Before she was ready, they were back. And something was very wrong with Jinni. He was clutching his middle, and maybe it was just her, but he seemed even less substantial than before. A pale wisp of a shadow against her wall.

“Jinni,” she cried as he dropped to his knees.

“I’m fine, dove.” He gave her a brave smile, straight teeth cutting a path through his face.

“You don’t look fine.”

She reached for his hand, but this time failed to even feel a shock of his awareness. There was literally nothing, no static, no energy. Dead air.

Her stomach rolled. “Jinni?”

He closed his eyes. “It will pass, dove. I’ll return soon. I must get back to my world.”

“Are you going to recharge?”

He didn’t speak for a moment and her lips trembled.

“You’re leaving me, aren’t you?”

His eyes were glazed and seeming in pain, but his voice was sure as he said, “I will be back for you. Do not go to the light. Wait for me.”

She nodded and then felt an aching tide of loneliness sweep through her as he vanished once again.

Chapter 11

Jinni crawled through the portal, dry heaving and panting as every molecule in his body threatened to rupture apart. Grabbing his skull, he winced as needle hot pain stabbed his brain. The moment he stepped through into Kingdom, he expected to gain back some of the immortal flame he’d spent dancing with Paz, but as his face landed on the dirt and he gulped in greedy mouthfuls of air, he realized there was nothing left.

He laughed-- a wretched sort of sound full of pain and irony. “Humpty dumpty cannot be put back together again,” he sputtered and coughed as pieces of him stretched further apart.

Closing his eyes, he cursed the day he’d made that fateful decision. If he’d only known, only could have seen what lay ahead. What waited for him, but he’d been blinded by a pair of exotic green eyes and honey slickened skin.

The air around him tightened, compressed, and then burst with a bolt of blue light. Jinni blinked against the overwhelming brightness, studying the tiny figure of Danika as she sailed through the time rift. She shook herself like a wet dog, sending strings of pearls and dew to bobbing in her blond curls.

Exhausted, Jinni closed his eyes. It only took a moment before he heard a sharp gasp and then the buzz of her wings, before she landed beside him.

“Bloody hell, Jinni! Fine mess you’ve made.”

Not exactly the greeting he’d expected; surprising enough to illicit a minute response from him. He cracked an eye open. “I’m dying, fairy,” he mumbled.

“Thank you, captain obvious.” She planted hands on her plump hips. “Why haven’t you used the bloody golem yet? ‘Tis why I sent the beastly thing.”

She swished her wand, a bright pink bolt of energy wrapped him up, and instantly the fracturing molecules stilled. The frenetic buzz of his form quieted to a low hum and he took a deep cleansing breath, still trembling from the after effects of nearly dissipating.

He grabbed his chest, the ghostly remembered pain, making him dizzy. “You did not ask me if I’d be okay with that, Danika.”

At the moment she reminded him of a teenager the way she theatrically rolled her eyes. All that was needed was a foot stomping to round out the illusion. “Of course I didn’t. Because I knew how you’d react, you… you Neanderthal. The key to your salvation is right there with that thing and yet still, you refuse my help. Why?!”

Jinni popped his jaw from side to side. She was right. He’d never made it easy on her, never wanted Danika to help him. Because to admit he needed her help, was to admit he’d screwed up. That it hadn’t been Nala, who he’d blamed for centuries, but rather himself. His fall from grace, from power, from… everything that had ever meant anything to him, wasn’t because of her. But him.

She threw her hands up in the air. “Well, of course you won’t answer. Why would I ever expect to hear an answer out of you? Hmmm?” She flitted back and forth, her dragonfly wings buzzing louder than the wailing winds crying outside his home. “Because I’m just a fairy, not worthy of a mighty djinn’s notice…”

He winced as the barb found its mark. She was right. Shameful as it was to admit. And as Danika continued to mutter and spew her vitriol, Jinni’s epiphany grew. Maybe it was time for him to let go his petulant insistence that the world was out to get him and finally start to accept his part in all of this.

“Well I’ll have you know, Mister, just because you were thrust at me, doesn’t mean I took my job any less seriously. You’re a horrid, mean tempered, man. Beautiful to gaze upon,” she laughed, a wicked chirping sound, “but inside there’s nothing but black, vile--”

“Danika, I’m sorry.”

“Evil… you… huh?” She stopped, mouth dropping open.

He hung his head. “I’m sorry, Dani. All these years I’ve blamed you for something you never did. I directed my hate and anger at you, when all along, it was me.”

She swallowed hard and Jinni got the uncomfortable feeling that she was close to tears. He glanced down; he couldn’t stand the sight of a woman’s tears.

“I had convinced myself long ago that Nala had betrayed me, but the truth of it was, I betrayed myself. I deserved the punishment I received and I am only sorry that it has taken me so long to confess it.”

“In a few days Paz has managed to do with you what I haven’t in decades.” Trilling laughter fell from her lips.

“What is that?”

“Make you care. Give you a heart. Pick your poison.” She shrugged a plump ivory shoulder. Then her features softened. “I was never your enemy, Jinni. I only ever wished to be your friend. To help you as I’ve helped so many others.”

She started to reach out and then checked herself, bringing her fist back to her chest. “I forget sometimes that I cannot touch you anymore. Which is why I sent you that golem.”

He shook his head, rifling his fingers through his thick hair. “It doesn’t look at all like me. If I encase myself in that thing, I can never leave. What if… what if the form is displeasing to her?”

Danika smirked. “We both know that is not the case. I saw into her dreams and created her most perfect form.”

His lips thinned, displeased to hear it put that way.

Danika laughed. “She is a mortal with mortal vision. I’m sure if she could have imagined something as bonny as you, she’d have thought of you first, genie dear.” She winked.

“We barely know one another. To tie myself to her in that way, for all of eternity. What if..”

“Och, me boyo. Must you overthink things always?”

Before Jinni could blink, Danika punched her fist through his midsection, and tugged on the necklaces he’d hidden within himself. Even though the action was so obtrusive, he felt nothing. Not even a tingle of awareness. Then she shook them at him. A knowing smile graced her lips. “I did not even need to see these to know they’d already turned from cold blue, to a fine shade of purple.”

She was right. The stone of veritas-- truth-- a lover’s stone, the means by which two hearts knew unequivocally they’d found their perfect half, glowed purest amethyst with twinkling strings of blue throughout.

“Another day or two, and these things will be glowing brighter than the sun. She loves you too, Jinni. She may not know it yet, but oftentimes the soul knows quicker than the mind when it meets its perfect half.”

“But she is dead. When she returns to the body, it could fade. You have seen it happen. Many cannot remember what occurs in ghostly realm.”

“Then that is a chance you must take. You must trust that what you have now, will transcend death. She is much too close to the other side. Her soul yearns for the peace of beyond, you must return to her if you have any hope of saving yourselves.”

Danika handed him back the necklaces. Focusing his energy on the palm of his hand, he felt the heat flow down into his fingers moments before she dropped the necklaces on them.

“Trust is a terribly hard thing, Jinni. And it never gets better or easier. But, at some point you must decide whether to take that leap, or, don’t … and fade gently away. But whatever you do, do not use any more of your immortal flame. You’ve hardly any left to you.” She lifted a stern brow.

“I must return to her.”

She nodded. “You’ll be just fine, Jinni. Just fine. The golem. Use it.”

Jinni waved his hand, opening a time tunnel and sailed through, joy speeding through his soul quicker than the lights flying passed his vision.

Within moments he was there. Her fresh scent reminded him of a grassy green meadow, and smelling it was like a kick in the stomach.

Her face was pressed to the window, black hair in wild disarray around her head. Then her spine stiffened and she slowly turned. “You came back.”

The beatific smile she turned on him stole his breath. She loved him too. But she didn’t know him, not everything. He had to tell her. Had to finish his story, she had to know everything before she could decide. Though the thought of her rejection was a thorny barb in his side, she deserved the truth.

“I’ve not finished my story, dove.”

The white hospital gown fluttered around her calves as she slowly glided forward. A body in a bed sat between them-- her body. He’d not glanced at it when walking in. Because the real Paz was in front of him. Staring at him with chocolate brown eyes, a question burning in her gaze.

But looking at her body now, he knew Danika was right. Neither of them had much time left. Soon there’d be no tether to hold her here, and when that happened, he’d lose her forever.

“You don’t have to tell me anymore, Jinni. I know all I need to know about you.”

It warmed him to hear her say it. “I have to know, there’s a decision to make, and I must know, Paz. Do you understand?”

For a moment she simply stared at him, thinking thoughts he couldn’t fathom and he worried that perhaps she wouldn’t be willing to listen. Finally she gave him a tight grin. “I understand.”

“Good.” He nodded, relieved. “Then let’s finish this story.”

A roll of canvas unfurled, fluttering open like delicate wings, Paz lifted her hands, an expectant look on her face.

“Time to show you who I really am…”

Chapter 12

Jinni stood in the center of the orchard, a white apple blossom clasped tight in his fist as he inhaled its fruity scent. The moon hung low, a thin sliver in the sky. The navy blue canopy of night glinting with a trillion stars.

He wondered if his brothers saw him now, what must they think?

Shame crept up his neck. That awful self-loathing he could only resist whenever Nala was around. The King had been good to him, Aria… like a daughter.

And yet, when she was around, none of it mattered.

A thread of orange blossom tickled his nose. Jinni’s lips curled a second before a small pair of hands wrapped around his eyes.

“Lover.” Nala’s warm breath tickled his ear, her breasts trailed hot and heavy along the length of his spine. “Have you missed me?” she purred.

With a low growl, Jinni turned and grasped her wrists, bringing them down to his waist with a sharp snap. She bit her full bottom lip, liquid lust glinting bright from within her kohl rimmed eyes.

Shoving her against the base of the tree, he spread her legs apart with his own and clamped tight to her waist. “You look like a painted whore tonight.”

Rather than insult her, the words seemed to spur her on. Nala moistened her lips, her gaze zeroing in on his own.

Madness spread through his veins, made his blood hot, and his head foggy. Nala’s pale chiffon wrap concealed nothing. Every lush curve, every dip was revealed to his greedy stare. His gaze scanned down, to the full breasts and small brown nipples. She ripped her gown off her top, and then scrubbed her fingers through his hair. A painful scratch that enflamed him.

“I’ve waited all day for that bore to fall asleep.”

Jinni inhaled her scent, running his nose the length of her swan neck, pausing when he detected the scent of balsa wood.

He gripped her forearms. “You mated him tonight,” he snarled, a sort of madness overtaking him. “You are mine, Nala. You swore it.”

She laughed, her bright red lips curving into a seductive grin. “Of course I mated him, he is my husband.”

He ground his jaw, his thumbs digging into her biceps forcefully. He wouldn’t hurt her, not really, but he smiled at her sharp gasp.

Nala was no delicate flower. She loved it rough. She danced her fingers up the bridge of his nose. “But my heart belongs to you. You know that.”

He closed his eyes, his cock so hard he felt it would burst through the seam of his pants. She placed her open palm on his chest, surely feeling the steady beat of his heart.

“Look at me, djinn.”

Narrowing his eyes, he growled, “Is that a command?”

He knew it wasn’t, none could command him save Abdullah, but he needed to hear her say it. “You do love me, Nala? Only me?”

It unmanned him to grovel this way. At first he understood, even accepted, that theirs was an illicit affair. Never, in time immemorial, had a djinn ever fallen in love. It was forbidden. Love caused a clouding of common sense, of loyalty, and faith. But he could never see it that way. Love was a magic more powerful than his own. He could no more deny his heart, than he could deny the setting of the sun. It simply was.

She grabbed his face, her tempting breasts rising and pressing firmer against his chest, driving him mad for want of her. “That bastard may own my body, but you own my heart, Jinni. Always. You do believe me. Don’t you?”

Malachite eyes, so striking against the dusky beauty of her skin, searched his with a profound longing and desire.

It was wrong to take the King’s wife. The King was a good man, he did not deserve it. But, Nala also did not deserve to be forced into a loveless marriage for political gain.

Awash in the scent of apple blossoms and Nala, Jinni smiled. “I do.”

She petted his arm, causing him to shake and tremble. “Then trust me. Soon we will be together.”

Jinni rolled his eyes. “The King is old, but not so old to have hope of that, my beloved.” He traced the soft flesh of her cheek with his knuckles.

Her lashes fluttered as she started to dance and squirm on the thigh he still had trapped between her own. Her womanly arousal assailed him, made his body thrum with heat and need to rival the sweltering humidity of the night.

She nuzzled his neck, pressing her nose into his collarbone and inhaling deeply.

“You smell of magic,” she murmured and then licked him, tracking a slow, hot trail up and down and making him growl in the back of his throat. “Now, talk no more of that beast. Take me, Jinni.”

Frantic, he shoved the fabric of her gown aside and released himself, then shoved into her. Claiming her with his body, with his mind, screaming silently to the heavens that she was his and to hell with all else…

Paz lowered her arms, a heart-rending frown tipping the corners of her mouth.

“Paz,” Jinni said, forking his fingers through his hair. “I did not know you then. I did not even know myself.”

She looked at him, not speaking, but the damning picture behind her spoke volumes.

Nala pressed against a tree, lust and desire scrawled upon her face, his body covering hers as he took her over and over. He popped his jaw. That hadn’t even been the worst of his sins.

Jinni glanced down at the body between them.

Paz’s body.

She’d lost more weight. Dark circles lined the creases under her eyes. Sometime during his story, her brother had returned. He was slumped in a chair beside her, her hand pressed tight to his lap, soft snores dropping from his exhausted lips.

“You must understand, though I was old in mind, I was young in the ways of women. I did not understand that the path I chose would lead where it did.”

The heated press of eyes upon his face made him glance up. She’d come to him, the sadness still glinting in her eyes.

“Jinni,” she chuckled, “my skeletons are deep. This happened a long time ago, and though it hurts me to think you lo…ved,” she cleared her throat, “loved somebody that way, it shouldn’t. I barely know you. I’ve got no claim on you. We’re friends right? And friends don’t judge.”

He frowned. Friends? Not that he’d expected more, or maybe he had. Maybe he’d hoped. But it was foolish, he knew it and so did she. To all accounts and purposes, they were dead. Allowing himself, for one moment to forget it, had nearly done him in. Without Danika, he’d be nothing but a vapor. A memory written in the stars.

Exhaling deeply, he nodded. “Yes, dove, we’re friends.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. His words seeming to wound her as hers had him. “Why do I feel so connected to you?” She still wouldn’t look at him. “Why do I feel like I’ve known you forever?”

Because my fairy godmother said we’re soulmates… the words drifted on his tongue, but never made it passed his lips.

Warm brown eyes searched his. “You have such beautiful eyes,” she whispered. “They’re like twin pools of heated umber and flecked with gold. When I look at these paintings,” she gestured to the canvas still floating beside them and shame spread fierce through Jinni’s gut seeing himself rut on Nala like an animal, “I don’t see you.”

He cocked his head.

“That man,” she flicked her wrist, “he’s not you. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

But she was wrong. The man shoving his cock into Nala’s writhing body was him, so was the man who’d chosen dishonor over loyalty. “You do not yet know the rest of the story, Paz.”

“Why are you so obsessed with sharing this with me? I don’t need to know, Jinni. Just like I’m sure you don’t want to know about my sordid history with men.”

To scrub my conscious. To release the demons that have held me prisoner for years. To know that someone knows me, the real me, and still chooses to stay by my side. All those thoughts flitted through his head, but instead he said, “Because I cannot pretend to be other than I am. Don’t you see, hiding it is what’s causing me to fade.”

He ran an angry hand down his form. “I am weak, a pathetic miserable man and I cannot seem to stay away from you. I know I should.”

“No.”

“Yes,” he gnashed his teeth, “Yes. You should get back in your body, open your eyes and live, Paz. Live, find your Todd. Do not do this to yourself. Do not wallow in this. If it were truly your time, you would be gone. Don’t you understand that?”

He turned on his heels, marching back and forth. She stood where he’d left her, wringing her pale blue hands in front of her body. She was growing a brighter blue, deeper hued. Not good. It meant she wasn’t fighting the death, wasn’t fighting for her life. Why?

“Why aren’t you fighting, Paz, why?” He turned on her, his anger barely leashed. It churned and brewed in his gut, made his breathing heavy, his vision foggy. “Why?”

She glanced down at the wasted form on the bed, a frown marring her smooth forehead. “Because if I leave, I’ll never…” She bit her lip; tears shone in the corners of her eyes.

He turned his head. “I am not good for you.”

She scowled. “Don’t tell me what is and isn’t good for me. My parents did it to me all their lives, told Richard the same thing. Guess what, they were wrong. I loved them,” she walked up to him, and then softly murmured, “but they were wrong. Todd makes my brother happy. That’s all I want. I don’t know why I feel so close to you, maybe because all that stupid stuff you feel you have to hide behind in life doesn’t matter at this point. Maybe because the luxury of flirting and dates, aren’t something we can indulge in. I don’t know.” She gesticulated wildly. “All I do know, is that when I look at you, I see my Todd. And I don’t want to leave you.”

A lone tear tracked down the side of her nose.

“Each moment you stay out of your body, you get closer to that tunnel. Either way, Paz, you lose. Why would you choose this? You are not supposed to die yet.”

She shook her head. “But I’m not dying, Jinni. I’m alive. You took me dancing on the stars. You showed me the milky way, the birth of galaxies.” She laughed, a sultry sexy sound that shivered down his spine and kicked him in the gut. “I’ve seen a Kingdom I could never have imagined existed.”

Paz cupped his cheek. She sighed and he couldn’t feel a damn thing.

“Finish the story, Jinni, if that’s what you need to do. But I’m not leaving you. No matter what happens next.”

Chapter 13

Head in Nala’s lap, and entranced by the hypnotic trickle of water in the marble fountain, Jinni nibbled the grapes from off her feeding fingers. The hazy white glow of the twin planets hanging high in the sky, gave the twilight setting an ephemeral feel. The wind was ripe with the scent of flower blossoms and fruit. Nesting birds chirped and sang a few yards away.

The setting was one for lovers, and the brief moment in each day that he always anticipated. Thirty minutes in time that they could come together as one, laugh and talk, make love, and dream.

Red grape juice slid down his throat. With a contented sigh, he closed his eyes.

She smelled of honeysuckle and myrrh, and though the Queen’s private gardens were not nearly as private as he’d have liked, in a year of visits, they hadn’t been caught yet.

“I could die now and be happy.” Jinni moved his hungry gaze across the graceful beauty of her still face.

“Could you, my love?” Nala feathered her fingertips on his brows, but there was a distracted air about her. She touched him, but her mind was a million miles away. She’d suffered this ennui before, and always it would pass if he gave her time.

“Mmm,” he nodded, but eyed the heavy golden robe she’d draped herself in. “Though I wouldn’t mind less clothing.” He plucked at the heavy fabric with a frown.

Lately she’d taken to covering every inch of herself, save her face. Gone were the days she’d meet him in little more than a scrap of chiffon. They’d not even lain together in over a fortnight.

“Are you on your woman’s time?”

She flinched. Perhaps he shouldn’t have asked it. True, he’d missed her touch. But simply being with her was enough.

“Forgive me, Nala, I meant no--”

She tossed her silky black hair behind her shoulders. “No, my dearest, you have done nothing. I’m simply…” She worried her bottom lip between blunt white teeth.

The languor of a moment ago faded. He knew her well. Knew the secret smile that played about her lips in the grand halls when they’d pass. How when he touched the small of her back, her entire body would tense and writhe with pleasure. How one kiss upon the nape of her neck would make her slick and ready. Her knew her pleasure, but Jinni also knew her pain.

He’d seen it creeping in these last months. She laughed less, her green eyes hardly twinkled, even the rosy blooms of her cheeks had dulled down to a muted whimper.

Heart seizing as the reality of what was happening made him jerk to a sitting position. “You will not lie with me. You cover yourself. You’re leaving me, aren’t you?”

The words were a bitter taste on his tongue, made his stomach sick and palms sweat. In some part of his head, he’d always feared this day might come. But not yet, not so soon.

Nala squeezed her eyes shut. “No, my love, I’ve not come to break things off. I love you.”

“Then look at me, Nala,” he gripped her suddenly cold hands, his stomach no less queasy, “what is the matter?”

Her eyes were moist with unshed tears. “It is not what you think.”

So if she was not here to break it off, and if she still loved him, then what was… He hissed as a cold sweat covered his body, made his heart clench. “You’re pregnant. That’s why you won’t lie with me, that’s why--”

She placed her finger on his lips. “No, Jinni, I am not pregnant. I know how to prevent that.”

Reflexively, he dropped a kiss on the tip of her finger. “Then what is it, Nala? I do not wish to intrude, but something is wrong and you must tell me.”

Again she closed her eyes, but this time she lifted her arm and slowly pulled the sleeve back. Horror clouded his vision. Jinni gripped her purple and blue mottled wrist, planting one kiss after another upon the obvious finger impressions embedded in her fair skin.

“Who did this?” he growled, fire burned in his gut. “Who did this to you!” He gripped her shoulders, forcing her eyes to open.

“I… I…” She hung her head letting her hair hang over her face like a drape, shielding her from his eyes. “You cannot do anything about this, Jinni. Please. Don’t.”

He clicked his jaw, knowing in the depths of his soul who it was. Because there was only one person he could not kill in return. One man he’d sworn an oath of loyalty to. The only man who could lay his hand upon Nala without fear of retribution-- the King himself.

Jinni stood. The fire of heat turned into something sharper, colder, filling him and heating his veins with its icy kiss. “How long has he done this?”

Nala grimaced. “Jinni, please. Please don’t do this. You cannot do anything, my love. The bruises will soon fade, all will be well.” She gripped his hand, and tugged at him to stop his pacing.

But a powerful anger had gripped him, an irrational, mind-numbing rage that made him want to rip the man’s hands off with his own. He shrugged her off, needing to walk and pace and seethe.

“How long, Nala?” he asked her again, a low rumble laced his words.

She dragged her hands over her face. “He smells you on me. He cannot prove it, and I will never tell him, but I believe deep down he knows. And when I return, he… hurts me.”

Acutely aware that he could not scream, but needing to release the roiling tension gathering in his gut, Jinni marched to one of her precious apple trees and punched his fist through it, the wood splintered off in his knuckles, ripping his flesh open.

But the pain did not lessen the fury, only increased his desire to do more harm.

“No more,” he vowed.

Nala ran to him, gripping his hand and cooing softly against the bleeding. Gathering a corner of her robe, she dabbed at it. Tears coursed down her face.

“Please, Jinni, please forgive me. You shouldn’t worry about this. My body is strong, I’ll heal.”

“Forgive you?!” he roared, knowing his voice rose, knowing anyone who marched passed would hear, but his rage would not let him think rationally. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I will kill him.”

“No!” She squeezed his forearm as he tried to yank out of her arms. “No,” she pleaded again, wrapping herself around his middle. “You cannot.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You forget who I am. What I am. I can kill him. With my bare hands.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Not like this, Jinni.” Worry scrawled fine lines upon her brow. “Not like this. You must calm yourself.”

His nostrils flared, his blood boiled. Could she not understand, she was not a martyr that had to take this abuse. “I love you, Nala.”

Nala shook her head. “Quiet, Jinni. I’ll not have you be tried for treason. Do you hear me?” Her kiss took the sting out of her words.

That touch of her lips mollified him somewhat, eased the crippling anger to a manageable level. But his body still trembled with adrenaline.

“I must avenge your honor, King or no, you must understand that?” He trailed his knuckles down her soft cheeks.

Sighing, she laid her head against his chest and he gripped the base of her skull with frantic fingers. That any would dare to harm her…

“I understand,” she whispered.

“Tonight,” he nodded, gripping her chin in his hand, “open the doors to me tonight.”

“Oh what am I doing?”

Jinni feathered a kiss across her lips, tongue seeking entry, when he heard a rustle in a bush behind them.

Nala jumped away from him, and it incensed him all over again that they could not be free to touch and love openly. Muscle ticking in his jaw, he watched as one of her personal guards walked into the square.

The guard wore a bright crimson tunic and a large scabbard strapped to his waist, his black brow was raised in question as he spotted Jinni standing by the Queen’s prized apple tree. The very one that now sported a fist sized hole through its center.

Nala lay on her chaise, attempting to appear calm and collected, but it was obvious to him she was anything but. Her skin looked waxy and her eyes haunted.

“My lady,” the guard intoned, and dropped to his knee. “You look unwell, allow me to escort you to your chambers.”

“Yes, Mikahel,” she nodded, “I think that to be a good idea.” She gave him her hand, then turned and glanced once more at Jinni over her shoulder as the guard escorted her out.

Jinni clipped his head. Tonight, it would end.

Paz licked her lips as she gazed at the canvas. It was obvious to her how this would go down. Jinni stood by the window, gazing out at the sky, a blank look on his face.

“You don’t need to keep telling me this story, Jinni.”

His shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t look at her.

She sighed.

Nala was cruelly beautiful the way she’d painted her this time. Full mouth set into a devilish smirk, golden robe marked with blood-- his blood-- it was all a set up.

And Paz was angry.

Not at Jinni. Not even at Nala, who was probably nothing more than a bag of bones and dust now. But at the fate that’d befallen a man who’d been so desperate to know love he hadn’t seen the truth of the woman he’d picked to be his beloved.

“I’m sure it is obvious to you by now, what happened. No?” Jinni spoke, his voice flat and without emotion.

She wanted to beg him to stop. Stop rehashing a night that had happened long ago, stop trying to push her away. But as much as she didn’t want to hear more, she knew he had to tell it. Had to lay the demons to rest.

“Yes.”

He smirked and stared back out the window. “You think you know the story, Paz. But it’s so much more than what you think.”

Paz glanced at her body on the bed. At Richard, haggard and sporting more than just a six o’clock shadow, he looked related to Grizzly Adams at this point. How sad life could be sometimes. How wholly unfair.

Not only had her brother lost their parents, he’d now also lost her. At this point Paz didn’t know what to do. The tugging to go to the light wasn’t as strong as before, but neither was the desire to reenter that broken thing lying on the bed. Not if it meant she’d never see Jinni again.

Sighing, she turned to look at him. He hadn’t moved, just continued to stare out the window with haunted eyes that looked back in the past.

“What will happen when you finish the story?”

“You’ll get back in your body and wake up.”

She frowned. “Why do you want me to go away so badly? Don’t you like me? Even a little?”

For a long moment he didn’t answer, and she feared he wouldn’t, then he turned to her and shook his head. “I am no good for you, Paz. What we have here, it is temporary. Whether you go to the light, or go to your body, I cannot follow.”

The thought made her throat burn. He was right. This was hopeless. What was the point of all this then? Why continue to tell her stories? Take her dancing? Kiss her? Why were they doing this to themselves?

He swallowed; a frown marked his face. Squeezing his eyes shut, she saw his jaw work side to side. Then he asked her the strangest question.

“What do you think about that man in the next room?”

“Who? Tristan?”

He lifted a brow.

“I don’t know him. I feel a weird bond with him, but it’s probably only because of the crash. I know he saved me. But it’s you I want.”

“Is he pleasing to look at?”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are you asking? Are you trying to play cosmic matchmaker?”

“Answer the question, Paz.”

She huffed. “Yes, he’s hot. But no, I don’t want him. I don’t want anything to do with him. I want you. Only you. Besides you said that thing is a soulless golem, why in the world would I want that?”

“You cannot have me,” he snarled, and she gasped as the pain of those words ripped through her like a lance.

“If I can’t have you anyway, then what’s the point of going back into that body? I’ll eventually die. I’m human. So…” She shook her head, tapping her foot as the pain turned to bitter anger in her belly.

“Your brother needs you, you must return to your body.”

She winced, feeling like she’d just been punched in the gut. Richard. Her best friend and brother, it would kill him when she died. She knew it. And it was silly and petty to want to leave him alone forever because she couldn’t have a man she barely knew.

“He has Todd,” she whispered in a final effort to mollify her conscious.

“Don not be selfish, Paz. It is not like you.”

“You don’t even know me.” She wiped at a tear she hadn’t realized she’d shed. And how was that even possible? She didn’t think ghosts could cry. But now that she felt the one, more followed, and suddenly her vision grew clouded with water.

Then he was by her side, moving as quick as thought, his eyes were searching hers. “I do know you, I know your soul. And it is so beautiful, worthy to be shared and known. I do like you, Paz. And I wish… I wish I had seen you first.”

She nodded, too choked up to speak.

His lashes flickered, a helpless look crossed his face. He raised his hands and stared at them, then at her. “If I could touch you, I would. I would draw you into my arms and ease the pain from your chest. I would be your lover and friend. But know, that in my heart, I do that for you.”

The moment was one that, dead or alive, would forever burn in her memory. She couldn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. He nodded, and she knew he knew.

“Now, I must finish. We haven’t much time left,” and as he spoke it she saw his light dim even further.

Chapter 14

Jinni glanced over his shoulder, the King and Queen’s guards had been easy enough to dispatch. He’d hidden behind potted shrubs, waiting until the moment they crossed his path and then he’d struck them with the hilt of his sword in the side of their heads. There’d only been two of them, and each walking separate wings. There’d been no cries of alarm, no sharp gasps of breath. They’d simply crumpled at his feet like wilted flowers.

It would have been so much easier to use his magic, to will them to sleep, into a stupor so deep they’d not wake again until the next morning. But magic always left a trace, and only he could use magic in all of the King’s palace, which meant he’d be discovered.

If he was discovered, it was entirely possible the Queen’s affair would also be revealed. She’d be stoned, or worse. He couldn’t have that. So he tiptoed silently along the halls, hugging the walls and keeping well within shadow.

Dressed entirely in black, from the scarf wrapped tight around his face, to the supple black sandals on his feet-- it would be nigh impossible for anyone to discover his secret. A soft blue wash of moonlight spilled through the open windows, Jinni pressed his face tight to the stone wall, hearing nothing but the violent beating of his heart.

The King and Queen’s chamber lied just ahead. Breathing through the rush of adrenaline, he moved as silently and stealthily as he could, ignoring his compulsion to run and end this now.

The hall opened up into a “T,” quickly he peeked his head around the corner, relieved to see an endless stretch of blackness and no sounds of feet.

He was here to kill the King. It was inconceivable to him that someone hadn’t figured it out yet, that he could be so close to their beloved King and none stirred. How could the palace be so peaceful and calm, how could they not know?

He licked his lips.

The King had been good to him. Had cared for him. Given him a home, and shown him true friendship. Many nights he’d been called upon by a restless King to tell tales of a Kingdom made of stars-- of the birth of the djinn and the power that they weaved with nary a thought.

They’d walked the gardens talking of government matters. The King had even given him exclusive access to Aria, knowing their friendship, and lifting the ban that no man could ever visit his daughter alone.

The King trusted him.

Jinni gripped his scimitar, it glowed an unearthly blue as a shaft of moonlight sliced across its steel face. The curved sharp blade intended to cut a man in half.

Did his friend deserve this fate?

As he stared at the blade, torn between his need for vengeance and his love for a man who’d never shown him anything but kindness, the door swung open on silent hinges. Nala stood poised at its entrance wearing nothing but a white guazy nightgown.

Her black hair spilled around her face and back, her green eyes were frantic and wide. Panic fluttered at the pulse in her throat and Jinni’s mouth went absolutely dry.

“Jinni,” she cried, flinging her arms around his neck. Nala kissed him, peppering his face and brows with her relief and joy. Tears ran warm down her cheeks.

Jinni frowned, wiping the tears up with his thumbs. “Nala, we could be caught.”

“Do not worry about the guards. All know not to bother us when the King is present.”

The moment he’d spotted her, he’d forgotten about the fact that the King was in this room, that right now he could be watching him embracing his wife. Thinking about it made a sick rush of bile race up his throat. He peeked over her shoulder

Hundreds of candles lit the room, incense swirled thick and musty, sparking heat through his blood. And then he smelled it, that sick odor of musk and sex. “You mated him again.”

He ground his molars.

She nodded. “It was the only way, I had to get him sated that he wouldn’t suspect.”

Jinni narrowed his eyes, taking her arms off his neck. “Suspect what? Where is he?” He swept into the room and immediately spotted the prone form of the King.

He looked small in the enormous four poster bed. The flickering lights danced across his tallow colored skin. A white silk sheet was the only thing he wore, it wrapped loosely around his hips and upper thighs.

King Abdullah’s eyes were closed as heavy snores fell from his lips. Beside the bed, upon the nightstand, a golden goblet stood. Jinni marched up to the cup and swiped it, sniffing its contents. The red wine smelled too sweet. Sickly even. He curled his nose with disgust and sat it down, splashing some of it over the side.

“You drugged him?”

She clasped her hands. “It was the only way.”

Jinni dropped the scimitar and grabbed his head, tugging on his hair. “I cannot kill him now.”

Her eyes grew more frantic. “Jinni, the beatings. It must end.”

Heart clenching at the reminder, he squeezed his eyes shut. “I will not ram a sword through his gut while he sleeps, Nala! I’m not a coward. I came here to fight him man to man. To tell him of my love for you, to demand justice for the beatings he’s inflected upon you.”

A sharp snore punctuated his statement and he growled.

“I will not kill an unarmed man.”

“Jinni please,” Nala grabbed his hand, forcing him to stop his pacing and look at her, “you must. A night like tonight, it may never happen again. The gods have decreed this, can you not see? The guards are on another call, the King allowed me to drug him… I…” She dropped his hand and hugged her arms, “I cannot bear it anymore. You must kill him. You must. For me.”

Her look shattered his heart, the tears in her green eyes unmanned him. Jinni grabbed the sides of her face. “Do not cry, beloved. We will find another way.”

“No!” She shook off his hands and tore her shift down the center, exposing the lush curves and planes of her body. “Look at me!” She hissed. “Look at what he’s done to me. Just this night. LOOK!”

He did look and got sick.

Her fine skin was covered in blue, green, and purple. Jinni reached out to touch a large palm print on her abdomen and she smacked him.

“No, you don’t get to touch. You don’t get to pretend you care! Go. Go away.” She turned on him, covering her body with the shredded edges of her gown.

Blinking hard against the black, choking hate sweeping up his throat, Jinni reached for his sword.

He’d meant to do an honorable killing. For the kindness and mercy the King had extended him. But now…

Now things were different.

Nala’s shoulders heaved as her frame was wracked by her silent sobs.

Jinni glanced at the frail looking man on the bed. Awake, Abdullah seemed more than a man, he seemed a god. Wise in so many ways. But beneath the kingly bearing beat the heart of an abuser.

Nala glanced askance at Abdullah. “The King raped me tonight, Jinni.”

Her fingers trembled as she reached out to touch the King. Then she squeezed her fingers and yanked her hand back. “I know that in this realm a woman’s body does not belong to herself, that I am the King’s. But,” she twirled, the fire of justice burned in her eyes, “do I not deserve better?”

She did.

That was the truth. No one deserved the nightmare she’d lived through this past year.

Aria would mourn. The two had always been very, very close. But perhaps, she’d also been privy to the King’s tirades. Perhaps she’d also witnessed this violence.

Insides quaking, but resolute, Jinni clenched the hilt of the sword and with his next breath, drove the blade through the King’s heart.

The death was violent, but quick. Abdullah never even opened his eyes. He expelled his final breath, and then his chest stopped moving. Blood pooled around the body as Jinni released the sword.

He stared at his hands. He’d committed the irrevocable this night. He’d killed his King. The man he’d pledged his life to.

Nala grabbed his face, and he felt cold, numb. She shook him. “I love you, eshq-e man.”

“And I worship you, my love,” he mumbled, still unable to process that beside him lied the body of his King. That he’d killed him.

A soft smile graced her lips as she sat on the edge of the bed. Blood welled upon her white gown.

“Nala,” Jinni wrinkled his nose as she started to pull him on top of her, “Nala! The body. We cannot. The blood, it is everywhere.”

She shook her head. “The body is just a body. The King is gone. I simply want your touch, your kiss. That is all. I want to erase your pain, and you to erase mine. Just a moment. And then we’ll deal with the rest.”

How were they going to cover this up?

Jinni had never thought that far ahead. The desire for vengeance had made him forget that there was now a body to dispose of. But not just any body. The king of the realm.

Nala’s kiss ripped him from his morbid thoughts. “Your eyes are a thousand miles away. Stay here with me. I need your strength.”

Jinni grimaced when he felt the warmth of Abdullah’s blood began to seep through the fabric of his pants. “Nala, I truly wish we’d go someplace else.”

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled his face close to hers. “Soon, soon. I promise. Only… kiss me.”

Why could she not understand this was not the time nor the place? “Nala,” he groaned and then kissed her, deeply, passionately, pushing all of his pain and agony into that kiss. Giving her his strength, drawing her own into his soul.

He’d killed a man tonight. To keep her safe. For always.

The sound of feet moved through the still of the room like thunderclap. Then something loud and heavy dropped to the ground.

Terror welled deep and bottomless. They’d been found. Nala would be executed. He had to save her.

All those thoughts passed through his head in only a second and then he did what he never thought he’d do again. Reacting simply on instinct, Jinni curled his fist, drawing his immortal flame into his fist and squeezed. The intruder knew who he was, he couldn’t hide himself, and so used his magic to kill the human instantly. Wrapping his magic like a cord around the human’s throat, cutting off its oxygen and then snapping its neck.

He didn’t look to see who he killed, it didn’t matter. Nala could never be implicated.

“Oh my gods,” Nala breathed, shoving hard against his chest.

Jinni panted, squeezing his eyes shut. “Which guard did I kill?”

“Oh my gods!” Nala shrieked and Jinni jumped to his feet, grabbing her shoulders. “Nala, quiet yourself. All of the palace will hear.”

“Oh my gods! Guards! Come, come quick!” Nala screamed and flailed and cried.

He frowned. “Nala?”

She yanked the sword out of Abdullah’s body and held him at sword point. “Guards, come quick. I’ve got him. Come!”

Jinni shook his head. “What are you . . ?”

“Come, he’s killed the King and the Princess!”

Princess?

Jinni sucked in a sharp breath and then dropped to his knees in utter shock. Aria’s tiny body laid limp and lifeless, her eyes open and staring sightless at him.

Sick, he leaned over and expelled the contents of his stomach.

Hands clamped onto his wrists, a boot kicked him in the back. But he didn’t care. He welcomed the flying fists and the excruciating pain of a booted foot kicking him repeatedly in the ribs.

“He tried to rape me. He entered and killed the King, then he tried to rape me! He must be tried and charged. He must be…”

Soul sick, Jinni blocked out Nala’s terrible lies. He’d killed the King, killed Aria. He deserved to die. Deserved it all.

How could he have been so wrong?

Tears streamed down Paz’s cheeks as she looked at the painting. Jinni prostrate on the ground, surrounded by a swarm of guards. His beloved Aria broken and lifeless before him as he reached out to her with his fingers, a broken and shattered look on his face.

“So you see now, Paz?” Jinni closed his eyes, hanging his head on his chest, “I am not a good man. I killed the King, killed…” his voice shook, “Aria.” His laugh was bitter and cold. “And all for the love of a treacherous woman.”

He turned on his heels and headed back to the window.

“What happened after that?” she asked, wiping up the tears on her face.

Jinni rested his forehead upon the glass.

“They didn’t kill you, obviously. What happened?” she asked again, walking up to him.

His voice was dead. “I could not be tried by the humans. I was returned to my world and tried by my peers. They stripped me of my powers, forever exiled me from Eastern Kingdom, and made me what you see today. A pathetic, miserable man.”

She shook her head. Wishing she could hug him, hold him. “Jinni, you’re not pathetic. You did something terrible, yes. But she lied to you. Used you.”

He whirled on her, his anger a palpable stench in her nostrils. “She did more than use me, Paz, she broke me!”

His chest was heaving, his nostrils flaring. She bit her lip.

“She didn’t love you, Jinni.”

“Don’t you think I know that?!” He growled and started his pacing. “She planned it all. Sent the guards away, drugged the King, damn her! The bruises on her body,” he stopped and pinned Paz with a sharp glare, “they’d been painted on. That’s why she didn’t want me to touch her, I would have smeared the make-up. The bruising’s from before, she’d ordered her guards to do it. She even set up, Aria. Told the girl to come to her chambers for a bed time story at precisely that hour, that is the only reason why the djinn council did not obliterate me.”

Paz swallowed hard; his grief sliced her deep.

“I loved him. He was like a father. Djinn’s are born, but we’ve no mother or father. We never know love. We never seek it. But I was an aberration. I wanted it, desperately desired it. And when I found it,” he glanced at his hands, at the fingers looking like claws the way he curled them, “I killed it. He never beat her, Paz. He never laid a hand on her. They rarely even slept together.” Tears shone in his eyes. “It was a marriage of alliance solely, the King loved his first wife, even after death. He slept with Nala to try and produce an heir, when he learned he was no longer able to father a child, he quit her bed. Until that night.”

Her jaw trembled. “Oh, Jinni.”

He looked away, the fire of his anger spent. And suddenly he looked older, tired. “I am a bad man, Paz and you need to go.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

He laughed. “Why? Because you think you can save me? Make me well? I will never be well again.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know how long I’ve been out of my body. Days, weeks, years… but in this time, I know I want you. I want to walk by your side, share your burdens… I want to be your Todd.”

He snorted, his jaw clenched hard. “My Todd.”

The haughty sneer in his tone made her insides quiver. Ashamed that she’d even admitted that to him, she turned. Even in death, life sucked.

“Stop.” His voice was a command. “I… I do not mean it. I just… by all that is holy, Paz, I do not know if I can…”

She turned around. “I’m sorry she was so evil. I’m sorry she hurt you that way, Jinni. I’m so, so sorry.” She touched her chest. “But I’m not her. And I never will be.”

He came up to her, his chest so close to her own she felt the static of him ripple through her, it made her toes curl. His gaze held infinite meaning and possibility. They stared at each other, simply stared, pouring so much meaning and emotion into the look.

“I wish I could touch you,” he whispered, tracing his hand down her cheek. She sighed as his power rolled down her form.

“I feel you,” she whispered.

“But I do not.”

She frowned.

He shook his head. “To only hold you once more. Oh, Paz, I am fading. I cannot stop this. I’ve not much time left. You have to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Promise me that when I go, you will get back in your body, and you will live.”

She clamped her lips. The thought of existing when he didn’t, of living and knowing he never would again, no… she couldn’t make that promise.

“I’ve enough flame for one last dance, Paz. But only if you promise.”

Chapter 15

Jinni drew on the flame, knowing there would be no Danika to save him this time. But it didn’t matter, he could prolong the inevitable but he knew his was time was over, either way, he only had tonight left.

Against rhyme or reason she’d stayed. Paz had heard the worst of him, and stayed. Was this love? He wasn’t sure. Was it possible to love someone so completely, so quickly?

Long ago, he’d have thought so. But now…

Maybe this was more. Deeper. Bigger than both of them.

Danika had told him she’d found his perfect mate and he hadn’t believed. Hadn’t wanted to believe. Believing in his soul that a black devil such as he did not deserve happiness again. But he’d found it.

Drawing the flame deep into his body, he let it fill him, stretch him. Smiling as his soul took form, flesh and bone.

Paz inhaled sharply. “You are so beautiful.”

“Should I not be saying that to you?” he asked, trembling as she slipped into his arms. Arms that weren’t made out of a nothing but air, but solid and warm. Arms that held her tight and shook when she ran her fingers up them, trailing heat and fire in its wake.

“You can. Or,” she leaned in close, until his eyes nearly crossed to keep her in focus, “you can kiss me again.”

There were a million reasons why he shouldn’t. First and foremost that this was merely prolonging the inevitable, that the less they did together, the less she’d ache when he was gone. That forcing her to tie her heart to a man who could never be her Todd would forever taint her for another.

But again, as with so many other times in his life, Jinni didn’t listen to his own wise council. He did what he’d wanted to do all along.

The first touch of their lips was hesitant, exploratory. A gentle pressure, like a coaxing question. Should we do this?

But then her nails were digging forcefully into the nape of his neck, adding friction and pressure. A low moan built between them.

Jinni pulled Paz firmer into the crook of his arms and the magic that flowed through him entered her. They melded once again into a burning ball of light and sailed gracefully through the roof of the hospital, still wrapped up in each other.

Their bodies pure lights of energy, burning with passion and fire, and unrequited desire.

She was everywhere, her light and life leaking into him, filling the empty spaces of his heart, his soul. He was in her too. His light and her light becoming one, a nova of pleasure as they flew higher and higher through the clouds.

Jinni clung to her. Danika had told him that he’d be Paz’s tether, but the truth was, she was his.

She made him forget.

Forget that he wasn’t good, that he should leave her alone. He kissed her, tasted her tongue, the warmth of her breath, breathing in the air she exhaled and forcing his own through her lips. In her arms, right now, he was a man and she was a woman.

A woman made for him.

Just for him.

She pulled away, gasping and quivering. Then she glanced around and smiled. “The stars. Oh, Jinni, I love your home.”

He framed her face between his large hands, shivering at the silken softness of it. “Dance with me, Paz.”

Her smile was flushed and radiant as she nodded. Jinni swept his arm around her waist, commanding the stars to sing.

An angelic melody drifted by them, through them. The pink and red streaked blue sky burst with the light of a trillion stars. They moved and swayed to the music, Paz rested her head on his shoulder, her fingers idly toying with the hair on the back of his head.

“I don’t want this night to ever end,” she whispered and then planted a kiss on his chest, right above his heart.

It thumped loudly and his fingers curled deep into her waist. “I’m so sorry, Paz.”

And he was. Sorry that he’d wasted his life and love on another, sorry he’d not been man enough to fight the fading. Sorry that he was so far gone, he could never come back.

Her eyes filled with tears and light. “How much longer do we have?”

“Not long enough.”

She closed her eyes. “Then make love to me.”

He swallowed hard and stopped moving, almost stopped breathing. “What?”

“I want this memory for as long as I live. Because if I’ve got it in here,” she tapped her head, “then you’ll never really die. Your flame will live on in my heart forever.”

Heat surged in his throat, filled his eyes. But he did not cry. She was offering him a priceless gift. The gift of herself. He did not deserve it.

Time was too short, too precious to make it long and sweet as he knew he should. As he wished he could. Blinking his eyes, their clothes vanished and he sensed the flame of his immortality dim by a fraction of a beat.

She was awe-inspiring. He trailed his fingers down the long column of her throat, across the plump ripeness of her breasts. His hands shook just a little.

“If we had more time,” he whispered, “I’d lay you down on a bed of roses.”

She nodded.

“Your black hair would fan out around your face.” He framed it again, holding her close, his mouth so close to her own, they shared one breath. “I’d kiss you from the crown of your head,” he pressed a gentle kiss against her, “to the soles of your feet.”

Paz moved into his arms, her every curve fitting impossibly tight and perfect to his own. Crafted just for him, he could believe that now. She was the piece of his soul he’d tried to force Nala into. But that piece had never been made for the Queen. That had belonged to a woman so far in the future he’d been too blinded and foolish to wait for.

Gently, reverently he knelt with her. She placed her warm hands on top of his bare shoulders. Still gazing at him, with eyes full of wonder and something more. Something infinitely more.

“I’d feed you grapes, make you laugh, fill your mind with nothing but joy and happiness,” he continued and pulled her down on top of him.

He was so hard, so ready--painfully so--, but he was not a beast to rut and walk away. They may not have eternity, but he had now to make it right. She spread her thighs, her center encircling him, heating him in a velvet hug as she leaned up on her toes and kissed his collarbone, the center of his panting chest.

“Then what would you do, Jinni?” her soft voice made him ache, yearn for what could never be. An eternity with this woman by his side.

He rolled them over, drawing the light from many thousand nearby stars and created a bed for them. She laughed as the light seeped through his pores, her pores.

“We glow white,” she stared at her hands.

“It would be like this forever.” He kissed her fingertip. “Making love on the stars, holding you close, forever, Paz.”

Then he slipped inside her heat and she shuddered, tilting her head, exposing the long line of her throat as she purred. Ecstasy flitted across her face and Jinni knew when he died, a part of him would live on in that memory.

He kissed her, swallowing her passion on his tongue as he stroked and flamed the heat of her desire.

Paz dug her nails into his shoulders. “I’ll never forget,” she murmured as tears spilled hot and thick down her face.

Jinni tucked her hair behind her ears, gazing down at her, moving just enough to build her pleasure. But he wouldn’t close his eyes. This was all he had, this moment, and he wanted to die just like this.

As if she sensed him staring, she opened her eyes and smiled and that was his undoing. One final thrust brought them home. On his tongue lingered the word: forever.

Their cries raced through the heavens and he knew his people rejoiced. Their soul weary brother had finally found his peace.

But the peace didn’t last. A violent rending tore through his middle. Jinni sat up, clutching his stomach, gnashing his teeth as his flame began to gutter out. Already their corporeal forms began to fade.

Paz knelt by his side, gripping his shoulders. “Jinni? Honey?”

Her eyes were wide and frantic as he gazed into them. Refusing to give in to the pain, refusing to let her see just how much it was hurting. Cold sweat swept up and down his body, breaking out on his skin, causing his scalp to tingle with fire and pain.

“Listen to me, Paz,” he gritted out. “You have to return. Now.”

Their heavenly bed began to dissolve back into the stardust that had created it.

She shook her head, even as they began falling like a comet back to Earth. “No.”

Pain sharpened his words. “Now! You swore it to me.” He gripped her arms. “I will not let you watch this.”

The sensation of a thousand knives slicing him open made his back arc in terrible agony. Paz flung her hands over her mouth.

“Jinni,” she said, his name caught on a sob.

Every atom in his body began to rip and tear itself apart. The body he’d held her with was no more, now he was nothing more than spirit again. A throbbing pain built behind his skull. With the last bit of sanity left to him, he whispered, “I am sorry, Paz, but you must live,” and flung her back to the hospital.

She could still walk to the light, the choice was hers, but he hoped she’d make the right one. His final breath shuddered through his body and then he splintered into a million pieces of shimmering light.

Floating through space, nothing more than matter, Jinni couldn’t believe he still had thought. He’d expected the end of that form to be the end of him completely.

But then he realized why. The necklaces he’d trapped within his form now floated along, clasped together, as if holding hands. His love for Paz forever trapped within the stones, the part of him that was good, that could love, would never die. He’d shared that piece of his soul with the rock.

Danika had managed to spare him after all. He could no longer speak, but he felt and thought and knew that if he could, he’d weep for all he’d lost.

Chapter 16

Paz fell hard, landing like a scud missile on the cold hospital floor. Legs splayed, arms flung wide and head throbbing.

She’d lost him. He’d pushed her away, but not before she’d seen him break apart into a million balls of light.

Her heart hurt, her body throbbed. Pushing up, she glanced at herself. She was naked, could still feel the satisfying stretch between her thighs. They’d made love and it’d been glorious.

But as good as that was, this was ten times worse.

Numb, unable to believe he was really gone, it took her a moment to realize there were voices speaking.

No, not voices. A voice.

A sweet lulling voice.

“Hush now there, dearie. My what a tumble you took.”

Her heart clenched. She jerked up and stared into a pair of large blue eyes. A woman, about her height, smiled back at her. Pudgy in all the right places, she reminded Paz of a doting grandmother. Hair slightly gray, and curled becomingly around her cherub-like face. Then Paz caught sight of something else and yelped.

A pair of dragonfly wings that open and closed gracefully.

She stuck her hand over her mouth and the old woman glanced back. “Oh blast, I always forget to take those off around you guys at first.”

Withdrawing a wand, she pointed it at the wings. A pink ripple flowed from the star tip and then the wings disappeared. “There now. Better?”

Paz gave a disbelieving chuckle. “Are you from Jinni’s land?”

“Oh, so he did tell you about Kingdom! Good, good!” The old woman grabbed hold of Paz’s elbow and holy freaking cow, she felt it. Soft and warm and so strong.

Her body shook as she stood to her feet, chin wobbling softly as she bit back the tears. She was so tired of crying. Seems like that was all she did anymore.

“And where is that Jinni, by the way?”

Paz hiccupped, eyes going large as she held her breath and fought the lump in her throat. It took a minute for her to regain her composure, long enough for the old woman to sigh sadly and then nod.

“I see. Jinni faded.”

It was hard to speak about him, about that. Paz glanced at her toes. It was still too fresh and painful, all she wanted to do was forget. Forget and leave this behind forever. The soft whirring beep of the machines keeping her body alive helped drown out her thoughts.

“Well,” the woman shook herself, clearing her throat and then extended her hand, “the name is Danika. Jinni’s fairy godmother.”

“Godmother?” Paz frowned as Danika nearly ripped her hand off with her enthusiastic handshake.

“Aye. Though I’m not surprised to know he didn’t tell you that. Always such a proud, stubborn man.” Her brows rose. “Was he kind to you?”

Paz hugged her middle. It hurt so bad, the emotional pain so much worse than anything physical could ever be. Leaving him, watching him explode… a soft warmth pulsed through her, flooding her body and limbs, then a rush of scent enveloped her. His scent, clover and myrrh. So uniquely him, that for a moment she could swear he was back.

But just as quickly it was gone.

She closed her eyes. “He hated himself. Hated what he’d done. But he was never,” she cleared her throat, “he was never cruel to me. He showed me the stars.”

“Then he truly cared for you. Return to your body, Paz.” Danika hooked her thumb over her shoulder.

Paz didn’t want to look. “He made me promise I’d return.”

Why had she made that promise? She’d forget it all in the light. Forget him, the pain, all of it. The lure was so tempting, so deliciously hard to ignore. In the light there would be peace and no memory of a man she’d barely known, but who’d changed her world forever.

“Paz, he’s not gone.”

Her head jerked up. “But you said…”

Danika nodded. “Aye, I said he vanished, but that golem in the next room is not dead. That golem is tied to his essence. Somewhere in this vast universe Jinni still exists. Maybe not for long, but for now. And I believe he has a very important decision to make soon. But he won’t do it, if you don’t return.”

She clasped her hands together.

“Your brother, Richard is it?” Danika asked gently and Paz nodded. “He’s kept a constant vigil. He painted your toenails last night, and sang to you.”

The image of her big, strong brother singing and painting her toenails made her giggle.

“Worst voice I’ve ever had the misfortune of hearing.” Danika cringed and stuck her finger in her ear.

Paz outright laughed, a deep belly laugh that filled her. “Yes, he does. Like a dying bird.”

Their eyes sparkled with laughter and tears.

“Where is he now?” Paz looked around, suddenly yearning for the sight of him.

“A man has arrived for him.”

“Todd,” she breathed. “Todd made it.”

“They need you, love. It is not yet your time.”

“But I died.”

Danika’s curls bobbed as she shook her head. “No. This interlude was designed for you to meet my Jinni. I wish he would have taken my advice sooner, this might not have been necessary, but you need to return, get strong, and live. Be ready.”

“For what?” She held her breath with anticipation, with the unspoken desire that Jinni might still be able to come back to her.

“For love, Paz Lopez.” Danika brushed a tear off the corner of Paz’s cheek before she began to glow so bright, Paz had to shield her eyes against it.

When she opened them again, Danika was the size of her hand, her wings once again buzzing behind her back. “I’ll see you around, little dove.” Then with a flick and a wave, she was gone.

Little dove. What he’d called her.

Could there still be hope? If there were even a chance, one tiny miniscule chance, she’d go back. She’d hang on and stay brave. For as long as it took.

There was so much she still didn’t know, so much she’d wanted to ask, like how the golem and Jinni were connected? Why they were connected? Had that been why Paz had felt so strangely bonded to Tristan? Would Jinni return back to her?

Clearing throats made her glance up. Richard and Todd walked into the room holding hands and a cup of coffee each. Richard rested his head on Todd’s shoulder as Todd gently brushed his hair back.

“I don’t know what I’ll do without her, Todd,” he whispered, his voice a rough burr full of sleeplessness and pain.

“Ssh, baby, it’s okay. She’ll come back to us, you’ll see.”

Richard hiccupped. “It’s been a month, with no brain activity.”

A month?

It’d only felt like days to her.

Todd slipped the cup out of Richard’s hand and sat on the lone chair next to the bed. He pulled Richard onto his lap, cradling him like a child. “Honey,” he kissed Richard’s brow, “you let me take care of you now.”

Richard wept, hiding his face in Todd’s neck. “I can’t lose her too, I just can’t,” he said, voice mumbled.

Todd’s eyes were large and haunted as he stared at Paz’s body.

“You just let me hold you. I’ve got you now and I’ll never let you go.”

Paz felt the tug in her soul from the light, the tunnel just at the end of the hall. It could take everything away from her, it could heal her . . . but it would ruin Richard.

She closed her eyes and said a quick prayer of strength, then whispered low, “Jinni, wherever you are, you find me again. No matter what. No matter how, you find me again.”

Then she walked to her body and laid down into it, sinking slowly into the shell of who she’d once been. It was cold and damp, made her cringe and regret for an instant that she hadn’t left it all behind. But then the shell was closing over her, covering her and she was being reborn from death back to life as the memories of the last month rewound swiftly through her head.

Jinni’s touch. His kiss. Dancing on the stars. His story of loathing, but in her mind, his triumph. His ability to have made himself into a good and decent person again. The first time she’d seen him. When he’d smiled and introduced himself.

His smell.

His eyes.

Then it all disappeared and she opened her eyes.

Chapter 17

Danika flew to the heavens, seeking the necklaces. A piece of him would forever remain trapped within the stone. And that was what she had to find.

Jinni, whether he wanted to admit it or not, had fallen madly and deeply in love with Paz. There could be no other explanation, because the golem still survived. She’d created the golem as a tether to the man himself, if Jinni died so did it.

It took no time to find the glowing amethyst stones.

Quieting her mind of all but Jinni she listened for the small still voice of him.

Jinni?

The stones pulsed bright in her fists and she smiled.

Danika? Can you hear me?

Yes.

A heated sensation of relief flared through her.

I thought I would float out here for all eternity.

She laughed. Only if you want to.

I want her.

She wants you too. Jinni, there is still time. The golem still lives.

She waited for his response but it was so long in coming she feared he’d never answer.

Paz will not want me if I turn into that, Danika.

She loves you.

He laughed, a sad haunting echo of sound. She loved this form, this man. Not that.

Danika’s lips twisted. That is but a shell, Jinni, same as her own. You fell in love with her spirit, that will never change. The Paz you knew will never look the same in form, her body has been broken, there will be lasting damage…

I do not care!

She smiled. Exactly my point, nor will she.

He was quiet again and she pushed the necklace into her chest, as if to hug it. Please, please, please make the right choice. She desperately wanted to tell him, but feared ruining the moment.

Do you really believe that?

Yes, you idiot! Is what she wanted to say. But instead she said, she’s already bonded to that form. Maybe not as much as you, because you are her soul mate, but her subconscious recognized Tristan as important. She will love you no matter how you come to her.

Danika could almost see the wheels of his mind slowly turning.

Then take me back, Danika, he finally whispered and she exhaled a heavy sigh of relief.

You rotten, dirty bastard, making me so scared… she wanted to tell him. Instead she whispered, I love you, Jinni. Thank you.

Chapter 18

Jinni looked at Danika out of the corner of his eye as he walked down a busy section of downtown Chicago. Skyscrapers took up the entire sky, obscuring the stars that he loved so much.

“Are you sure this is the place?” he hissed and a pedestrian glanced at him sideways with a horrified expression on her young face, before sidling off in a quick penguin march, holding her purse tight to her jean clad thigh.

Danika was of course, invisible to all but him. Which was wonderful. Made blending in with the crowd so easy.

She nodded. “Aye, she lives in that tower there.”

A large bluish black structure of metal and glass loomed like a giant in front of him. He did not like this place. The constant honks of cars and business of people, the smog and stench of sewage, not to mention the strong winds that buffeted into him making his weak right leg buckle every fifth step.

Stomach matted in a bundle of nerves, Jinni slowed down. It’d taken a year of physical therapy to learn how to control this stupid body. Everybody thought it was because of the accident, but the truth was the golem’s body was foreign and so different from the one he’d known before.

At first he’d barely been able to crawl out of the bed. And using the bathroom. Good gods, the indignity of having a nurse help him to hold himself just so that he could relieve a bladder he’d not had much use for in over a century.

By the time he’d been strong enough to walk out of his room with a walker, Paz had been long gone. He’d discovered she’d entered her body not long after he’d thrown her back and that the moment she had, Todd and Richard had whisked her back to Chicago and away from him.

Only one thought kept him hanging on, and that had been finding her.

“But what if she’s with a man now?” he said, and a man sitting on a park bench quirked his brow, then bit into his hotdog with a muttered curse.

Danika shook her head and touched the stones he kept hidden beneath his gray sweater. “The stones glow, her love for you is as strong today as it was then.”

“But what we had was so short, Danika. So brief, what if she doesn’t remember me?” He ignored the next round of stares, walking slowly but resolutely toward the tower of windows.

The sky was so overcast today, gray and the clouds bulging with water. This was a terrible day, maybe an omen for him to stay away. Let her live her life.

“You are so very vexing, my boy. Even Gerard did not give me this hard a time. Now march.” She flapped her wings harder, flying in front of him and forcing him to keep her pace, even though it made a twinge zip down his leg with each step.

He still wasn’t a hundred percent perfect, probably never would be. The golem’s form was immortal so long as he lived, but it could be damaged and the magic used to create it could never recreate it again. Which meant, crashing in airplanes in the future was probably a bad idea.

In no time they were at the tower and two minutes later they were traveling up an elevator to the thirty-first floor. The penthouse suite.

Jinni gripped the golden handle bars as his stomach dived into his knees.

“It’s not that bad,” Danika whispered. “You’ll see, before the night is done you’ll be making sweet passionate love to her and saying, ‘Danika who’?”

He frowned at her, which only made her laugh.

Too quickly they were on the thirty-first floor and the door was dinging open.

“I can’t do this,” he said with a shake of his head.

Danika rolled her eyes. “Good gods, did you lose your balls the second you entered that thing.”

“Dani,” he growled, not in the mood for her jokes.

She snorted. “Listen to me, boyo, all of this angsting and worrying, it’s for naught. I visited her last night.”

He hissed. She hadn’t told him that. His heart thundered. “And?! What did you see?”

Her blue eyes grew melancholy. “She’s so desperate for you, it’s really rather pathetic.”

Mouth dry, stomach ready to heave chunks, he released the bars and forced his rubbery legs to exit the elevator.

“It’s the one at the very end of the hall.” Danika nodded and then tapped him forward.

He felt a pop of air and then nothing and knew Danika had vanished, leaving him alone to face her.

Not that he was terrified of her. No, he wanted her. Ached for her each and every day. Every second of physical therapy, one thought kept him working in spite of the pain, one less day until he got to see her.

The time was now. He was here.

But what if this didn’t live up to expectations? What if he’d created a goddess of a woman in his mind that wasn’t really her? He’d done that with Nala. What he and Paz had shared had been intense, but unbelievably short.

And as he thought up a million different reasons why he shouldn’t go to her, the door opened.

Paz didn’t see him. But he saw her.

She was dressed in a white gown, exposing the long lines of her shapely calves. His stomach knocked around and his breath whooshed out of his lungs. A long, jagged scar raced up the side of her left calf, curving around her knee and disappearing beneath the hem of her dress.

She rested heavily on a cane as she tried to lock the door.

He couldn’t move. Frozen in place, his mind an empty canvas except for one thing. Her. His Paz, alive and healthy. Then she turned around and dropped her purse and cane as tears came instantly to her eyes.

“Oh my god, are you real?” she whispered.

She’d recognized him? He’d feared she might not. Tristan didn’t overtly resemble him.

She was shaking.

“Paz,” he whispered and then her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she fell ungracefully in a heap to the floor.

Soft cooing words of love and devotion were whispered in her ear. Paz shivered at the warm touch of a hand. His hand.

“Oh my god!” She sat and stared into his eyes. “Is it you? Really you?”

They were in her home, on her couch and the face was all wrong. Beautiful, but wrong. But the eyes, the eyes were full of tears and light and love and she knew. She threw her arms around his neck and cried, venting a year’s worth of pain and agony, crying and staining his shirt until there were no more tears left.

He held her and never tried to turn away, even though he must be uncomfortably wet by this point. Finally, trusting herself to speak and not blubber like an idiot, she pulled away. Not enough to get out of his arms, she never wanted to be out of his arms again.

“Jinni, how… I don’t…”

He placed his finger on her lips. “I’ve dreamed of this for a year, Paz. What I would say, how I would say it,” his voice was deep, throaty and lyrical. Slightly different than the one she’d grown used to; this one was richer, like a shot of amber whiskey. “And now I’m here and I do not remember any of it.”

She laughed, it felt so good. For over a year, she’d lived. Breathed. Ate. Painted. But hadn’t laughed.

It’d been so obvious that she was depressed, even Richard had stopped commenting on it. He’d gone from cracking jokes and giving her hugs, to casting worried glances in her direction. She was sure he’d planned an intervention at some point, but she’d always assured him that it was just going to take some time to heal.

And that’d been true. But not in the way he’d expected. Living without Jinni had been harder than she’d expected. Any time a good-looking man had cast a glance or smile her way all she could do was frown and think how imperfect it was.

She’d holed herself up in her studio and painted. Her art had morphed from something light and pretty to dark and mysterious. The brooding artist had lent her an air of mystique and suddenly she’d begun selling paintings hand over fist.

Paz gripped his face, tracing the lines of his hard jaw, the planes of his wide mouth, familiarizing herself with a body she didn’t know. “So what now?” she whispered.

“We get to know each other.”

“I’m all for that,” she agreed. “Do you have a place to stay? Do you live any--”

He chuckled and man was that sound a whole lot of awesome. Dark and rich, and made her stomach tighten and her heart beat fast. “I stayed at a motel on Danika’s dime until I was cleared medically and then took a bus here.”

“From Alaska?”

He shuddered. “Gods it was ghastly.”

She giggled. “Poor baby.”

He rested his head against hers and breathed deeply, sharing breath, making her remember all the times they’d done this before. “I missed you, Paz. Every day and every second in it, I ached to hold you. I was so scared you wouldn’t remember me. So scared you’d find this form displeasing.”

She frowned. “Displeasing?” Paz stood and held her hand out to him. “I’ll need to rest some of my weight on your arm, but I want to show you something.”

He held his arm out for her. “Where are you taking me?” he asked as she led him down the hall to bedroom she’d converted into her private studio. Each step was painful, her hips had broken in six places, making the healing long and slow and tedious.

The doctors assured her eventually even the limp would go away, but it could take years.

They got to the end of the hall and she turned the knob. “I’ve sold over two hundred paintings this year.” Steeling herself, she opened the door and led him inside.

Jinni inhaled as his eyes took in the canvas’ covering every square inch of wall and floor. Some were of the stars, a galaxy of them, spun silver in a sea of pink and black. Others were of a lush kingdom far, far away. But all of them held the face of a man she’d fallen madly and deeply in love with. A ghostly image of Jinni staring out of the canvas, keeping her company, always on her mind and in her heart.

He turned to her. “Paz, I--”

“I didn’t forget a single thing, Jinni. I remembered everything.”

His warm hands framed her face and Paz knew there would never be another man for her.

She threaded her fingers through his, clenching so tight she feared she’d break his bones, but more afraid that if she let go he’d leave her again. Maybe it was silly, that fear, and maybe someday it would fade, but for now… she squeezed harder, determined to keep him always with her.

“I didn’t know what I’d say when I saw you,” he whispered and she smelled mint on his breath, the icy rush of it brushed her lips. “If I’d feel the same, if you would.”

Paz couldn’t speak, could only stare and pour her desire and love for him through her eyes.

“I’d thought of so many words. A million, but now only three remain. I. Love.”

“You,” they whispered at the same time.

Dizzy, breathless with wonder, Paz kissed him. Opening her lips to him, breathing in his essence, tasting the mint of his tongue.

His hands were so gentle, so tender, and she melted.

They could have stayed like that all night. Except for the shrill buzz that broke them apart, panting and laughing for breath.

Paz gripped her chest. “My doorbell.”

He nodded, planting one final hard kiss on her. “I hear.”

Jinni held her elbow while she walked, he glanced down. “I’ve seen the scar, Paz. How bad does it hurt?”

The continued buzzing of her door grated on her nerves. Only one person in the world continued to buzz until she opened the door. Leave it to her brother to totally spoil her reunion.

“Hurts a lot in the mornings and at night. But it gets better every day.”

Today wasn’t such a great day though, her right thigh kept twinging with hot and cold bursts of nerve pain. She ground her teeth on her tongue, ignoring it as she finally reached the living room. A few more steps would bring her to the door and then she’d sit for a sec…

“Jinni!” she laughed as he swept her up in his strong arms. Paz patted his chest. “It’s my brother, put me down.”

He quirked a brow. “Then I think it’s time he knows about us, don’t you?”

She smiled. He was right. This was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, it was definitely time one of the most important men in her life met the other important one. Paz nodded. “Yup, you’re right. Swing me to the right, good sir.”

She held out her arm, waiting until he got her close enough to the knob so she could turn it. The buzzing immediately stopped when Richard took sight of the man holding his sister. Shock flitted briefly through his gaze, quickly replaced by that raised brow and narrowed eyes of a brother wanting to know what a strange man was doing holding his sister so close.

“And just who the hell are you?” Richard asked, and he might have looked ridiculous dressed in a pair of slacks with a frilly pink apron over his shirt, except for the glower that pierced through Jinni.

“Richard!” Paz swatted his oven-mittened hand and he hissed, pulling the cream-colored ceramic pot back, glass lid full of steam.

“Soufflé, Paz, you know they’re sensitive. And who is that?”

Looking up at Jinni’s sharp planes and angles of his profile, her heart gave a tiny pitter-patter. “That’s my…”

“Fiancée,” Jinni said and clipped his head and Paz’s mouth flopped open.

“Fiancée,” she squeaked as Richard’s brows shot up high on his forehead.

“Excuse me?” Richard’s hard brown gaze pinned itself to her face and she squirmed even as her insides melted into putty.

Fiancée, really? Did he really want to marry her?

“And just when were you going to share? And by the way,” he cocked his hip out, “when did this freaking happen? Last I heard my sister was well on her way to becoming a cat lady.”

She rolled her eyes as Richard jiggled the pot at them. So much for soufflés being so sensitive.

“Gonna invite me in or what? Thing’s hot.”

She bit her lip, and peeked at Jinni who was wearing a very satisfied smirk on his face. Her heart did a weird flop before sliding into her stomach. She really needed to talk to him. Like now.

“Richard, how would you and Todd like to come by for dinner tonight?” she asked.

The questions and hurt in his eyes died, replaced by a bright sheen. “Dinner? Really?”

“Umm…” she glanced at Jinni, not sure whether to call him Tristan or Jinni in front of her family, amazing that she could remember the name the golem had given her that night long ago.

He instantly read her mind. “It’s good to meet you Richard, you’re sister has spoken so much to me about you.”

“She has?” His full lips quirked. “Because she’s told me boo about you.”

He smiled and yeah, she was such a girl because she totally wanted to squeal and grin like an idiot. “Well, that’s going to change. My name is Tristan Black.”

Richard finally came inside, walking to her kitchen with a dazed look on his face. “And where did you guys meet?” He sat the pot down, turning around with a large frown as he stripped off the oven mitts.

This conversation was going to take a lot more than just a few minutes. She smiled. “Dinner tonight, Richard. I’ll explain everything. Bring a bottle of red, we’ll provide dinner. Seven sharp.”

She glanced shyly at Jinni from the corner of her eyes. It felt amazing to say we. She was finally a we. Paz cuddled deeper into his chest, a throaty rumble passed his lips and her worries that maybe she was getting too heavy for him to hold washed away.

“But,” Richard said, “I want answers now.”

Jinni’s fingers strummed the corner of her thigh and her stomach tightened.

“Honey, I promise, but later. Tristan just got here and we need to…”

“Talk,” Jinni finished her sentence.

Richard snorted. “Talk. Code for bow chica wow wow, I get it.”

“What?” Jinni looked baffled and if Paz had been drinking something she might have snorted it out of her nose.

“Just go, Richard. Please.”

Richard took a deep breath, then said, “You’d better be good for my sister.”

“I swear I will,” Jinni said without missing a beat and yeah, she was definitely turning into a puddle of goo.

Kissing her cheek quickly, Richard said, “Good to see you smile again, sweetie. I was so scared.”

She cupped his face. “I know. Love you butt face.”

He laughed. “Seven?”

“Seven.”

Richard turned on his heels and left, within seconds she was alone with Jinni again, heart racing like a bird on crack.

“So you’ve got me in a pretty compromising position, Jinni.”

His smile was long and seductive. “I know.”

She swallowed hard. “My room is next to my studio.”

He turned, and neither spoke a word, but the air around them grew pregnant with the heady anticipation of promises, vows, and so much love.

They entered and he stilled as he gazed up at her ceiling. Made out of double reinforced glass, she had a direct view of the sky.

“Gets hot as hell during the day, but at night I feel like I’m back in the stars with you. Do you like it?” she asked nervously.

He licked his lips and then took them to the center of her king sized bed, scattering her throw pillows to the hardwood floor. She scooted back on her heels, until her back pressed against the head board.

Jinni sat cross-legged on the center of the bed. “No,” he said.

Her stomach plummeted. “No?”

“No,” he shook his head, “you cannot sit so far from me.”

He grabbed her hand and helped her crawl back onto his lap. She laughed when she settled in and he groaned.

“I never wish to be so far from you again.” He nuzzled his face into her hair and she sighed, arms racing with goose bumps and a rush of desire so heady it made her dizzy.

“Me either, Jinni.” She ran her fingers through his silky soft hair, staring deep into his nearly black eyes. “But is that scary?”

He shook his head, his hands playing idle circles on her waist. “We had a year to get over this need. At this point, I don’t think we ever will.”

Jinni reached into his pocket.

“Jinni?”

“Hmm?” He glanced at her.

“Did you mean that about me being your fiancée?”

His hand stilled and he nodded. “If you’ll have me.”

She’d read so many books in her life, watched countless movies, always gushing when the man asked the lady to be his. But right now, there were no tears. Only so much joy she thought she might explode from it.

“Paz, in my world, I’m still immortal. This body will never die, never age.”

The ramifications of that statement settled like a lump of coal in her gut.

He pulled his hand out of his pocket, withdrawing two silver necklaces. One with a heart shaped pendant and the other a square. Both bore an amethyst stone at its center, but it gleamed like molten steel and she ooh’d as he dropped them into her hand.

“What is this?”

“The stones of veritas. Truth stones. True love stones.” His hands pushed her hair out of her eyes, forcing her gaze to his. “Those stones contain a piece of our soul, only true soul mates can do so. Your love for me and my love for you rests within those stones.”

She traced the heart with her thumb, shivering at the tingle that raced through her veins from the contact. “Is this mine?”

“Paz Lopez,” his eyes were bright and he was smiling and it took her breath away, “will you walk with me all the days of my life?”

“But I thought you said--”

“That necklace will bind you to me, Paz. You can stay with me forever.”

Tears trembled on her lashes. “Are you sure you’re not just doing this because you want free rent?” She laughed through her tears.

He chuckled. “You drive me mad.”

“Hmm… not a good way to start our lives together.”

He growled and pinned her with a kiss, deep and thoroughly satisfying. She sighed when he pulled away. “Umm… okay. Yup, that will do.”

Rolling his eyes with the biggest, goofiest grin she’d ever seen him wear, he took the necklace from her and unhooked it. Clasping it around her neck, the stone settled against her breast with a quick flash of warm heat. It pulsed through her blood and then blazed a deep jeweled indigo before returning back to just a pretty stone.

Her mouth rounded into an ‘o’ and she gripped the heart in her hand. “Am I?”

He nodded. “Forever, little dove.”

“And ever, and ever, and ever,” she whispered. The moment was so full and ripe with meaning, that she needed to break the tension. “Jinni, I have to know. I always wondered about this.”

Narrowing his eyes, he asked, “What?”

“You were a genie once. If you could have had one wish, what would it have been?”

“That’s easy,” he twirled a length of her hair around his finger, “you.”

“Mush,” she sighed, “I’m mush.”

Jinni glanced at her bedroom alarm clock. “We do have two hours before your brother returns.”

“Hmm…” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Whatever should we do?”

He glanced at the bed. “I can think of a few things.”

She laughed and then he was kissing her and she was kissing him back and neither one came up for air until the annoying buzz of her penthouse door said her brother and Todd had arrived.

Paz watched him dress and pouted. “I hate to see you cover that magnificent body.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t do it often.”

Happy, body sated, Paz grabbed her clothes off the floor and smiled. She’d found her Todd.

“Dove,” Jinni said, the annoying buzz of her doorbell so easy to ignore when her body felt so good, “would you like to go dancing on the stars tonight?”

Grin splitting her face wide, she nodded. “You still have magic?”

His smile was mysterious and sultry and Paz knew that no matter what, she could never have done better.

Jinni was her everything. Her confidant. Her lover. And if she’d been a genie, she’d have wished for him too.

“I love you,” she whispered and he grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Forever,” he whispered, tucking a curl behind her ear.

“Forever,” she kissed his knuckle.

And their forever was filled with light, love, and dancing on the stars…

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I Bring the Fire (A Loki Story)

C. Gockel

Part One: Wolves

In the middle of America, Amy Lewis is on her way to her grandma's house. She's being pursued by a very bad wolf. Galaxies away Loki is waking up in a prison cell, strangely without a hangover, and with no idea what he's done wrong -- this time anyway. But he does know Thor is hiding something, Odin is up to something wicked, and there seems to be something he's forgotten...

In this urban fantasy tale that is equal parts "Another Fine Myth," "American Gods," and "Once Upon a Time," a very nice midwestern girl and a jaded, mischievous Loki must join forces to outwit gods, elves, magic sniffing cats, and nosy neighbors. If Loki can remember exactly what he's forgotten and Amy can convince him not to be too distracted by Earthly gadgets, her boobs, or three day benders, they just might pull it off...

This first installment of "I Bring the Fire" is for anyone who suspects chaos and mischief makers might have their own redeeming qualities, and anyone who just wants a good fantasy romp through modern Earth, ancient Asgard, and beyond!

Acknowledgments

First and foremost, I want to thank my editor, Kay McSpadden. Kay read and reread this story more times than I can count. I also would like to thank Gretchen Almoughraby. Her suggestions helped me clarify situations and make the action more believable. Also indispensable was Laura Stogdill. She consulted on legal aspects of this story. My brother, Thomas, was great as a myth reference, my dad James Merril Evans lent a hand in editing for content, and my mother and Christina Talbott-Clark helped with editing for grammar (I should note, if you see mistakes they are mine and mine alone). All of my readers weren’t afraid to tell me when I screwed up; for that I am eternally grateful. For all their hard work, my editors may pop up in the story from time to time. I wish I could reward them more.

I also want to thank all of my fan fiction readers. Your encouragement helped give me the confidence to write this story. I love you guys!

Finally, thanks must go to my husband Eric. If he hadn’t nagged at me to quit my job and work for him I still might be caught in a nine-to-five grind and the commute time would have eaten up my writing time. And if he hadn’t nagged me to stop writing fan fiction and start writing something I can own, this story never would have happened.

Chapter 1

The gas station bathroom off route 44 is completely lined with white tiles. Overhead a fluorescent light buzzes and flickers. The bathroom smells like urine and Pinesol. A toilet with a cracked seat sits on one side of the little room. On the other is an ancient sink, hanging off the wall.

The toilet is unoccupied. The sink is not. In it is a writhing wet creature about the size of a dachshund but heavier set and tailless, with short, dark gray fur interspersed with tufts of light gray. Holding the creature under a cloud of foul smelling, antiseptic soap bubbles from the bathroom dispenser is Amy Lewis.

A splash of suds comes right at Amy’s eyes. Blinking, she looks up at the mirror above the sink. Her long dishwater blonde hair is wet and plastered to her head where it isn’t pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her wide blue eyes have dark circles from lack of sleep — she got up early to start the trip from Oklahoma to Chicago. She’s not wearing any makeup. She should not care; no one will see her out here. But she wishes she was wearing some under-eye concealer. Her nose has a large soap sud on it. Her wide lips are slightly chapped. She looks like she’s been in her car for a week, not a few hours, and she looks far older than her twenty-four years.

Looking down with a sigh, Amy says, “Why, Fenrir? Why?”

Fenrir, the creature, makes a non-committal yip. Some of Amy’s fellow vet school classmates insist that Fenrir is most likely a capybara, a large, tailless guinea pig-like rodent native to South America. But Fenrir’s nose is far too narrow and rat-like for her to be a capybara. Other classmates have suggested that Fenrir is, in fact, a giant rat. However, her front teeth are not rodent teeth. Fenrir is a dog...and Amy and one of her professors did a DNA test just to prove it.

A few minutes ago Amy was walking Fenrir outside the gas station. Letting herself take a break from the long drive, Amy had idly watched the sparse traffic whiz by. When she felt the jerking of Fenrir’s leash, it was too late. Fenrir was already joyfully rolling in something that would have been easier to identify before it had wandered onto the freeway, before whatever-it-was had cooked for a few days under a sweltering Great Plains sun.

“It’s okay.” Amy sighs. “I know why you did this.” Animal psychology is somewhere between a hobby and an obsession for most vet wannabes. Lifting up the still soapy, still wiggling dog, she says, “You want to be a great big bad wolf. So you rolled on a dead thing to smell like your prey.” It’s a common behavior among dogs. And possibly rats.

Fenrir yips enthusiastically and licks Amy’s nose.

“Ugh.” Wincing away from the smell of roadkill, Amy sets the dog on the floor. As Fenrir tears around the little room, Amy pulls off her fleece sweater. She’s just trying to wrap it around the little animal when a knock comes at the door.

“Just a minute,” she calls, scooping up the animal. The knock turns to a pound.

Hurriedly opening the door, she comes face to face with a middle-aged man with a puffy face and blond, almost white hair. Fenrir immediately starts growling and tries to lunge out of her arms.

Despite Amy’s ferocious guardian, the man’s eyes go directly to her chest. It’s something Amy is used to. She is generously endowed, which is why she tends to wear large shapeless shirts. They make her look fat, but it is better than the stares. Now she is only wearing a slightly damp tee shirt. Pulling Fenrir’s wet body protectively in front of her, Amy says, “I am so sorry she’s growling. Really, she hardly ever does this.”

Hunching slightly over her growling protector, Amy goes to the side and makes to slip by. The man does not move.

Amy can tell from Fenrir’s growl and frantic wiggling that the dog is close to foaming at the mouth. “Shhhh...” Amy says. “I am so sorry,” she says to the man. “She’s normally not like this.”

Well, normally Amy’s dog isn’t actively trying to lunge at people, but Fenrir isn’t precisely friendly, especially not towards males.

Outside a horn honks. The man looks over his shoulder and then steps out of the way.

As Amy walks by him, he calls out, “Are you traveling by yourself?”

The hairs on the back of Amy’s neck stand on end. She turns to look at the man. He is smiling. It’s a perfectly innocuous smile. She lies anyway. “No.”

His smile widens as he closes the bathroom door. Fenrir makes a gurgling noise like she’s choking on her own fury and nearly jumps out of Amy’s arms.

Squeezing her tight, Amy says, “Really trying to live up to your namesake today?”

Amy’s grandfather was a folklore buff. In Norse mythology, Fenrir was the wolf child of the Norse God of Mischief, Loki. The real Fenrir was so vicious that the gods bound him to a tree on a remote uninhabited island — but someday Fenrir is supposed to be the downfall of Odin, the head of the Norse gods himself.

Eyeing the door, Fenrir just growls.

A few minutes later Amy’s in her Toyota Camry, releasing the clutch, tearing out of the gas station and on her way.

It’s 768 miles from Stillwater to Chicago, mostly open road and farm land. It’s about a twelve hour drive most times — and totally worth it.

The Oklahoma State University, Stillwater, is one of the best veterinary schools in the country and she’s got a full ride. But she’s spent every spring and summer since high school graduation with her grandparents in Chicago. There are lots of jobs in Chicago, and Amy’s full-ride doesn’t pay for things like rent, food, books, and the always mysterious ‘miscellaneous fees’ universities charge. Amy goes to Chicago to work during breaks. With occasional work as a tech for a veterinarian in Stillwater, she manages just to coast by.

Slipping a CD into the player, Amy cranks down the window. It’s not so bad to have her fleece pullover off. Heat is beginning to rise off the freeway in waves. With the window down she’s comfortable and the smell of wet Fenrir isn’t as overpowering.

She glances over at her companion belted into a safety harness in the front seat. Fenrir’s fur is starting to dry and she looks more like a rodent-like dog than dog-like rodent. As near as Amy and her vet-wannabe friends can determine, Fenrir is a mix of toy poodle and chihuahua, somehow minus a tail. Fenrir’s fur couldn’t decide to be chihuahua or poodle, so it’s both, some places long and some places short. As it dries this oddity becomes more prominent. Her ex-boyfriend summed up Fenrir as, “Carlos meets princess, a love story gone terribly wrong.”

You can’t even say Fenrir is so ugly she’s cute. She’s just ugly. And with her less than charming personality, no one would have adopted Fenrir if Amy hadn’t, which is why Amy had to.

Shifting into fifth gear, Amy says, “Well, despite the jackknifed semi in Tulsa that held us up 3 hours, and your little diversion, looks like we’ll be home by midnight. Still on schedule.”

Fenrir turns her panting muzzle in Amy’s direction as though she’s laughing at her.

After two more traffic jams, road construction, and some pit stops for Fenrir that might have been roadkill-induced, it’s close to midnight and they’re not even in Illinois. As Amy drives through Mark Twain National Forest, she is not the only one the road, but company is few and far between. Trees rise up on either side of her. The air coming in the open windows is humid and hot.

Beside her Fenrir whines.

Biting her lip, Amy says, “I told you...and I told Grandma, we’ll stop for the night outside of St. Louis.” She should have stopped earlier — but she didn’t want to deviate from her plan. Get home. Get a job. Work.

Granted, that careful planning could be undone by death. Despite the coffee she’s been drinking all day, she’s tired. She’s getting to that stage of sleepiness when reminding her brain that if she falls asleep, she’ll die, is no longer working. Her brain is rebelling, reminding her if she dies she’ll be asleep. Blessed, wonderful sleep.

Amy grabs a CD from the armrest and holds it up near the steering wheel — Nine Inch Nails, Pretty Hate Machine. Totally retro, but with enough angst and anger to do the job.

Glancing down quickly, she hits the eject button and pulls out her current disc. As she lifts her head, an orange light in the trees catches her eye. Almost certain it’s a forest fire, she briefly turns her head. It is a jet of flame, reaching high up into the sky...

And then it is gone.

She turns back to the road and sees two small lights ahead on the road. It takes a few moments for her brain to register it’s a deer’s eyes.

Braking and swerving quickly, Amy lets out a quick breath as her tires skid across the gravel on the shoulder. An old memory kicks in and she turns into the skid, but not fast enough. Her car slides into a shallow ditch on the side of the road. The next thing she knows the world is turning over, her neck jerking back and forth, her seatbelt cutting into her chest and hips. There is the sound of crumpling metal from the roof, and a loud crack from the windshield as it caves inward. The glass doesn’t shatter completely, but it cracks into hard splinters that knock into Amy’s hands. With a cry she pulls her hands away from the wheel. And then it’s just the sound of her breathing as she and Fenrir hang upside down by their seat belts.

Amy swallows. It’s hard to think, her heart is beating so fast and so loud. Don’t cars sometimes catch fire in the movies when they tip over? That’s probably overdramatized. Or not.

Get out, she has to get herself and Fenrir out of the car. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she manages to hold onto the strap and not bang her head against the ceiling. Turning, she tries to release Fenrir. It isn’t easy. Just turning her neck is painful, and the little animal is whining and twisting furiously. When she finally frees Fenrir, she realizes she probably should have found the leash first. She’s got a wiggling little dog under one arm, and it doesn’t make crawling out of the window particularly easy.

Her headlights are still on, so she has just enough light to assess her situation. She’s actually only a few yards from the road, even though it felt like she rolled for miles. There doesn’t seem to be any smoke coming from the car. Nodding to herself, she tells herself all of this is good. Someone will see her from the road and call for help.

Just as she has that thought, she sees headlights approaching. Pulling Fenrir to her chest to better control the dog and her own body’s shaking, Amy walks towards the highway. A burgundy minivan approaches, slows, and then stops. Its lights go off. Amy’s stomach drops.

Maybe it would have been better not to be seen. She nervously scratches between Fenrir’s ears. She’s being foolish. The risk of being killed by a serial killer is less than the risk of being hit by lightning, and that risk is less than 1 in 750,000. Most people are good.

Still, she freezes in her tracks.

A door slams on the opposite side of the van.

“Having some trouble?” says a voice that sounds familiar. Why should it sound familiar?

Fenrir starts to growl and jumps from her arms just as the man from the gas station rounds the front of the van.

The next thing she hears is a dull thud and a loud yelp of pain. “Nice try,” says the man.

Amy has pepper spray on her keychain. Patting her pockets, she feels nothing. Her eyes widen. It has to be in the ignition. Spinning quickly, Amy bolts towards her car.

She hears footsteps behind her, and a low chuckle.

Dropping and diving through the open window, she tries to roll over to grab her keys. Before she can, she feels pressure on her ankles and the next thing she knows, she’s being dragged out of her car on her stomach.

As she tries to claw her way forward, weight settles on her back and pins her to the ground. Something cold and round settles against her temple and she stills.

“Now,” says the man. “You make a single peep, you struggle at all, and I’ll blow your brains out.”

Amy closes her eyes. She doesn’t make a sound, but her brain is screaming. Someone, anyone, help me.

Loki awakes with his cheek pressed to a cold stone slab, not sure where he is. This is not precisely unprecedented. What is strange is that he doesn’t reek of alcohol and his mouth does not taste like vomit.

Blinking his eyes, he tries to focus. There is light, wan and diffuse as though from a northern window. There is a dull pain in his left temple, and the back of his neck is in agony. That is not so worrisome.

What is worrisome is what he doesn’t see, feel, hear or taste. There is no magic in the room, no soft glow of light and shifting color, no slight tingle on his tongue and fingertips or murmur in his ear. He might as well be a dumb beast. No, it’s worse than that. Beasts have some sense of magic in their whiskers, feathers, and flicks of their tongues. He might as well be a mortal human, blind to magic, and with no magic tricks save one.

His magical abilities cannot be taken from him. But magic can be removed from a place, folded back upon itself, held back for short periods of time in places of great power. Loki knows of only one such place in all of the nine realms. Which means...

Sitting up as quickly as he can with the pain in his neck, he looks around. The room he is in is lined with dull, flat, gray stones that stretch up to a high ceiling. The light is coming from a single skylight. He knows without looking there is a door made of iron bars to his left. There will be at least one sentry on guard beyond.

He’s in his home, Asgard, realm of the Aesir, in the Tower. Again. But he can’t remember doing anything wrong.

Loki hears the footsteps behind him again. He recognizes them. Loki smiles bitterly. “Thor, what is the charge?”

The footsteps circle around, and there is Thor, towering above him.

“You will be told in due time,” Thor rumbles. Mjölnir, Thor’s hammer, hangs at his side. But behind the shield of magic, it is just an ordinary piece of iron.

As are Loki’s knives if...

Patting his body, Loki looks down. He is only in a shirt and breeches. His armor, boots and belt, and all his knives are gone.

“I don’t know all the hiding places of your toys,” Thor rumbles. “So I took away all the places they might hide.”

Rubbing his neck, Loki winces and remembers Thor’s fist connecting with his temple, and a blow to the back of his neck. “Surely I can know the charge?”

Bowing his head, Thor does not meet Loki’s gaze.

Loki scowls up at him.

Thor and Loki look so alike they could be brothers. They are both red haired, though Thor’s hair tends towards brown, and Loki’s towards a brighter strawberry blond. Both are blue eyed, but Thor’s eyes are as dark as a storm cloud, and Loki’s are a pale gray. Thor has more generous features. He’s slightly taller with wider shoulders, an expressive open face, prominent nose, full mouth and raging eyebrows. Loki is a bit more delicate, his chin a little narrower, and his frame leaner. Loki keeps his face clean shaven and his hair shorter — though it tends to be uneven. Thor sports a red beard, and his hair is long, though neatly groomed.

The biggest difference between them is their skin. Thor’s father, Odin, leader of the Aesir, is half Jotunn, the race of the Frost Giants. Thor’s mother, Jord, is full Jotunn. Despite his dominant Jotunn blood, Thor’s skin is a lovely shade of gold.

Loki’s skin by contrast is so pale it is nearly translucent. He does not tan. Without ointments and spells he burns. By most accounts Loki is full Jotunn. Rumors in court say his mother was Laufey and his father Fárbauti, and he was abandoned to die as a baby after they were murdered by their own kind. There are some who whisper that while Laufey was his mother, Odin is his father, and that is why he was brought to the court when Odin found him. Whatever his origins, Loki has the ability to cast illusions like a fisherman casts line — when he has access to magical energy.

While Loki was raised by the servants of Odin and Frigga, Thor was sent away to be raised by the winged Vingnir and Hlora, and only came to court when he reached the end of his twenties. Thor and Loki were almost friends once.

That was a long time ago.

“I was told only to see you here. Not to discuss the reason for your confinement,” Thor says with vehemence that sounds forced.

“You’ve been following the rules since your brother Baldur died,” Loki says, gingerly getting to his feet. Smirking, Loki says, “Don’t you think if there was any real hope of Odin granting you the crown he would have announced it by now?” Poor Thor.

“Watch your mouth, Silvertongue,” says Thor.

Silvertongue is one of Loki’s favorite nicknames. It’s better than Trickster, Fool, or simply Liar. Thor isn’t terribly mad at him. Still, Loki can feel a chill of worry creeping into his bones. Last time he was in the Tower, things did not go well. Smiling despite his fear, Loki says, “I can’t watch my mouth, it’s attached to my face. As are my eyes, which...”

It’s a gentle jibe, but Thor’s hands go to the front of Loki’s shirt and he’s shoved against the wall so hard his teeth rattle. Too winded to speak, Loki just stares at Thor’s face, inches from his own. Thor’s lips are turned down and his eyes are narrowed in anger...or in despair.

Feeling dread uncoil in his stomach, Loki whispers, “Oh, Thor. Has your daddy made you do something terrible?”

Loki knows something of the terrible things Odin would compel someone to do.

Releasing him, Thor drops Loki to the floor and backs away. For a moment Loki feels sorry for him.

From the door comes a sentry’s call. “Visitor to see the prisoner.”

Loki blinks. There are few people who would wish to see him.

Thor says quietly, “I was told there were to be no visitors...” but makes no protest as a slender form emerges with the sentry on the other side of the door.

“Sigyn,” Loki and Thor say almost at once.

The sentry’s key clicks in the lock and Sigyn, Loki’s ex-wife, enters.

Asgard is experiencing a 13th century European revival. Sigyn’s golden hair is held back by a circlet of braided gold at her crown. She wears a draping seafoam green dress. A cloak of moss green hangs back from her shoulders. But what catches Loki’s eye is a large golden pendant on a chain around her neck. He wonders what man has given it to her, and his heart sinks a bit.

Sigyn says nothing until the lock clicks behind her. “Has Thor told you the charges?” Sigyn says.

“No,” says Loki, turning to the other man. Thor actually looks a little afraid. Pain and death are not things Thor fears. Loss of honor, on the other hand...

Odin has convinced him to do something very bad indeed.

“They’re not against you, Loki,” Sigyn says, and Loki turns sharply to her.

Lips trembling she says, “Valli and Nari have been accused of treason by Heimdall and are to be thrown into the Void.”

Valli and Nari are their sons.

Loki bites the inside of his cheek. He must stay in control; he must fight with his mind...that is how Loki always wins, the only way he wins.

But his hands are already going to Thor’s cloak. As he pulls Thor so their faces are just inches apart, the words he means to say in a low whisper come out a scream. “You swore an oath to protect my sons as though they were your own!”

In the hallway he hears a sentry running and shouting for help.

Thor’s hands go to Loki’s shirt, as though he might push him away, but he doesn’t. Instead he stammers, “Loki, I...” Thor stops, looks sideways, his hands fumbling at his belt.

Loki screams again. “Look at me when you lie to me, oath breaker!”

Thor’s eyes go to him. There is so much shame there — it verifies every horrible suspicion Loki has. His sons will perish, Loki will die unable to help them, and the mighty, valiant, honest Thor is to blame.

He isn’t thinking clearly when he tries to twist and throw Thor. Thor’s magic is partially responsible for his strength, but even without it he is bigger and stronger than Loki, more practiced at these things, and he isn’t completely blind with rage. All Loki can see is red, and the only thing he can feel is his blood pounding beneath his skin too hot and too fast. Too quickly Loki is pinned on the floor, snarling at Thor and reaching for magic that isn’t there.

And then Thor’s body goes limp and slumps forward. Wrestling the large frame off him, Loki looks up to see Sigyn, Thor’s hammer hanging heavy in her hands.

Loki’s eyes go wide and his lips curl. A mortal might have died from even a non-magical blow from Mjölnir, but Loki knows Thor isn’t dead. Scrambling up from the floor, he moves to take the hammer from Sigyn and finish the job.

Drawing back, she scowls. “No.”

Loki wants to scream, wants to argue. His blood is pounding in his ears, his skin feels too hot and too tight and their sons are going to die. Killing another one of Odin’s sons seems fitting retribution.

“He let us win,” Sigyn says. “Let him live.”

Clenching his teeth, Loki stifles his protest.

Sigyn presses firmly at the sides of the pendant around her neck, and the casing in front springs open. Inside is a human-style wind-up stopwatch. “Is it working?” she says. “Hoenir gave it to me; Mimir said he’s been devising it since the last time you were here.”

Loki is about to speak, something angry and unkind, but his eyes widen instead. The stopwatch is beginning to pulse with magic.

“Yes,” Loki says, coming forward.

Staring down at it, Sigyn says, “He said that it...”

“Pulls magic from out of time,” Loki says in wonderment. “I see it...how?”

“We don’t have time,” Sigyn says. “Your armor is at the guard station. I have a hairpin; maybe you can pick the lock?”

Loki can pick just about any lock with a hairpin, but there are faster ways. Clutching the stopwatch, he pulls the magic around him. Closing his eyes he lifts his other hand towards the door. The lock clicks and the door swings open with a creak.

Without hesitation Sigyn runs out, lugging Thor’s hammer. Loki follows her into a hallway lined with empty cells. At the end of the hall is the empty guard room, a large ovoid booth set partially into a wall with glass windows on all sides.

Going forward, Sigyn says, “They found out about Valli and Nari’s dream of a constitutional monarchy.”

Loki’s heart falls. Odin is an absolute monarch not interested in sharing his power...and most Asgardians are happy with things that way.

“You knew about that?” Loki says. He’d expressly told his sons to leave their mother out of that folly.

Glaring at him, she says, “I approve of that,” and Loki looks quickly away.

As they step through the guard room door, Sigyn says, “Mimir talked the guards downstairs into letting me visit. And then he and Hoenir went back to their hut.”

Loki swallows. Hoenir and Mimir have always been kind to Loki and his family, but this...

“Hoenir and Mimir will be confined to the hut until Ragnarok,” he says, using the Viking word for the end times.

Glancing at him, Sigyn gives him a tight smile. This escape will spell death warrants for them all; he is not sure even Hoenir’s hut can protect them. From down the corridor Loki hears the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

Up ahead is a small guard room with a large window looking out at the cell block. Loki’s armor and his sword, Lævatein, hang against the far wall. Entering the room, Loki and Sigyn move towards the armor as one. Without speaking, Sigyn sets down the hammer and helps Loki slip on the breastplate as he fastens his simple unadorned helmet. The helmet’s most notable feature is a visor of dwarven crystal. With magic it is shatterproof, but without magic he can’t trust it to protect his eyes. He flips it up.

Loki’s hands never collide with Sigyn’s as they finish the fastenings. They’ve done this many times before. As the last buckle is finished and Lævatein is on his hip, their eyes meet.

Since Sigyn opened the stopwatch, magic has been creeping into the tower. But his armor is still not fully enchanted, nor will his knives be. It’s doubtful they’ll make it out alive.

Loki can’t speak, and Sigyn looks quickly away.

Down the hall, a guard shouts, “Come out of there! Hands above your heads.”

Darting to the far corner, Sigyn says, “Hoenir said these magic eggs were yours, and they might help us...although the guards didn’t detect any magic in them...”

“Eggs?” says Loki. He has no magic eggs. Going to the door, he peers quickly out and catches sight of four guards. A crossbow arrow whistles and he pulls back in.

Crouching on the floor, Sigyn holds up a drab olive green knapsack with the words U.S. Army stenciled on top. “They wouldn’t let me take them to your cell — insisted on keeping them here,” she says.

Mementos from his last trip to Midgard — Earth. Loki smirks. “Throw it here.”

Sigyn tosses the bag. Catching it, Loki deftly pulls out one of six ‘eggs’. They are thankfully not magical, and therefore fully operational in the dampened magic of the tower. Pulling on the pin at the top with his teeth, he tosses the Mk 2 World War II era grenade down the hall.

For a moment nothing happens.

The guards chuckle. One shouts. “Your magic tricks won’t work here, you fool!”

Sigyn looks at him, eyes wide. Almost too late, Loki hurls himself towards her and covers her body with his. An earsplitting boom ricochets through the tower, and the glass in the guardroom window implodes and showers down on Loki’s armor.

Getting quickly to his feet, Loki helps Sigyn up. Together they step out of the guardroom and towards the stairs, avoiding the bodies of the guards, Sigyn clutching Thor’s hammer in both hands. Neither speaks.

At the top of the circular staircase, Loki takes out another grenade, swings the knapsack over his shoulder, and gestures for Sigyn to stand back.

The staircase has an echo. He hears more guards but can’t tell how far away they are. The sound of his and Sigyn’s breathing seems unnaturally loud.

“Loki, they were already taking Valli and Nari to the Center. There isn’t much time,” Sigyn whispers.

“Shhhhhh...” Loki says, trying to determine just how far away the footsteps are.

Close enough. Pulling the pin he throws the grenade at the far wall. He watches it bounce down the stairwell and out of sight. He hears footsteps, and breathing, and the grenade....plink, plink, plink down the stairs. Loki pushes Sigyn back behind him so his armor will catch any shrapnel.

“An egg?” someone says. Someone else out of Loki’s line of vision shouts.

There is another explosion accompanied by the sound of falling rock, groans, and screams. And then Loki hears a telltale whistling in the air. Before he can move, or even think, Sigyn’s body slumps against his, and Thor’s heavy hammer falls to the ground.

Lifting his head, Loki sees a guard at the top of the stairs. His face is bloodied, and he has an upraised crossbow.

A knife is in Loki’s hand and whipping through the air before he even thinks about it. There is just enough magic now that when the knife hits the guard, it explodes, and the guard crumples to the floor.

Throwing Sigyn over his shoulder, Loki looks at the hammer on the stone step. It is a powerful toy — but as soon as Thor wakes up it will rebound to his hands. Cursing silently, he turns and goes as quickly as he can down the stairs.

“Put me down,” Sigyn mutters into his back. “You have to save them, Loki. My boys...my beautiful boys.”

He’s too busy pulling out another grenade to even tell her to shut up. He hears guards mustering in the open chamber at the base of the tower. Pulling the pin just before the bottom of the stairs, he waits for the explosion and then rushes forward. Magic is thick enough in the air now for him to pull it to them and wrap them in a blanket of invisibility.

Outside the tower he sees men gathering near Sigyn’s steeds. Less well protected is Thor’s chariot. Thor favors attaching it to goats so he always has something tasty to eat, but the chariot is perfectly capable of flying on its own, and there are no goats today.

Loki slides Sigyn from his back and lays her on her side in the chariot. She is invisible to those around him, but in Loki’s eyes she shimmers and glows, as does the arrow protruding from her back. He breaks it as close to her body as he can.

“Leave me,” she whispers as he sits her up.

Glaring at her, Loki climbs into the chariot and seats himself next to her, facing the back. “To the Center,” he shouts.

The chariot rises in the air with the crackle of magic. Shouts rise up, and Loki hears the thunk of magical arrows in the floor beneath them. Flames dance near his feet as the arrows catch fire, but Thor’s chariot was designed to withstand lightning — a little fire from magical arrows won’t hurt it.

Moments later, Loki and Sigyn are whisking forward, over and through the illusions of flying buttresses and steeples that are part of this decade’s 13th century revival. There are faster ways for Loki to travel, secret ways that he alone knows. But they would leave him too drained to fight — and he can’t use them to transport others.

He’ll need all his power to fight soon. He lets the invisibility spell drop.

Narrowing her eyes in his direction, Sigyn says, “Must you always make things difficult? I’m as good as dead. You should have left me!”

Her lips are horribly pale, and the color has left her cheeks. She is full Asgardian, but looks nearly Jotunn. Leave it to Sigyn to waste her last breaths berating him. Smiling with brightness he doesn’t feel, Loki says, “My dear, have you forgotten that among some humans I am regarded as the patron god of lost causes?” Not that he believes he or any of the Aesir are gods.

Sigyn’s head lolls to the side, and she makes a sound like, “Pfffttt.” She heaves a ragged breath and Loki does his best not to look concerned. “What are you planning?” she whispers, her eyelids slipping closed. “To swoop down, pick them up, and carry us all away in this bucket?”

That actually was close to Loki’s plan, but he says nothing, just glares at her one more time before standing to look out of the chariot. They are close to their destination. Nearly below them is a wide plain. In it are eight circles of white stone, each about 50 yards in diameter, with wide gates and toll booths around and between them. The white circles are where the “branches” of the World Tree connect with Asgard. Not “branches” at all, they are places where the fabric of space and time tears easily, and the largest, most efficient, gateways to the eight other realms.

The white circles themselves form a larger circle around a small raised dais, its surface unnaturally dark. It is the entrance to the Void, where the Asgardians dump their trash, their spent potions, hopelessly broken magic tools, and the condemned.

Normally most of the circular gateways would be buzzing with merchants and delegates to visit and barter with the Aesir and each other. However, all the white circles and the toll booths at their peripheries are empty; instead, a crowd is gathered in the great dark circle at the center, their attention focused on the black dais.

From aloft, Loki can see Valli and Nari at the base of the dais, their blond heads bent, their hands bound at their backs. Behind them stands Odin, the staff Gungnir in his hands. A great armed host stands in a circle around Odin, Loki’s sons, and the dais. A crowd of civilians from the friendly worlds mill about in a dense crowd just beyond the warriors.

“Have you forgotten the Valkyries?” Sigyn asks.

There is a stirring below among the armed host. In the distance Loki sees Heimdall, the guardian of the gates, pointing in their direction. Around Heimdall, the Valkyries, winged warrior women, rise. Bolts of fire hurtle toward the chariot from the staffs in their hands. Loki slumps down next to Sigyn.

“Actually,” he says, “I did forget about them.”

Sigyn takes a deep, ragged breath. Clutching the edge of the chariot, Loki tries to clear his head as they rock under the Valkyrie onslaught.

“Chariot, down!” he says. He nearly loses his seat as the chariot falls. “Gently,” he cries and the descent slows. “Move to hover just above the crowd!”

As Loki suspected, the barrage of fire stops as they get close to the civilians.

“What are you doing?” Sigyn whispers.

“I can’t help you,” Loki says, pulling a grenade from the olive green bag. “I’m no good at healing...and this bucket will never get close enough to Valli and Nari.”

He looks down. They’re close enough to the ground. Smiling at Sigyn, he says, “Chariot, to Hoenir’s hut!”

“What!” says Sigyn, the anger in her voice nearly blood curdling.

Loki jumps out just before the chariot takes off, and Sigyn’s scream fades away. The crowd parts only enough for him to land. Straightening quickly, he holds the grenade above his head and smiles across the crowds in Odin and Heimdall’s direction.

“What do you have there, fool?” someone says.

“A rotten egg,” he responds with a grin.

The crowd closes in around him. From where they stand, now on top of the dais, Loki hears Valli or Nari shout, “Father!” The crowd starts to roar, but then Odin’s voice rings out, “Let him pass!”

Odin knows Loki is no fool.

The crowd parts and murmurs. Loki walks forward, still smiling, still clutching the pin of the grenade. He is within a few paces of the dais when Odin thumps the black stone beneath his feet with Gungnir and shouts, “Stop.” The rich velvet blackness that is Odin’s magic whips out across the plain.

Loki’s legs suddenly feel like lead. He feels like the gravity in Asgard has increased by ten, as though he’s consumed vast quantities of magical energy, enough to set a world on fire. He blinks, takes a breath, and moves onward. It takes him a moment but then he realizes that the crowd is dead silent, and except for Odin and him, no one seems to be moving.

“Nice trick,” he says. An incredibly powerful trick. Odin must be using nearly all of Gungnir’s power for this. Not for the first time Loki wishes he’d never given Odin the damn thing. Loki’s eyes flit nervously to the side. Just beyond the plain he can see Odin’s raven messengers, Huginn and Munnin, soaring through the air, and he almost sighs with relief. Not everything has stopped.

He looks up to Odin. Unlike the other Aesir who all chose to appear closer to the age of 25, Odin appears to be near the human age of 50. He wears a patch over a missing eye; he purportedly exchanged that eye for wisdom. As Loki draws closer, he sees Odin’s one eye widen, as though in alarm.

Loki blinks, and Odin’s gaze is its normal steely calm. “You have something you wish to discuss?” Odin says.

Walking up and around until he stands just a pace from Odin, his back to Valli and Nari, Loki says, “Let my sons go.”

“I don’t think you understand how dangerous Valli and Nari have become,” Odin says, his one eye unblinking.

Scowling, Loki says, “You’re wrong.” They aren’t strong in magic, not like Helen.

“No,” says Odin. “I am not.” Sighing, Odin says, “You know I will do anything to preserve the safety of the nine realms.”

Loki waves a hand. “Yes, yes, I know. Even allowing the death of your own beautiful son.” Tilting his head he sneers. “I’m not that selfless.”

“Loki,” Odin says. “There are things happening now, new passages opening between the realms that should remain closed, branches from other realms approaching ours. Asgard cannot afford to be divided by this idea they have...this democracy...”

Rolling his eyes, Loki says, “It’s more of a proto-democracy, hardly a threat.”

“Heimdall and the Diar demand this,” Odin says, thumping his spear again. “For the stability of the realms, for order, I must do what must be done.”

Loki’s eyes flick to the immobilized figure of Heimdall, the “all seeing god” of order. He and Loki do not get along well.

Loki looks back at Odin. How long has he carried the weight of Odin’s desire to preserve the nine realms? How long has he carried Odin’s secrets? How often has he, as the Christians say, turned the other cheek...after Helen?

For Helen alone Odin owes him. “Let them go,” Loki whispers. “Or you make me your enemy.”

Odin blinks, and for a moment Loki imagines he sees hesitation. The other man’s face softens, perhaps in compassion or understanding. Odin certainly can’t be afraid of Loki. For a moment everything is worth it: obeying Odin, playing the fool, letting himself be cast as the coward, the shirker. But then Odin bangs his spear down three times and Loki feels the air pressure behind him drop.

“Hurry and you might catch them,” Odin says, his face flat.

With a cry of rage, Loki pulls the pin from the grenade, hurls it into the air, and rushes up the stairs of the dais. The sky is already opening up to the Void, a long tear in space time, like the funnel of a tornado twisting downwards.

Loki sees Valli spin so his back is to Nari’s side, and then they are gone, sucked up into the blackness. With a cry Loki follows, dimly aware of the ring of the grenade behind him.

In the glow of starlight, and nearly spent and broken magical objects, Loki sees his sons hovering before him, their mouths and eyes open wide, Vali’s hands desperately clasped around Nari’s scabbard. They’ve never been in this place before, but Loki has. Fifteen seconds. They can survive 15 seconds in the vacuum of space. Loki tries to use the threads of magic to move towards them, for what purpose he doesn’t even know. So they can all die together?

It is the only plan he has, but as he tries to implement it, something sucks him backwards.

Loki looks down in panic. A renegade branch of the World Tree, another tear in space and time has caught him...but there shouldn’t be one here. He looks back up for an instant and sees his sons vanish. Were they pulled backwards by another renegade branch? Suddenly there is a flash of color, and then he is blinded by sunlight, gasping in hot, humid air and falling backwards to the ground.

He failed. His world is gone. Blackness overtakes him.

Loki hears a voice, like a child’s, say, “Zd`rastvuyte,” and then, “`Kak `Vas za`vut?”

He opens his eyes. Loki has the gift for tongues, but it takes him a moment to recognize the language. A very powerful magical something is saying, “Hello. What’s your name?” far too cheerfully in Russian. He looks around — he’s in a forest on Earth. Instead of Russia, the stars overhead suggest the continent of North America. There is magic in a thick red glow around him like a mist. Whatever it is, the magic is very powerful. But there are no magical creatures on Midgard anymore, just beasts and humans, with their one, very weak, though intriguing, magical trick.

“Loki,” he says. Whatever the Russian speaking mist is, he doesn’t want to annoy it.

“You hear me, Comrade!” says the thing, still in Russian. Its voice fades; the mist dissipates.

Loki is alone on the ground. He is too filled with despair to worry about the magical Russian-speaking creature. Sitting up, he pulls up his knees, leans forward and buries his face in his hands. He sees Sigyn slumped in the chariot, he sees his sons’ terror-stricken faces in the Void flash before his eyes. He remembers the way they clung together, Valli clasping his hands to Nari’s scabbard.

...The scabbard! Nari’s scabbard. Long ago Loki gave it to him as a gift. Nari is an anglophile and the scabbard comes from that isle. It is enchanted to protect the bearer from harm. Is it powerful enough to save its bearer in the Void? Perhaps it could suspend them in time, just as Odin did to the crowd with Gungnir?

It is such a slim hope that Loki drops his hands and laughs. But he has to believe it. Not because it’s likely, but because he must believe it or he might stay here, in this spot, in this forest for a millennium.

He swallows and assesses his situation. Physically he is unharmed, but he’s very hungry. Using magic always makes him famished, and resisting whatever Odin did with his staff drained Loki tremendously.

He opens the knapsack quickly and pulls out the grenades. When he stole the grenades he also stole C-rations for their novelty. He scowls. The C-rations aren’t there. Belatedly he remembers discarding them decades ago. But there is something else, something wonderful. A small book, bound in white leather, the size of his palm. It is the Journal of Lothur. Hoenir must have packed it. Loki presses the book to his forehead and squeezes his eyes shut. More than a journal, it is a book of magic with maps of many of the secret back road branches of the World Tree. Having it is a small miracle.

Not that he can open space-time to travel any of those branches now. He is famished, and exhausted.

He sees a far off glow in the distance. Perhaps it is a human habitation where he can steal food. Climbing to his feet, he starts trudging towards the glow. There is the cry of a raven above his head, and for a moment he panics. But when he looks up at the shadows of the trees he sees only common ravens, not Odin’s messengers.

He hears a roar not far away. He hasn’t been here since the 1940’s, but he recognizes it as the sound of a roadway. It will be far easier to travel if he walks along it. That thought is just through his mind when he trips over something. Nearly falling to the ground, he curses, and a spurt of flame rises from his hand to the treetops. In the flame’s orange glow he sees an outcropping of stone rising at his feet.

His flame dissipates, and he does his best to walk around the rocks in the dark.

His brain, as it is wont to do, starts to scheme. After he gets to the human village and eats his fill, then what? How will he find Valli and Nari in the Void? No, not the Void, they disappeared before he did. To what realm? He’ll have to search them all.

Swallowing, he tries not to let the enormity of the task overwhelm him. He is rather good at achieving impossible things. Even Odin will give him that. Scowling at the thought of the would-be executioner of his sons, he feels his body go hot.

From up ahead he hears the sound of tires screeching and some loud noises he can’t identify. He’s too hungry to be curious. He just steps onto the gravel on the side of the road. Concentrating, he creates an illusion of the attire that was popular the last time he was on this planet. His armor is still on. If anyone touches him they will feel it, but he will look like he belongs. With a deep breath he starts walking towards the lights of human habitation.

An automobile approaches him. It has a shape he’s never seen before, trapezoidish, large and boxy. Thinking perhaps that the driver will give him a lift, he raises his hand. It slows for a moment, and Loki sees a flash of white hair, but then it speeds away. Loki scowls and keeps going, every step dragging more than the last.

Far up ahead the boxy, trapezoidish automobile slows and stops. Loki hears a voice in the distance and something that sounds like a growl and maybe a yelp.

A few minutes later he feels something. Something that makes every hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It’s something he has not felt in centuries, the one, small, intriguing human magical trick: A prayer.

Someone, anyone, help me.

Chapter 2

Amy lies on the ground, one side of her face pressed in the dirt, the other side with the cold end of a gun to her cheek. She can hear her breath in her ears, or is that his breath? The guy’s knee is on her back. He’s silent. The hand is trembling. In fear...or...she swallows...or excitement.

Closing her eyes, she tries to remember her self defense courses she took with Grandma. The first rule was to verify that your attacker’s weapon is genuine.

Licking her lips, she says, “Is that a...a...real gun?”

He laughs. “You want me to take it away from your cheek, don’t you? Don’t you?”

He pushes the muzzle more tightly against her, and Amy screws her eyes shut.

From the grass towards the road there is the sound of a high-pitched growl punctuated by occasional whimpering.

Fenrir! Screwing her eyes tighter, Amy desperately thinks, Fenrir, please, just distract him...

From the direction of the man’s van comes another voice. “Fenrir?” Amy’s heart stops. There are two guys? Oh, no.

“Who’s there?” shouts the man that’s holding her down. The trembling of the gun’s muzzle stops and steadies.

Amy hears the snap of a twig close to her and Fenrir’s pathetic growl and tiny yips a little further off.

“I’m not moving this gun from her face!” the man says.

The whimpering disappears. The high-pitched growl changes and deepens.

“What the...” her captor stutters and pulls the gun away. Amy darts into the car, rolls over and tries to yank her keychain out of the ignition, but it’s jammed. Fumbling, she manages to detach the pepper spray.

She hears the sound of gunshots and the man cursing. Looking out the window, she sees an enormous wolf the size of a small pony, muzzle white with foam, crouching as though about to spring. The bullets seem to have no effect on it, and Amy draws back further into her overturned car.

And then there is a shadow over the window, a dull thudding noise over and over again, and then the sound of a crack. The deep growling is gone. There is just Fenrir’s pathetic whimpering.

The shadow moves away and Amy blinks in confusion. And there, just visible in the indirect light of her headlights, is the man who was attacking her. He’s face down on the ground. The white hair on his head appears slick, black and shiny. Just beyond him is Fenrir, licking her tiny jaws, and wiggling forward on her belly.

A new face pops too suddenly into the window, younger, clean shaven, with sharp features. He’s wearing a fedora. “It’s going to be all right — .”

It’s the fedora that freaks her out. Amy fires the pepper spray. In slow motion it arcs towards him in a long stream.

The stranger throws up a hand just before it reaches his face. He blinks and then screams. “Aaauuuggghhhhhh!!!!”

Jumping back from the window, he shouts, “That stings!”

Unable to bear the sound of Fenrir’s whimpering, Amy scoots forward and out of the car. The man is shaking his hand. He seems to be shimmering. It looks like he’s wearing a fedora, a white shirt and dark, well-tailored pants that are sort of retro looking. And it also looks like he’s wearing a suit of weird armor, a sword waving at his hip.

Shaking his hand, he turns to her, “That’s how you reward someone, anyone, who saves your life? Firing snake venom at them?”

He slumps to the ground, still shaking his hand. The fedora, white shirt, and black pants seem to solidify around him. “I don’t know why I bothered.”

A shape wriggles towards him on the ground, whimpering and wagging its body.

“Fenrir!” Amy says.

Looking in the little dog’s direction, the man says, “Fenrir,” his voice sounding a little far off. Still shaking his one hand, he holds his other out to Amy’s dog. Fenrir tries to lick it.

Running forward, Amy holds up the pepper spray. “Don’t you dare hurt her!”

The look he gives her. It is such a look of what-are-you-some-kind-of-idiot that it actually makes Amy think he really won’t hurt Fenrir — or her. Also, Fenrir is licking his hand. Fenrir doesn’t lick men’s hands.

Fenrir is limping, actually almost crawling. Forgetting all about the stranger, Amy goes into full diagnostic mode. The angle of her leg, the way her hip is jutting...“Fenrir,” she says, “You’ve dislocated your hip. Oh, poor Baby.”

Fenrir turns to Amy and pants. She was trying to save Amy a few minutes ago...with a dislocated hip. Sitting down next to her, Amy says, “You are the best doggie in the world, thank you, thank you, thank you.” Fenrir wags her body and whimpers again.

“I am so sorry about this,” Amy says to Fenrir. She looks at Strange Man. “She likes you. Would you hold her front steady?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to thank me?”

“Hold her,” says Amy, her brain going into fix-the-injured-little-creature mode.

Sighing, the man wraps his hands around Fenrir’s torso.

“I’m so sorry about this, Fenrir,” Amy says. “She may bite you,” she says to the stranger.

Before he can withdraw his hand, Amy’s already got her hands on the dislocated joint. It takes only seconds to relocate Fenrir’s hip. The dog yelps pitifully, but amazingly doesn’t bite. As soon as Amy’s done, she wiggles and jumps into Amy’s arms.

“That was well done,” says the stranger.

“Thank you,” says Amy. Her eyes fall on the man lying prone in front of her overturned car. The enormity of what has happened suddenly catches up to her. Looking down, she says, “And thank you.”

“Do you have any food?” the man asks. “That would be thanks enough.”

Clutching Fenrir to her chest and rubbing her sore neck, Amy looks towards her car. She has a cooler in the back seat if she can get it out, but... Her eyes fall to the man on the ground.

“I don’t think you have to worry about him,” the stranger says.

Amy’s eyes widen and she squeezes Fenrir a little tighter.

The stranger is silent. Somewhere an owl hoots.

“Your first time to see a corpse,” says the stranger softly. Amy looks quickly at him. “No,” she says, “I’ve seen plenty in the anatomy lab.”

He stares at her for a moment. His face is young, he can’t be much older than she is, but his expression is weary. “Do you have food in your automobile?” he says.

Amy blinks at the non-sequitur. “Yes, in the back seat. In the cooler.”

“Cooler?” he says.

Nodding her head towards the car, she says, “Just the cheap Styrofoam white box you get at the convenience mart...”

The stranger stands up quickly and goes to her car. Amy’s not really paying attention to what he’s doing. She thinks she hears a car on the road. Running up out of the ditch she just catches sight of a car’s retreating rear lights. She almost swears. They didn’t even stop!

Putting Fenrir down, she goes back to her car and crawls through the window. The stranger is already pulling the cooler out of the backseat. It takes a while, but Amy finds her iPhone.

She tries to dial 911 but gets the no-service message.

Scowling in frustration, she stares at the man on the ground. She doesn’t want to stay here, not with the dead or dying man — oh, God, should she check if he’s dead? Will she be charged with manslaughter if she doesn’t? Will Strange Guy be charged with murder?

Crawling out of her car, she feels for a pulse. She can’t find anything and is both relieved and disgusted by the fact that she is relieved.

She has to get out of here. She begins frantically patting down the dead man’s body.

“What are you looking for?” Strange Guy says.

Amy glances up to see him sitting on the bank of the ditch, a box of Life cereal between his knees, Fenrir sitting in front of him. He throws a handful into his mouth and tosses a piece to her dog.

He looks so much calmer than she feels, and it’s not fair. She begins patting down the man again.

Not finding what she’s looking for, she murmurs, “They’re not here.”

“What?” Strange Guy says.

Amy looks up at the minivan. Getting up from the ground she runs around the corpse and out of the ditch. She lifts the latch on the passenger side door. It’s open. Maybe his keys are in here. She can drive the minivan to find help.

Stranger’s voice comes from close behind her. “I don’t think you should go into that man’s automobile.”

Ignoring him, Amy opens the glove box. There’s a narrow folio in there, long and leather bound.

“Don’t,” says Stranger, and his hand is suddenly coming from behind to grab it from her. But it’s too late. Amy’s already opening it, and pictures are spilling out. There are pictures of women in there, but mostly of children. For an instant the pictures shake in Amy’s bloody knuckles, and then she screams.

The man behind her says something, a curse or a swear or an exclamation. Whatever, he sounds shocked and horrified and the photo album bursts into flame.

Amy drops it, and the man says, “I’m sorry...I didn’t...”

Some sense finally coming back to her, Amy begins to stamp out the fire with her foot. The people in the pictures...their families will need to know.

When the last of the flames are out she backs up — right into Stranger Guy’s chest. He feels weird, too hard. She’s in shock. Obviously. He brings a hand to her shoulder; it is warm and comforting and normal.

In the distance she hears sirens — maybe the car that drove off didn’t belong to an ass after all. Stranger starts to pull his hand away. “Don’t,” she says, turning to him and looking up. He is really tall, maybe 6’ 3” or 6’ 4”. She’s not afraid of him anymore. She presses his hand more tightly and wills him not to go.

His jaw goes tight. And then he says, “All right, I won’t.”

When the man had a gun on her, she was terrified. But now, after seeing the pictures and what she almost did not escape... Her whole body trembles. The sirens in the distance get louder. Clutching Stranger’s hand to her face, she begins to cry. She’s safe now, she knows it. The words, “I am so afraid,” are on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn’t say them.

“I know. I know,” the Stranger says. And in the pit of Amy’s stomach she can feel it. He does understand. He does know.

Loki is about eleven years old. He is in Asgard. Odin is off on a campaign in the realm of the dwarfs and Loki’s snuck off to play with Hoenir — Odin discourages Loki’s visits to Hoenir’s hut when he is home. Odin claims he doesn’t want Loki disturbing Hoenir while he works. Hoenir never seems to be disturbed by Loki. In fact, Hoenir always seems happy to drop whatever he is doing when Loki comes about.

At the moment Loki and Hoenir are squatting in the grass outside Hoenir’s hut. The hut is in a meadow between a copse of trees so high they completely shield the rest of Asgard from view. The trees are a gift from Frigga, Odin’s wife and Loki’s adoptive mother. She calls Hoenir’s hut an eyesore.

Unlike all the other dwellings, buildings, and monuments in Asgard, Hoenir’s hut isn’t touched by any illusions that would make it conform to the current fashion for Egyptian architecture from the Old Kingdom. It looks as it always has. Made of rough wood, it leans slightly to one side. The chimney is made of natural stone and is crumbling slightly. The roof is thatch, and there are always little creatures peering out from the straw. Sometimes the creatures are recognizable, sometimes they are Hoenir’s own invention — squirrels with bird beaks and peacock tails, snakes with butterfly wings, and birds with cat faces. These creatures are real, unlike the illusions created by Loki and Odin.

The hut normally has a glow about it, golden white, the color of Hoenir’s magic. All magical beings have a color to their magic, but one can never see one’s own color. Loki’s been told, though, that his own magic is white, blue, orange and red — like a flame Mimir says. Or, as Odin says, because Loki is too fickle to pick a shade.

Loki isn’t thinking about magical color, or paying attention to the denizens of the thatch. He is peering over Hoenir’s shoulder and through a magnifying glass, a magical device Hoenir is holding over a small twig.

Hoenir, like Odin, doesn’t look particularly youthful. He is balding and is a little round around the waist. Next to Hoenir is the severed head of Mimir the giant, propped up on top of an overturned crate. Like Loki, Mimir is wearing a wide brimmed hat to shield him from the sun.

Since Hoenir is mute, Mimir speaks for him. “Now you see, Loki, the magnifying glass captures and concentrates sunlight and turns it into heat.”

Loki bends closer to the ground. He can see the concentrated beam of light Mimir speaks of. He waves his hand through the beam but only feels a disappointingly faint amount of warmth. The normal yellow golden glow of Hoenir’s magic isn’t present though, which means the glass needs none of Hoenir’s magic to work. That is something, Loki supposes.

“The way a magnifying glass captures, concentrates and transforms sunlight is very much like how magical creatures capture, concentrate and transform magic,” Mimir intones.

Loki nods at Mimir’s head. Loki knows about magic. Most men of Asgard don’t deign to toy with it, believing it makes them unmanly. But Odin and Hoenir are both powerful magicians, and Odin is king, and Hoenir is — Hoenir is Hoenir. Loki respects him as much as Odin. And he wants to be like them. At eleven he sees and feels magic everywhere, and is nearly as good at creating illusions as Odin. Loki gets the feeling that most people are uncomfortable with that, but Hoenir and Odin encourage his ability.

Looking back down to Hoenir and the magnifying glass, Loki asks, “May I try?”

“Ummmm...” says Mimir. “That might not...”

Hoenir hands Loki the magnifying glass.

Just as Loki takes the worn wooden handle in his grasp, he hears a loud shout, “Loki! Loki! Loki!!!”

Standing up in shock, Loki sends the concentrated beam of light dancing across the grass and the overturned crate Mimir sits on. In its wake, flames flare to life.

“Helllllppppppppp!” shouts Mimir.

Dropping the glass, Loki jumps over and pulls Mimir from the rising flames.

“Wow,” Loki says, momentarily forgetting the shouting that distracted him. “That magnifying glass has powerful magic!”

“Ummm...no...” says Mimir. “Thank you, Loki. Turn me so that I face Hoenir.”

Loki does as he is bidden and instantly regrets it.

“Hoenir, you had to expect that would happen if Loki touched the glass!” Mimir says, his voice so accusatory Loki feels pain on Hoenir’s behalf.

Stamping out the flames, Hoenir just raises an eyebrow in Mimir’s direction.

“What? He should know!” says Mimir.

Hoenir shrugs. Mimir says, “Pfffttt to what Odin says.”

“Loki! Loki! Loki!!!” come the shouts again. Dropping Mimir on the ground, Loki spins around. “What was that?”

“What was what?” says Mimir, eyes staring at the sky.

“The voices calling my name!” says Loki. He doesn’t recognize them. They sound almost like a chorus.

From Mimir there is silence. Loki looks to Hoenir. A quiet look is passing between the man and the severed head on the ground.

Blinking, Mimir says, “I suppose we might expect you to hear them early...”

“Hear what?” says Loki.

“Close your eyes, Loki,” Mimir says. “What do you see?”

Loki tilts his head. Magic. He smiles. Closing his eyes, he finds he does see something. “I see the village by the lake from our camping trip this spring.”

“Are you sure?” says Mimir.

How could he forget the place? Odin, Hoenir and Loki had gone camping on Earth. Their trip had been interrupted by some humans. It was the first time Loki had seen the creatures. In person they were smaller and more pathetic than he could have imagined. It seemed horribly cruel that Hoenir and Odin hadn’t gifted them with magic.

The humans had spoken to Hoenir and Odin at length, and then Loki had been sent home under the watchful eyes of Huginn and Munnin, Odin’s ravens. Nothing more had been said of the incident.

The scene behind Loki’s eyelids changes, and he gasps. He sees something more. “I see a man with skulls around his belt!” Loki swallows. The skulls are too small to belong to adults.

“Do the voices in your head...do they say anything else?”

Loki’s eyes open. “Yes, they say the giant’s body has knit itself together, and he has sent a messenger from his fortress. In the morrow he will come to claim his sacrifice.”

Hoenir’s jaw drops. Mimir’s eyes go wide. Swallowing, Mimir says, “Loki, the giant calls himself Cronus. I don’t think he is the Cronus; he was Greek, and Odin, well, Zeus, well...Odin sort of...”

Loki’s brow knits together.

Licking his lips, Mimir says, “Anyway, Cronus is not Aesir or Jotunn, but something other. He has been terrorizing humans for generations. Last fall, Hoenir hid the boy that Cronus chose to be a sacrifice as wheat in a field — and Cronus found him. Odin disguised the boy as a swan, and Cronus found him yet again. Fortunately, Odin was able to kill Cronus.”

Loki nods. Of course, Hoenir wouldn’t have been able to kill Cronus. Loki’s never heard of Hoenir killing, or even hurting, anything.

Swallowing, Mimir says, “Or so we thought. If what your peasants say is true, Cronus was able to reassemble himself and seeks to claim his sacrifice again.”

“Odin must come back!” Loki says, looking to the skies. He was sure he saw Huginn and Munnin, Odin’s raven messengers earlier. If he gets their attention they can alert Odin.

Mimir sighs. “Loki, Odin is busy saving multitudes of children. He cannot come back for just one.”

Loki swallows. In his head the voices rise again. “Loki! Loki! Save our son! Save our children!”

Loki starts walking to the Center and the World Gates. “I have to go.” He feels as though the voices are pulling him by a thread.

“You won’t be able to use your tricks of illusion against him!” Mimir says.

“I’ll think of something,” Loki says. He has to. The voices in his head...

He hears footsteps, and then Hoenir is at his side, Mimir in his hands. “You always do,” Mimir says.

Loki blinks and Mimir winks at him.

Loki, along with Hoenir and Mimir, arrives at the village well after nightfall.

Even though Loki is only eleven, he is nearly as tall as the tallest man in the village — though that man is broader in shoulder, and probably stronger. The humans smell less than pleasant. Their clothes look like rags. Many are missing teeth, and some have horrible scars. He is horrified by them, and at the same time, when they look at him their hope is palpable. It makes Loki feel older, wiser, and more powerful than he has ever felt before.

And the boy that is to be sacrificed, Jonah...he is so small, he hardly comes up past Loki’s waist. His eyes are so wide, frightened, innocent and trusting; Loki simply has to succeed.

Loki scans the horizon. As he does, the old man, who had talked to Odin and Hoenir last year, says, “We have tried to fight him, but our weapons bounce off, and he is terribly strong.”

Loki blinks. Loki can’t make weapons bounce off of him, but he knows it takes immense concentration. A surprise to break Cronus’ concentration is needed.

A boathouse on the bank of the lake catches Loki’s attention. He looks at the small stature of the humans and, to his own wonderment, he does think of something.

“Jonah,” Loki asks, “can you swim?”

The boy nods.

Standing taller and trying to look important, Loki begins to tell Jonah, Hoenir, Mimir, and the assembled villagers his plan. When he is done, Jonah is quaking with fear.

Loki bites his own lip. He is very nearly a child himself, and he can relate. Kneeling down, he puts a hand on Jonah’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. All the time you are with Cronus, I’ll be there with you.”

Next to him, in Hoenir’s arms, Mimir says, “Wait, now — ” but Hoenir slaps a hand over his mouth.

In the morning before Cronus arrives, Loki casts an illusion over Jonah so he looks like a fish and commands him to go swim in the lake. Loki knows that Cronus will eventually see through the illusion, but he needs to buy the village men some time to enact their part of the plan.

As soon as Jonah is in the water, Loki goes off to meet Cronus. Cronus isn’t tall for an Aesir, Vanir, or Jotunn, but he can see why the villagers think him a giant. Compared to the humans, he is immense. He has white hair and a face that is disturbingly pleasant, almost baby like in its roundness. It is in stark contrast to the belt of children’s skulls that hangs at his waist. The belt is terrifying, but what is more frightening is the blanket of magic that hovers over him.

Cronus doesn’t get angry when the villagers don’t bring Jonah forward. He just smiles. And then he says, “I think I will go fishing.” With that he turns around and walks to one of the boats on the shore. That was faster than Loki anticipated. Racing after Cronus he shouts, “Wait, I’ll come with you.”

“Of course, Little Giant,” Cronus says with a laugh.

When they get in the boat, Loki says, “Let me row for you, Sir.”

Narrowing his eyes, Cronus says, “Very well, Little Giant.”

Loki takes the oars and proceeds to row in the wrong direction...as slowly as he can.

Smiling again, Cronus says, “You’ll have to row faster than that, Little Giant, if you want your death to be an easy one.”

Loki sits bolt upright and nearly drops the oars.

Laughing, Cronus says, “Oh, come now, you’re a little bigger than I like, but you are very pretty. You don’t think I’d let you get away?”

Fear unravels in the pit of Loki’s stomach; it’s all he can do not to quake in his seat.

With a wave of his hand, the oars fly from Loki’s grasp and fall at the bottom of the boat. With another wave, Cronus sets the boat in motion again — this time in the right direction. Loki swallows. The sun is bright, and its cheerfulness feels like a mockery of Loki and Jonah’s plight.

Loki tries to confuse Cronus by illusioning schools of fish beneath the boat, and it does work somewhat. Cronus sees the fish, slows the boat, and drops the net that sat at the boat’s stern. But after a few empty hauls, he sees through Loki’s scheme. He weights the net down and dredges along the bottom.

By late morning he has Jonah in the net, and as soon as he lifts him into the boat, the illusion drops. With a gasp, Jonah runs to sit by Loki. Taking the smaller boy’s hand, Loki squeezes — not sure who he’s trying to reassure.

Cronus just smiles at them, waves a hand and the boat heads toward shore. As soon as the boat hits ground, Loki waves his hands and an illusionary wall of flame rises up in the middle of the small craft, a few hands lengths away from Cronus’ nose. Pulling Jonah from the boat, Loki yells, “Run!”

They tear as fast as they can through the shallow water, out of the bright sunlight, into the boat house. Cronus, in a frenzy, follows right behind. He is nearly on them when his head runs straight into the trap Loki had the men set for him, a spear at just the right height to hit a full-grown Aesir, Jotunn or Vanir squarely in the head.

Dazed, Cronus takes a step back. “Now!” screams Loki. From the shadows village men come forward with axes. One presses an axe in Loki’s own hand.

Loki has received a warrior’s training. And he has killed animals in the hunt. But now, when he needs it most, he seems unable to fight. He just stands frozen. The human men do not hesitate. They begin furiously hacking at Cronus’ limbs with their axes, and the boathouse fills with the thick smell of blood. Loki sees a leg separate at the knee. Almost instantly it reattaches. Loki’s eyes go wide and Cronus laughs.

“Think you’re clever, Little Giant? I disguised how quickly I can heal from your brother, Odin! But I don’t want you to get away.”

With a roar he heaves one of the villagers through a wall.

Loki’s mind uncoils. He doesn’t know if it is fear or bravery which sets him in motion. “Keep going!” Loki shouts to the remaining villagers, running to the wall and grabbing several iron nails.

A villager separates the other leg with an axe, and this time, Loki stabs a nail into the severed knee, preventing a clean bond of the severed flesh. Cronus gives a cry of rage and tries to bend down to remove the nail, but the humans sense his weakness and redouble their efforts. An arm falls away, and again Loki is there, stabbing another iron nail into the wound.

They can’t get to the head before all the limbs are severed and the joints secured from reattachment. Cronus is unaffected by loss of blood, and he manages to throw a few more villagers off of him with the power of his mind alone. But at last, when he can barely move, when he’s just a torso and a head, he looks at Loki and his eyes open wide. “You,” he says. And then he sneers, “Plan to flush me down the river like you did your brother?”

Loki feels like he’s been struck. He wants to demand to know what Cronus is talking about but then a villager’s axe falls down on Cronus’ neck and his eyes go blank.

Loki falls back gasping. He starts to shake; he’s not sure why. He’s safe now...safe...

Chapter 3

Sheriff Ken McSpadden sits in his office, the driver’s license of Thor Odinson in his hand. It’s an Oklahoma driver’s license, just like Amy Lewis’ license. The picture on this license is definitely the man who saved Amy Lewis by killing Ed Malson — a name that was soon to go down in serial killer history.

On his computer monitor Thor’s license information is displayed again. It took a while to pull the record up. They had some computer problems first.

Thor’s social security number checks out...but that’s a little weird, too. Like the license details, before Thor’s social security number cleared they had computer trouble, a flicker, an error...and then...everything was okay.

Thor’s got a clean record as far as the criminal databases are concerned. McSpadden tried Googling him, too — but all he got was a comic book character.

Leaning back in his chair, McSpadden taps the armrest in agitation. It’s not the comic book name, the computer glitches, or the girl’s story about a wolf distracting Malson that’s really putting him on edge. It’s Deputy Patches, the station cat.

Patches is a very fat cat. Sometimes the officers affectionately refer to her as a bowling ball. She’s famously lazy, but right now she is rubbing her head vigorously against the edge of his computer monitor. McSpadden puts the license down. Patches begins batting it with her paw, and then chewing its edge. Abruptly she hops down from the desk and begins chasing an imaginary mouse around the room.

McSpadden sighs. Patches hasn’t been this excited since they found that crazy carpet at the edge of the road. Darn thing kept rolling and unrolling, and then it would levitate a few inches off the ground before collapsing. Patches had scratched and rolled over every part of it until the thing was covered with fur.

Nix that. She had been more excited by the monkey paw. McSpadden’s dogs had found it while he’d been out coon hunting with the boys. The dogs had formed a circle around it and growled up a storm. McSpadden picked it up and put it in his pocket. It had been a long evening, he was hungry, and he found himself wishing for a pastrami sandwich. Not five minutes later he and the boys discovered the hiker — dead for days, a rotting pastrami sandwich miraculously not eaten by scavengers in his hands. That’s when McSpadden remembered reading a horror story back when he was a kid about a monkey’s paw that granted its bearer’s wishes — but at a price.

McSpadden feels a chill run up his spine at the memory. He wouldn’t have put two and two together, but after the carpet incident and all the damn unicorn sightings in Mark Twain National Forest, he had the sense to bring the paw back to the station and call it in. Patches had thrown a hissing fit. She has a sense for these...weird things. Some of the boys call it magic.

“Yo, Colbert!” McSpadden calls through the open door.

Deputy Colbert tears himself away from CNN and comes into McSpadden’s office. “Give this back to Thor,” says McSpadden.

Colbert opens his mouth to speak, but McSpadden points to Patches. She hops up onto McSpadden’s desk again and starts rubbing her head against the computer.

Colbert’s eyebrows go up at Patches’ unusual display of activity. Nodding, he takes the license and leaves the office, wisely not saying a word.

McSpadden picks up Patches and carries her outside. It’s 4 a.m. and still dark. He walks over to one of the cars in the parking lot and sets Patches down on the hood. She sprawls out and does what she normally does best. She sleeps.

Feeling a little more confident and a little less watched than he did inside, McSpadden pulls out his cell phone. He clicks on a contact he’s never actually met, but he’s all too familiar with.

After three rings the call’s picked up on the other end. “Laura Stodgill here, U.S. Department of Anomalous Devices of Unknown Origin. McSpadden, what do you have for me in your vortex of weirdness?” Her voice sounds sleepy and a bit disoriented.

“You mean this shit isn’t happening all over?” McSpadden says.

Suddenly sounding very alert and awake, Laura says, “I can neither confirm nor deny that. What do you have?”

“The question is who do I have,” McSpadden says.

Laura sounds distressingly nonplussed by that response. “Does he or she have pointy ears or green skin?”

“Uh...no,” says McSpadden.

“Speak English?”

“Yes,” says McSpadden.

“Do you have a picture?”

“On my phone, sending it now,” says McSpadden. He actually took it by accident when they first brought Thor and Miss Lewis into the station. Damn camera button was too easy to hit — he has hundreds of pictures of the inside of his pocket.

“Got it,” says Laura, “Sending it through the proper channels. Now tell me everything that happened.”

When McSpadden is done, Laura says, “Get his signed statement and go through the usual rigmarole. I’ll be back to you within a few hours. Don’t treat him like a criminal...he may be one of the good guys, and even if he’s not, you really don’t want to tick him off.”

“What?” says McSpadden, but Laura’s already gone.

Loki sits in a small room in the sheriff’s station. Next to him is the comely wench of the extraordinary bosom who he had rescued — and the dog inaptly named Fenrir. At his feet is the knapsack. His sword is invisible at his waist. Killing the man-beast they’ve identified as Ed Malson would have been far cleaner with his sword, but since swords have fallen out of fashion here on Earth, it raises too many questions. Hence he settled for beating him to death with a small log.

The snake venom and hunger made him irritable, and he’d slipped out of character right after rescuing Miss Lewis. But now he sits with his shoulders slightly slumped, his face schooled into an expression of solemness and a bit of intimidation — just like a 25ish year old man who had never killed someone and found himself in a police station would look.

He’s not sure a human 25 year-old would be eating from a bag of Ghirardelli 60% dark chocolate chips — a gift from Miss Lewis — but he is so very hungry and these chips are so very good.

He looks over to Miss Lewis. Her knuckles are bandaged, but she still is tapping away at the little device called an iPhone. She’s called her grandmother in Chicago and is now “texting agents of insurance.” He’s learned a lot about her from the things she’s babbled to the police so far. Primarily that she is of no import to this world whatsoever.

But he heard her praying, three times. Before he killed Malson when she was begging for help, when she commanded Fenrir to distract him, and afterwards, when he wanted to leave before the police arrived — he heard her asking him not to go, and telling him how afraid she was.

He understands her fear. He thought the memories of Cronus were buried deeper, but something about Malson — his sadism, his white hair, even his baby like features, brought the memories to the surface.

He shakes his head. He hates remembering himself as so helpless and vulnerable.

Scowling, he pops another chocolate chip in his mouth. Why did he hear her prayers? None of the Aesir, or Loki, for that matter, hear all the prayers sent to them. Only some filter through. Odin believes that only requests relating to the receiver’s higher purpose are heard. So she’s important to Loki, in some unfathomable way. Maybe just to see that he eats something?

He looks down at the chocolate in his hands. He’s too weary to World Walk right now. He might as well be here. Maybe he’ll learn something about how their latest technology impacts criminal investigations. It will be very helpful if he and his boys are forced to stay on Earth for a while and need to rob banks to support themselves. Bank robbing was very lucrative for Loki in the 1940s. Granted, it was more bank burglary — no humans were harmed, or even noticed his presence. Hoenir is fond of humans, and Loki wouldn’t purposely upset Hoenir.

But would his sons even accept burglary? Valli might...he is a bit twitchy, but since Nari infected him with his idealistic zeal for political reform even Valli might be repulsed by the idea of a life of crime...unless Loki somehow managed to convince him it is for “the greater good.” How could any children of his be so fatally idealistic? Where did he go wrong? He warned them Odin would turn a blind eye to all sorts of mischief unless it threatened the throne.

For a moment his boys’ faces, frozen in that instant in deep space, hover before his eyes and he blinks. He can do nothing right now.

To distract himself, he looks over Miss Lewis’ shoulder. The small device called an iPhone has no resemblance to a phone at all. It is, in fact, a small computer that has phone-like capabilities — it doesn’t work everywhere, apparently. Last time he was on Earth, computers occupied whole rooms and had to be tediously programmed with punch cards. The boxes on the sheriff’s desk are impressive enough, but this one fits in her palm. It has a calculator in it, a location device, a camera, music, flickering little games, and a way of connecting with other computers all over the world through a thing called the Internet. All these “apps” interface with a tiny keyboard that disappears and reappears at her touch. It’s fascinating, and the sort of thing he could ordinarily be very distracted by.

A noise at the office door catches his attention. He looks up to see Deputy Colbert walk in. “Here’s your driver’s license...Thor,” he says handing Loki a little card. Loki takes it and taps it against his knee; he can feel the deputy’s suspicion in the air. It’s actually Miss Lewis’ card; Loki has made it look like it belongs to his current alias: Thor Odinson. Choosing the name of his sons’ betrayer was just a little game — to tick Odin off, to test the humans, and to give himself a quiet laugh.

It turned out to be not such a great idea. Thor Odinson, that bastard, is apparently a hero in a “comic book” and “movie franchise” and they thought he was lying. Hence, stealing Miss Lewis’ ID after they’d “photocopied” it — whatever that meant — and proffering it to the sheriff with an apologetic smile and a smooth excuse of “thought I lost it in the scuffle.” The fake social security number he gave them wasn’t enough.

They ran the license and the social security number he provided through their computers. It was an interesting challenge, making the computer screens appear as though his alias’ info checked out. Fortunately, Loki can project his consciousness — even create immaterial doubles of himself if he wishes to. He hovered over their shoulders while they used their devices to pull up Miss Lewis’ info. He was able to create the same screens for Thor Odinson. The magic involved put the station’s cat in a happy tizzy, but he’s sure the humans are oblivious to the reasons for the cat’s joyful frolics.

As Colbert leaves the room with a small nod, Miss Lewis turns to Loki. “I heard you tell them that you...” Taking a breath she licks her lips. “...don’t have a permanent address. And I want you to know, if you need it, my grandmother has an apartment over our garage that isn’t occupied. You’re welcome to it...until you get on your feet.”

Loki blinks. What an utterly naive, far too trusting offer. For some reason it puts to mind a childhood story about a wolf, a little girl and her grandmother.

...But he isn’t really the wolf, is he?

Trying to keep the bemusement from his features, he says, “Thank you... Miss Lewis.”

She flushes, and looks down at her phone. “You can just call me Amy.”

Loki raises an eyebrow. And then, taking a purposefully loud breath, he says, “I will consider it.” Smiling softly and as non-threateningly as he can, he adds, “Is there food there?”

Glancing back to him, Amy smiles...just a little, and says, “My grandmother will feel it’s her duty to make sure you’re positively stuffed.”

Well, that sounds promising. But he doesn’t want to seem too eager. He looks at the device in her fingers. “What are you searching for on your iPhone?” he asks.

“Oh,” she says, turning to it. “I’m trying to find bus schedules. My car isn’t going to be repaired for at least a week, and I can’t stay here.”

What a wonderful device! “That information could be useful to me as well,” says Loki. “Perhaps I can lean over your shoulder?”

“Sure,” says Miss Lewis — Amy — and Loki watches with fascination as she navigates through the iPhone’s many screens.

He jerks his head up with a start when Sheriff McSpadden and Deputy Colbert come back in. Colbert has the cat in one arm.

“We’re going to need to get your statements. Miss Lewis, you can stay here. Mr. Odinson, will you come with me?”

They’re going to question him. He isn’t surprised by this; he spent a little time with the police in the 1940s. Humans have fallen so far since the early days when they’d just throw you a party when you killed a monster. But it can’t be helped.

Nodding, he scratches his leg and uses it as a distraction to grab his knapsack. Cradling the chocolate chips in the other hand, he stands. “Of course.”

As they leave the room, the cat perks its ears in Loki’s direction. Walking down the hall, he hears Amy say, “He’s not going to be in any trouble, is he? He saved me.” It’s a bit touching, actually.

The room he is taken to has no windows, only a single table with a small gray mechanical box on it, and a mirror that undoubtedly is a window to another room. McSpadden inclines his head towards a chair, and Loki sits down. He’s not afraid. The sword is in easy reach, he has enough magical energy left to make himself invisible if he needs to, the lock on the door is a non-issue; and actually, he’s very curious.

Before they begin to talk, the sheriff presses a button on the small box on the table and says, “We’ll record this whole conversation.” Loki watches with fascination as two little wheels in the box start to turn, and the man says, “You kids, never seen a cassette recorder before...”

The question and answer session that follows goes as well as these things can. Loki fabricates details of “Thor’s” past from his last journey to the realm.

And then they get to the immediate present.

“So, after the trucker you were hitching a ride with kicked you out of the cab, you heard Miss Lewis call for help?” says the Sheriff.

“Yes,” says Loki.

“She says Malson said he’d kill her if she opened her mouth,” says the Sheriff.

For a moment, Loki thinks he’s being cross examined and feels the corner of his lip start to tug upward into a cruel smile. But then he realizes McSpadden’s body language is still non-confrontational. He seems almost...confused.

Loki schools his features into a look of sympathy. “Yes.” He blinks. “She thinks she saw a wolf, too. But...” he shrugs. “There was only her little dog. She is understandably distraught.”

“Yes,” says McSpadden. “The wolf...”

There is a knock at the door, and McSpadden excuses himself from the table. The door opens and Colbert is there with the cat. “She’s clean, but Patches didn’t like the dog. Thought you might like her...”

Before Colbert can finish the sentence, the cat launches itself out of his arms and walks over in Loki’s direction, tail swishing madly back and forth.

Loki’s eyes go up to the two men in the door. Both of their mouths are slightly agape.

“Do you want me to stay?” Colbert whispers.

They know the cat senses magic! But how have they even come in contact with magic before? Loki closes his eyes a moment. Of course. The same branch of the World Tree that sucked him here from the Aesir magical dump. They’ve had other things drop in...possibly very unpleasant things.

Loki looks back to Patches. Holding out a finger, he says, “Here, Patches, no need to worry. The Sheriff and I are just having a little chat.” Patches approaches Loki slowly. She sniffs his finger carefully, and then rubs her head against it.

Loki looks up to McSpadden. The Sheriff straightens. Loki restrains a smile.

“I’ll be alright, Colbert,” says McSpadden.

Loki tilts his head. As the door closes and McSpadden sits down again, Loki projects a warm cloud of warmth around his hand. As he expects, Patches’ caution quickly evaporates. She begins purring and rubbing her head and body against his fingers.

With a smile Loki reaches down and puts her on his lap, settling another warm bubble of air around her. Patches lies down on his knee and begins purring loudly, kneading her claws, and staring in McSpadden’s direction. Cats are utter whores for a warm lap.

Loki can’t restrain his smile. “You have more questions?”

In the interrogation room McSpadden’s phone buzzes with a text message. He looks down. It’s from Laura Stodgill. He carefully peeks at it beneath the table.

Positive match. In discussion as to what to do. Don’t make him angry.

Well, that’s comforting. Tilting his head, he looks back up to Thor.

“...and so you are on your way to the Dakotas to take part in the oil boom,” says McSpadden. It’s plausible; in fact, out in the main lobby CNN has been running a show about just those very jobs this evening. McSpadden scowls — is that a coincidence?

“That’s right,” says Thor. Popping a chocolate chip into his mouth, he smirks slightly. It’s a smirk that says, I know you know I’m lying, and it doesn’t bother me at all. In Thor’s lap Patches is rubbing her head against his stomach, purring so loudly that McSpadden knows the tape recorder is going to pick it up.

On the one hand, he’s glad she’s not hissing. On the other hand, he can’t even imagine he’s in charge of the situation here.

Before Patches came into the room, Thor had every appearance of a vaguely disoriented, slightly frightened young man who had almost inadvertently saved a young woman from terrible tragedy. As soon as Patches started acting up, he seemed to pick up exactly on what was going on. Apparently he decided a facade wasn’t worth maintaining anymore.

Now Thor sits straight up, eerily light blue eyes focused down on McSpadden. McSpadden isn’t a small guy at 6’ 2”, but Thor’s got a couple of inches on him. Thor isn’t cocky, not like a petty thief. No, he’s confident, like he knows he can get up and leave at any moment; he’s just playing along because this is some sort of amusing game to him. Before the weirdness in McSpadden’s neck of the woods he would have written Thor off as crazy. Now with Laura’s response, and Patches’ response...McSpadden sighs. Ah, for the good old days.

“I don’t suppose you have any idea how the pictures caught on fire?” McSpadden says.

Thor’s jaw goes hard. “They were very disturbing.”

Which isn’t an answer but is definitely true. McSpadden had gotten to the point in his job where he thought he couldn’t see anything worse than he already had. He’d been wrong.

“Well,” says McSpadden. “We’ll need to type this out, and then have you sign it and then...”

Thor raises an eyebrow.

...and then normally it would be McSpadden’s call to decide whether the guy should stay or go.

Frustrated, McSpadden turns off the tape. Thor blinks and bends over to look closer at the cassette player. It’s the first time since Patches came in that he looks even slightly less than in complete control.

Thor looks up at McSpadden and straightens. “You have no say over my being allowed to stay or go, do you?” says Thor.

McSpadden rubs his eyes. He should lie, but frankly, he’s a little fed up — fed up with not being in charge of what went on at his station, and fed up with the Department of Anomalous Devices of Unknown Origin for not filling him in on what the Hell is going on.

“Nope,” McSpadden says.

Thor cocks his head. “Thank you for that bit of honesty.” He reaches a hand into the bag of chocolate chips, and then scowls down at it. Picking it up, he peers inside and the scowl intensifies.

And suddenly McSpadden has a bit of a quantum leap. Maybe The Department of ADUO won’t talk to him, but maybe Thor will.

“I was told to be nice to you, though,” McSpadden says.

Thor looks up.

Standing up, McSpadden says, “While we get this and Miss Lewis’ statement typed up, you’re welcome to have breakfast with us.”

Thor’s eyes widen. “I would appreciate that, Sheriff.”

McSpadden smiles at his own guile. “Just bagels and cream cheese — maybe some lox if Sherrie is feeling like going all out.” Patting his stomach he says, “Gotta fight the stereotypes.”

Thor just blinks at him.

“Come on,” says McSpadden, opening the door.

Thor puts Patches down and walks with McSpadden towards the break room, Patches at their feet.

“I don’t suppose you can tell me where you’re really from?” McSpadden says.

A mischievous smile comes to Thor’s lips. “I already have.”

McSpadden can sense he’s not going to get any more of an answer than that. Instead of pressing he says, “Could you at least tell me when the weirdness will stop? The carpet was kind of funny, but the monkey’s paw...”

Thor stops walking, and his eyes widen. “You found a monkey’s paw?”

McSpadden nods.

Shaking his head, Thor says, “I knew there had to be at least four of them...” He eyes McSpadden. “What did you do with it?”

“Gave it to the proper department,” says McSpadden.

Thor’s jaw goes hard. “And you’ll give me to the proper department?”

McSpadden’s stomach drops. He swallows.

Thor’s eyebrow quirks. “You mentioned breakfast?”

McSpadden nods and starts leading him down the hall again. “I suppose I shouldn’t worry about the unicorns...”

“Unicorns? There shouldn’t be unicorns.” Thor says.

McSpadden shrugs. “We’ve had a couple of sightings. I suppose they are harmless enough.”

Thor stops abruptly and takes McSpadden’s arm so quickly McSpadden spins around. Expression very serious, Thor says, “Sheriff McSpadden, in deference to your honesty with me I will tell you this. Unless you are especially pure, never, never, think a unicorn is harmless. If you value your life.”

“Uh....” says McSpadden looking at the hand.

Dropping his arm, Thor turns his head and sniffs. “Do I smell smoked fish?” Without waiting for McSpadden to take the lead, he heads straight to the break room and McSpadden jogs to keep up. Miss Lewis is already sitting there with Colbert. She’s reading over a statement in front of her. Her dog, Fred, or something, starts growling at Patches and the cat takes off. Amy looks up at Thor. The man’s face suddenly takes on the look of bewildered young man again and he nods at her. “Are you alright?” he asks.

“Yes,” she says, smiling softly and then turns back to her statement.

“I’ll get your statement for you in a few minutes,” says McSpadden.

Thor looks at McSpadden and gives him a wink.

McSpadden blinks. Thor is definitely dangerous. Clenching his jaw, McSpadden remembers the half burned pictures from Malson’s van...and other things they’d found in the back.

Being dangerous isn’t the same as being evil. Turning on his heel, he leaves the room.

When he comes back Colbert and Miss Lewis are gone. Thor is sitting with his feet up on the table, munching on a bagel with lox. Patches is on the ground, pawing at his lap.

“Where — ” says McSpadden, looking around the room.

“Miss Lewis had a bus to catch,” says Thor.

“Well — ” McSpadden starts to say, when his phone starts to buzz with another text.

He picks it up. It’s from Laura. He clicks on it.

Word on high is he’s the good guy. He’s free to go. Jameson furious.

McSpadden scowls. Jameson is the director of ADUO — how can anyone be higher than him?

Thor’s voice comes from just over McSpadden’s shoulder. “Well, that is interesting.”

McSpadden jumps away fast and turns. He almost draws his gun.

Thor takes a bite out of his bagel and looks towards the window, his face vaguely contemplative. “The good guy,” Thor muses aloud.

McSpadden goes over and picks up Patches. She is utterly uninterested in his phone — so the message from Laura is not just enchanted...or magical...or whatever. Wiggling out of his arms, she hops to the ground and runs over to Thor.

Smirking at McSpadden, Thor picks up a bottle of water off the break room table and takes a swig. “Sheriff McSpadden, I thank you for your hospitality, but waiting for my statement at this point would be superfluous.”

“Uh, I gotta keep you here until you sign it,” McSpadden says, straightening. “Procedures and all that.”

Rolling his eyes, Thor says, “Remember what I told you about the unicorns.”

And then he disappears. McSpadden looks around the break room. The bagels, cream cheese, and lox are all gone, too. For a brief few moments Patches does an impression of a whirling dervish, running like mad in circles. Then she stops abruptly in a beam of morning sunlight, licks her back once, and promptly lies down and goes to sleep.

Loki makes himself and all the food in the break room invisible. Holding the bagel he is eating between his teeth, he stuffs the rest into his knapsack, right in front of McSpadden. Patches hops madly around his feet. He’s a little worried she’ll try to follow him, but when he runs for the door she doesn’t pursue.

He exits the station, the door swinging on empty air behind him. He glances at the sky. Not a raven in sight — Odin’s messengers or otherwise, but he remains invisible anyway. Seeing Amy and Deputy Colbert in the distance, he runs to catch up. His hunger is nowhere near sated, and it takes more effort than he expects.

Amy is just stepping up the bus’ steps when he can’t bear the strain anymore. He drops the invisibility and gasps for breath. Fortunately, he’s behind Amy, the deputy has already turned away, and the bus driver’s facing away.

Amy spins with a start.

“Thought I’d take you up on your offer,” he says, swallowing and trying to appear pathetic and non-threatening. The effect may be slightly undone by his heavy breathing.

Her mouth opens. For a minute he thinks that maybe his illusion of Earth fashion has dropped, but he looks down and it’s still there. Then in his mind he hears, Please don’t be a bank robber or anything. The fact that he hears her is disturbing; the fact that she’s praying that he doesn’t rob banks is very disturbing.

“All right?” he says slowly, not sure if he is agreeing not to rob banks, or asking if her offer is still good.

She swallows. “Do you need me to buy you a ticket?”

He winces.

The bus driver says, “Buy it for him online when you sit down! We’ve got to get a move on!”

“Okay,” she says. From a shapeless bag on her shoulder, Fenrir gives a happy yip.

“Is that a dog in there?” says the bus driver.

“No!” say Amy and Loki in unison, quickly hurrying up the steps.

As they settle into their seats which are a might bit cramped, Amy complains about being in a “cattle car.” Loki says nothing. He actually thinks the vehicle is fairly amazing. It’s not one of the litters of Odin’s wife, Frigga, and the seats are not proportioned for someone his size, but even with his legs splayed wide, one knee awkwardly out in the aisle, it is much more comfortable than a horse.

His brain churns with questions. Why did Odin’s spell leave him so drained? And how did he escape it? How is he the good guy? Could they possibly mistake him for the real Thor? And unicorns... How in the nine realms are they slipping over here? They certainly didn’t come from Asgard’s orbiting garbage heap.

He closes his eyes. He should pull out his book and look for branches of the World Tree in the vicinity of Chicago.

Instead he falls asleep.

Chapter 4

Maybe it is the steady hum of the engine. Maybe it is that there are people all around. Or maybe it is just exhaustion. Whatever, even though Amy wouldn’t think it possible, in the bus, just a little before St. Louis, she dozes off. She wakes up with a start, vague memories of darkness and Ed Malson in her mind.

She takes a breath. Fenrir pushes her nose out of the bag in Amy’s lap and licks her hand. Amy pats the dog’s head. She is safe. Thor Odinson saved her. She rubs her eyes. His parents must be lunatics for giving him a name like that. Lunatic parents may be something they have in common. Thinking about Thor, she blinks. Wincing from the pain in her neck, she rolls her head to look at him across the aisle. Her eyes widen. Thor’s head is bent down against his chest; his eyes are closed. He’s shivering, his lips are moving, a scowl is on his brow. She can tell instantly he is having bad dreams, too.

But that isn’t what’s making her eyebrows touch her hairline.

He’s wearing armor. What looks like the handle of a sword is poking out of the knapsack that sits on the floor between his feet.

Another passenger walking by looks down at him and blinks and then walks back to his seat, a confused expression on his face.

Amy’s heart starts to beat fast. This is too weird. Not just that he is wearing armor, but that he was dressed like a rock-a-billy, hipster, wannabe when he got on the bus. Where did he stow the extra clothes? Not in the little bag. But she saw the armor before, didn’t she, when she hit him with pepper spray?

Her train of thought is interrupted when Thor whispers something strange and guttural. Fenrir pushes herself out of the bag, runs across the aisle, and hops into his lap.

Amy looks up and down the aisle. No one seems to have noticed. She looks at Thor. His eyes are blinking open. Fenrir pants on his face and his head jerks up, in surprise or because Fenrir’s breath has been especially bad since the road kill incident.

Raising an eyebrow, he puts a hand on the wiggling Fenrir. “Hello beast that looks like a dog,” he says in the proper East Coast tones she first noticed in the police station, when the shock of everything had started wearing off.

...or maybe the shock didn’t wear off. He’s wearing armor.

The Art Institute of Chicago has some suits of armor from the middle ages. They look like barrels with metal tubes for feet and arms. What Thor is wearing is very different. It fits like a second skin. It seems to be a dull metal that picks up the colors around it — it almost blends into the seat. There is a chest plate, and some interlocking horizontal strips about the width of a finger that fall to his belt. The same thin strips rise up his neck. There are more plates around his legs and arms, between them more of the interlocking finger-width pieces of metal.

Thor glances at her. His eyes open a little bit when he sees she’s awake, and then he looks back to Fenrir, who has rolled over on his lap. Wrinkling his nose and scowling a bit, Thor gingerly scratches Fenrir on the chest with a finger.

Thor is very pale, and at the moment very scruffy, his hair is disheveled, and it looks like he hasn’t had a shave in days. His face is narrow, and his features are somewhere between sharp and delicate. He’s definitely not unattractive, but you wouldn’t mistake him for the rugged actor who plays his namesake in the “Thor” movie franchise.

She stares at him. As he scratches Fenrir, the armor makes no sound at all. She would expect the metal to clink or something.

Turning to her, Thor scowls a little bit. “Is something wrong?”

Amy opens her mouth, but no sound comes out.

“Yes?” he says tilting his head.

Biting her lip, she points at him. “Ummm...” she says. “You’re wearing...armor. Kind of weird SWAT meets elven Lord of the Rings armor.”

His eyes go wide and he looks down. Almost to himself he says, “Well, that’s never happened before..”

“Am I still asleep?” Amy says. “Is this a dream?”

He looks at her and the corner of his lip twitches. Tilting his head he says, “You are dreaming.” Reaching down into his knapsack and pulling out a bagel, he says, “Close your eyes. Enjoy the comfort of this magnificent vehicle.”

That doesn’t help the moment feel real. “It’s a bus,” she says.

He scowls a little. “I know that.”

“It isn’t magnificent,” she says. And it brings back bad memories of other bus rides she’s had to take.

He blinks. “Go to sleep. When you awake, I will be wearing the normal attire you saw me in earlier.”

“It wasn’t normal.”

“What?” he says, brows rising.

“It was totally retro, 1950s-esque,” Amy says.

His mouth twitches. “Was it really so conspicuous?”

“Well...” Amy says. “Sort of... I mean some people wear that kind of thing, but it isn’t precisely normal.”

He stares at her a moment, and then he says, “Go back to sleep. When you open your eyes I’ll be totally retro again.”

Amy settles back against the seat, takes a breath, and closes her eyes.

Someone says, “Is that a dog?!” in a very accusatory tone.

Amy’s eyes bolt open to see an older man glaring down at her lap. Her fingers tighten around Fenrir. “Ummmm...” she says.

The man backs up. “Oh, I must have been mistaken.”

Amy looks down. In her lap is a shaggy gray teddy bear that looks immobile — but she feels a wiggling Fenrir in her fingers.

Amy looks across the aisle. Thor is wearing retro clothing again. “You are dreaming,” he says softly.

Staring at the seat in front of her, Amy scowls. “That is the logical explanation.”

She doesn’t feel safe anymore. She has this horrible feeling that she didn’t escape Malson, that she is dying in a ditch somewhere and her brain is making up this long dream to save her from the pain.

“Close your eyes,” he says.

She doesn’t want to know if this is real or not. Squeezing her eyes shut, she says, “I’m not opening them until we reach Chicago.”

“Shhhhhh....” he says softly. “When you wake up, things will return to normal, and when they’re normal you’ll know you’re safe.”

His voice sounds so confident, so sure, as though he knows exactly how she’s feeling.

The villagers pick up the pieces of Cronus’ body. They laugh and smile. Loki is still sitting on the floor of the boathouse, arms wrapped around his knees. Hoenir and Mimir haven’t entered yet. Both of them would have been useless, of course.

A villager comes up and hands Loki a flask of something. Patting Loki on the shoulder, he flashes a smile missing several teeth. “Well done, Loki! Drink this.”

Loki takes the flask; it smells strongly like alcohol. Loki’s had watered down mead before, but not often. Frigga’s handmaiden, Eir, is talented in the healing arts. Eir has Frigga convinced that alcohol is particularly harmful for young developing minds and livers.

Odin says in his day everyone drank. Brusquely taking the flask, Loki takes a long swig.

It burns, and he has to fight hard to keep it down. The man laughs again. “We are burning his body, building you a throne, and will kill a calf in your honor! Come! Celebrate with us.”

He pats Loki on the shoulder and offers him a hand up. Loki accepts and tries to hand back the flask.

“You keep it!” says the man. “You’ve earned it.”

Loki looks down at the flask. He knows as soon as he exits the boathouse, Hoenir will take the drink from him. That seems unmanly. Tipping the flask back, he proceeds to drain it, even though tears run down his cheeks and some of the liquid runs down his chin. When he’s done, he wipes his chin and hands the flask back to the villager.

Eyes wide, the villager says, “You are a god.”

Loki smiles triumphantly. Suddenly humans are streaming into the boathouse, men, women, and children. They throw their arms around Loki and then hoist him onto their shoulders. Warmth spreads through Loki, and he sees Hoenir and Mimir over their heads and waves happily.

Soon the bonfire is roaring, and Loki is sitting on a rough chair that is too wide for him. They call it a throne. He would call it branches, but he smiles, and the villagers smile, and it’s all like a wonderful dream. He calls the little boy Jonah over to sit with him, and the villagers seem to think that is hilarious and fantastic. They bring over some weak beer; Jonah accepts it readily, so Loki does too. Nearby Loki hears Mimir say, “Well, I suppose one little drink won’t hurt him...”

Soon after, there is food and more beer, and then there is music and dancing around the fire. Hoenir and Mimir try to pull Loki away, but Loki tells them something to the effect of, “in just a minute,” and dives into the dance with the villagers. Someone must have thrown some new kindling on the fire just then because the flames seem to rise halfway to Asgard. Or maybe he is just drunk. But he is happy. And after today, and the boat, and Cronus, and staring into the faces of the humans around him who are so kind, so fragile, so mortal, and who love him so much it is almost a physical pain...

Someone hands him another flask. Hoenir is nowhere in sight and he takes a long swig. He spins around the fire with the humans and the flames leap.

It is dark when someone says, “Loki, our God of Gods!”

Laughing and quite drunk, Loki stands upon the throne. “No!” he shouts. “ I am the God of Fire!” The fire chooses that moment to send a shower of sparks into the air. The villagers howl in delight. “The God of Spirit,” he says, shaking the flask. The villagers laugh again. “And...” A group of three young girls standing near him giggle. It’s not like Loki hasn’t noticed girls before, but at that moment it seems for the first time he really sees them. They look so soft, so inviting...and what they are inviting him to isn’t so vague and abstract anymore. “...girls,” he says. Jumping from the throne, he takes a spinning step in their direction. A piece of wood in the fire breaks with a thunderclap, and the villagers gasp.

A heavy hand comes down on Loki’s shoulder, stopping his spin. Somehow he knows without looking who it is, and the dream-like quality of the night comes crashing to an end. He feels his cheeks going red with embarrassment. He also feels an odd sense of relief, as though if that hand weren’t there he might spin so fast he’d leave the ground.

The music stops. A hush comes over the villagers. Only the fire is still crackling. Odin’s voice rings through the night. “The God of Mischief is more like it!”

Loki’s legs crumple beneath him, and there is some laughter from the villagers that sounds far off and uncertain. Before he hits the ground, Odin catches him. Hoisting Loki up in his arms, Odin cradles him like he would a babe, or a woman. Loki scowls. And then he realizes if Odin did throw him over his shoulder like a proper warrior, he would probably throw up.

“Come on, Loki,” Odin says, not unkindly. “We’re going home.”

Loki smiles and waves at Jonah, and the villagers, and the girls. He is embarrassed. A little. Or maybe a lot. He is too drunk to properly gauge the emotion.

And Odin coming to spoil his schemes is so normal...he suddenly knows at last he is safe.

When the bus drops them off at the intersection of Canal and Lake Street, Loki’s head immediately turns to the south east and downtown. Chicago is hot, sticky and tall. Very, very, tall. Across a dreary parking lot and the river, skyscrapers tower. It’s all he can do to keep from gaping. Every single building seems to be as tall or taller than the Empire State Building. And nearly all of them seem made of glass. Some of the windows are darkened, but others are bright mirrors that reflect the large white clouds in the Midwest sky — they seem to Loki to be gigantic moving canvases. And to think they’re all solid, and real, not dependent on illusions like the buildings of Asgard.

“Yes,” says Amy. “Lovely parking lot. You can see the pollution on the horizon. But it’s Chicago. What can you do?”

Loki blinks. There is a bit of haze low to the ground, but... “It’s cleaner than I remember,” he says. And it is certainly cleaner than Victorian England. For a place that doesn’t have a Void to dump the garbage from their misspent magic, Chicago is doing rather well.

“Huh,” says Amy. “Let’s catch a taxi.”

She holds out a hand, and a white vehicle that is very similarly shaped to the chariot of her would-be-abductor screeches to a stop.

As Amy and the driver wrestle her bag and a rather large trunk into the back, Loki slips into the interior. It is blessedly cool inside. He stops and peeks between the seats to the front. The dashboard is alight with glowing numbers. One is clearly the time, another is the temperature, but all the others are completely incomprehensible. He blinks. Computers are everywhere.

The buildings, the computers — Earth is turning into a place that is almost magical. It temporarily makes him forget about the hunger that is beginning to gnaw at his stomach and the exhaustion tugging at his limbs. Odin’s spell to stop time drained him more than he thought possible — how Loki resisted it is a mystery.

He shakes his head. He won’t solve that puzzle now. Leaning forward, he tries to get a better view of the numbers on the dashboard.

The driver and Amy slip into the car and put on their seat belts. “814 N. Hermitage,” Amy says and the cab driver steps on the gas so fast Loki falls backwards in his seat. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Amy staring at him with a look of pure confusion on her face. Even Fenrir is cocking her head in his direction. For a moment he thinks that his illusion of totally retro clothes has fallen again, but he checks, and it’s still there.

As they speed away from the center of the city along Chicago Avenue, the buildings get noticeably lower. Many are also noticeably older — two and three story row houses of stone and brick that are visibly sinking into Chicago’s soft soil. These familiar buildings are interspersed with newer abodes with tremendous windows that can’t be sensible for temperature regulation or for warding off potential intruders. It really is a good thing that Asgard put a stop to the Jotunn plans for a new ice age on Earth — and took care of the troll situation.

As they drive further west along Chicago Avenue, shops and restaurants begin to appear. Many of the names are in Spanish, and Loki notices a great many people who seem to be of South American descent walking among the natives of European and African origin.

They turn up a green, leafy street. About a third of the houses seem to be very new, a third are old and decrepit, and a third look old but lovingly maintained.

Amy says, “This is good,” and the cab stops so fast that Loki braces his hands on the front seat.

The cabbie, who had been so solicitous when Amy got into the cab, doesn’t do much more than throw Amy’s bags on the street after she pays him. As he speeds away, Loki watches as she tilts the trunk up and tries to drag it while simultaneously trying to heave a large cylindrical cloth sack.

It occurs to him that he’s probably supposed to help. He is from Asgard. Centuries ago, Asgardians would occasionally take humans as servants. It never works the other way around... But plenty of Asgardians have mocked Loki for his lack of pride before.

“May I help you?” he asks solicitously.

Shaking her head, she says, “No...that’s okay...I can manage it.” Dragging the trunk along the ground, she bumps into the curb and nearly topples over. The trunk and the bag fall to the street.

He tilts his head. She seems to know her Norse mythology, so he says, “Don’t be such a Valkyrie.” The winged warrior women are always so touchy.

“What?” she says. Apparently his gentle jibe didn’t translate well. Rather than explain, he just bends down and grabs the trunk by both ends.

“Don’t...” she starts to say, coming forward.

He swings it over one shoulder with ease.

“It’s heavy,” Amy says, touching his free arm before he can move away.

She stops and looks down. He looks where her hand is. She feels his armor, even if she can’t see it. Her gaze meets his and her brows come together.

He’s saved from having to say anything by the sound of a woman’s voice. “Amy! Amy!”

They both turn to see an old woman coming down a narrow walk from an old brick two-story house of the lovingly maintained variety. Ivy climbs nimbly up the walls and spills out over the yard.

Loki tilts his head. He isn’t used to the elderly. Their wrinkled papery skin and white hair remind him pleasantly of gnomes, but the old have a brittleness to them that gnomes don’t share. Aging seems such a terrible affliction.

The old woman is wearing a dress that wouldn’t be out of place last time Loki was here, but she wears the same leather-like shoes with stripes and laces that Amy wears.

She wraps her arms around the girl and Fenrir begins yipping up a happy storm.

“I’m so glad you’re home! Don’t ever travel alone again! Take a plane, take a train, take a bus!” the old woman says.

“Oh, grandma, it was a freak incident...”

Pulling back, the woman says, “Don’t go quoting me statistics about lightning strikes and how unlikely this is ever to happen to you again. It happened once! That’s enough.”

“Grandma...” says Amy.

But the old woman is coming towards Loki, arms outstretched. “You’re the man who saved my darling granddaughter!”

Loki’s eyes widen. She’ll embrace him. Loki’s not squeamish about physical contact with humans, unlike some Asgardians...Asgardians like Heimdall, that stuck up stickler for protocol and station, but she’ll feel Loki’s armor. Picking up Amy’s remaining bag, he says, “Careful, I don’t want to drop these on you.”

She stops and closes her hands together. She beams at Loki. His head roars with the sound of She’s all I have left in the world, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Loki blinks. More human prayers in his head? But the saving of lives is done. This is so very odd.

Despite the torrent in Loki’s mind, all the old woman says is, “Oh, yes, of course.” But she continues to smile at him, and something in his gut constricts. He’s always thought of prayers as a weak trick, but he’s beginning to think they’re deceptively powerful. He’s not sure he likes it.

“Thor, this is my grandmother, Beatrice,” Amy says.

Shaking her head, Beatrice says, “Such an unusual name. My late husband would have loved it.” And then turning she says, “I hope they lock up that horrible Malson man and put him away forever.”

Loki looks at Amy. Apparently she hasn’t been entirely truthful with Beatrice. Catching his gaze, Amy winces and holds a finger to her lips. Loki raises an eyebrow. There was a time on Earth when even grandmothers would have reveled gleefully in stories of heroics, no matter how gory.

Up ahead Beatrice says, “Come inside out of the heat!” and waves them both up the narrow walkway. “I can have food on the table in thirty minutes. Everything’s ready; I just have to heat it up.”

Mouth watering at the word food, Loki follows them in. Looking very uncomfortable, Amy says to him, “Um, if my bags are too heavy you can put them down...”

He’s tired. He’s hungry. But they’re not heavy. “Where do you want them?” he asks.

Amy jumps a little at the sound of his voice. Being hungry always makes him cranky; it’s beginning to show, evidently.

“This way,” says Amy. He follows her up a narrow staircase to a small sleeping room.

Setting them down on the ground, he says, “Whatever your grandmother is cooking smells deli— ”

A tiny ping rings through the room.

He stills at the sound.

Ping.

There it is again, and the most infinitesimal of pressures on his back. Scowling, he spins around. Amy has her fingers outstretched, a guilty look on her face. It takes him a moment but he puts it together — she pinged his armor with her finger.

“What do you want?” he says, the words coming out harsher than he intends.

Backing up a little, Amy looks down. “To know I’m not dreaming.”

Loki sighs and rubs his eyes.

Ping. Ping.

He feels a light pressure now on his lower arm.

He opens his eyes and Amy has her fingers outstretched again. This time she doesn’t look guilty. Just confused.

“You shouldn’t go ping,” she says. “I have to be dreaming.”

He stares at her a moment, beyond irritated. He’s saved her life, sat through a tortuously long questioning session, carried her bags for her — and he’s hungry. Yet she has the gall to question her good fortune, to question him, and to ping his armor.

He suddenly has the desire to be a little cruel. “You’re not dreaming,” he says. Dropping the illusion he stands before her in his armor. “Does this help?” he says with a smile.

“No!”

The sound of footsteps on the stairs makes the girl turn her head. “Change back,” she says. “Don’t frighten my grandmother.”

Loki would rather not frighten anyone who will feed him. He slips back into the illusion of “totally retro” clothing.

Beatrice comes around the corner, a stack of linens in her hand. Loki smiles benevolently at her.

“Amy, why don’t you show him the spare room?” Beatrice says.

Taking the load from from her grandmother, Amy says, “This way.”

As she leads him out of the house, Loki looks up at the sky. He sees no sign of ravens, the spies of Odin. He doubts Heimdall can see him. Heimdall has to know where to look first. Just in case he puts on his helmet, disguised as a fedora, before he follows her across the tiny lawn and into an alley behind the garage. Amy unlocks and lifts the garage door. Inside, off to one side, is a large vehicle. It reminds him vaguely of a Jeep.

Amy leads him past the vehicle to a door. She unlocks it and says, “It’s a little inconvenient,” and then leads him up a flight of stairs. Every step upward the heat becomes more and more oppressive.

Loki lets the illusion of Earth clothing drop again. It’s a game, and she started it.

At the top of the stairs she turns around and jumps at the sight of his armor. She does have one of the lovelier bosoms Loki has seen on this or any other world, and the bounce does rather nice things. He smirks.

Thrusting the pile of linens at him, she says, “Here.” And turning around again she walks into a medium-sized room. There is a bed in one corner, and a couch. “The shower is that way,” she gestures towards a door, “And the swinging door takes you to a kitchenette. I think there are glasses. There isn’t any food, though. Do you need me to show you how to turn on the air conditioning?”

That’s it? No more questions?

...Air conditioning?

He is a Frost Giant, and the room is rather uncomfortable, even if his armor does have some temperature control.

“I would like help with the air conditioning,” he says.

She walks over to a boxlike thing in the window, plugs it into the wall, and shows him how to operate the dials. And she hands him some keys, and walks towards the door. Just before leaving she turns. “See you in about 20 minutes.”

He tilts his head and looks down at his armor. He blinks. “You’re not bothered?”

Her eyes go wide, and she looks down. “I’m probably going crazy and dying at the bottom of a ditch somewhere, but you know, this is an interesting dream, a better dream than that reality, and you’re responsible, so I’m grateful and I’m just going to go with it until I wake up...” She swallows. “Or not wake up...or whatever.”

Well, now he actually feels like a heel. And a little foolish. Really, she’s quite lovely and just his type. Although he’s currently not in the mood, he certainly has no issue with indulging in passing carnal pleasures with a human. No use burning bridges.

Going forward, he takes her hand. “Miss Lewis,” he says in his calmest, most reassuring, most courtly tone — he is in armor, no use disguising his origins anymore. “You are not dying. You are home, you are safe, and the gentleman from the forest is no more. I do regret that my lapse in control has caused you to doubt this. If I believed it were prudent, I would offer to erase your memories and allow you to forget seeing Fenrir as a wolf, the portfolio pictures bursting into flames,and my armor. But memory erasing is a tricky business, and...”

He looks down at her hand. It is shaking. Pursing his lips, he says, “This is not reassuring you.”

“Not at all,” she confirms.

“Damn.” With a sigh he makes to kiss her hand. It is a courtly gesture, one he would bestow on a lady in Asgard had he distressed her accidentally.

To his shock, she rips her hand away before it even touches his lips. “That really doesn’t help,” she says.

Eyes wide, Loki holds up his hands. “No offense meant.”

Scowling and looking away, she says, “See you in a few minutes.” And then she turns and disappears down the stairs.

Tilting his head, Loki turns in the direction of the shower, thankful that he knows what one is.

He’s just rinsing his hair when he sees the red mist again. It wraps around him in the shower, and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. The child’s voice comes again in Russian. “The petty bourgeois are keeping the grander house to themselves and leaving you the meaner accommodation.”

Blinking the water from his eyes, Loki restrains a shudder. “I’m grateful I don’t have to rob banks again for food and a place to stay,” Loki says. Stepping through the red mist and out of the shower, he grabs a towel.

“My Josef robbed banks, too,” says the child voice. “For the revolution.” In a voice that sounds slightly ashamed, it adds, “And food...and soft ones.”

“Josef?” says Loki. Obviously, the mist wants to talk to him, and Loki isn’t so foolish as not to comply.

“He woke me. He touched me. But he wasn’t like you. He couldn’t hear me.”

Slipping on his breeches, Loki says, “You have a corporeal form?”

“Yes,” says the mist, its voice sounding fainter, the red magic ceding to pink.

“Where are you?” Loki asks.

“It is impossible to know position or momentum with certainty,” says the voice, barely audible now, the mist almost invisible.

Leave it to a magical creature to stumble over the Heisenberg uncertainty principle. Magic really was just expanded quantum theory.

“Yes, that’s true,” Loki says, trying to remain patient. “But you can think of your position in relative terms to mine and then give an estimate of location...”

There is no response. Loki exhales heavily in frustration. He is very curious. But he doesn’t have time for this right now. He needs to eat and sleep to give himself enough energy to open a gate to the World Tree. He needs to find Valli and Nari.

He slips on a shirt that was in the pile of towels and sheets. Stepping out of the bathroom, he looks at his armor and sword laid out neatly on the bed.

Beatrice is going to touch him. He just knows it. He goes to his knapsack, pulls out his book and slips it into his pocket. Closing his eyes, he briefly projects his consciousness out of the small room, through the roof, and into the sky. There are no ravens in sight.

Jaw tight, he heads for the stairs.

Chapter 5

Thor, the weird maybe figment of Amy’s imagination, shows up for dinner wearing a chambray shirt that used to belong to Amy’s grandfather. Her grandfather was a tall man, but it still barely comes to Thor’s waistband. He’s rolled up the sleeves so they don’t look too short.

He’s shaved and his hair is clean and combed back from his eyes. It’s disturbing, but he of the inappropriate King-Arthur-esque come-ons cleans up nicely.

She shakes her head. Remember the armor, Amy. Remember the ping when you flicked his back.

Remember he saved you...

She sighs. She is probably just imagining all of this. It’s too much to think about, so she focuses on the spread on the table.

Beatrice has pulled out the stops for Amy’s rescuer. Amy’s grandmother is of Ukrainian descent, and the table shows it. Stuffed cabbages, sausages, boiled potatoes, and homemade sauerkraut. Amy prefers to eat vegetarian, and in deference to that her grandmother has also laid out some cheese sandwiches and mushroom soup with dumplings.

Thor sits down with a big smile and proceeds to eat everything. He doesn’t eat fast, doesn’t shovel food in his face, but he’s like a machine. He just keeps going, and going, and going.

Her grandmother asks him questions, and he answers quickly and vaguely and turns the conversation back to Beatrice. He asks all the right questions about the neighborhood, and Beatrice is happy to expound on how it had once been predominantly Ukrainian but now is filled with yuppies and Mexican “foreigners” — Beatrice doesn’t quite catch the irony in her being from the Ukraine and a foreigner. Thor doesn’t comment.

He seems so much like the nice, kind of shy awkward guy she remembers from the police station. Beatrice seems utterly enchanted by him. It takes nearly half an hour for her to turn to Amy and say, “How did your final exams go, dear?”

Putting down her sandwich, Amy says, “Oh, great, Grandma. I think my exam for Equine Theriogenology went really well.” Her grandmother looks at her pointedly, and then tips her head in Thor’s direction. Amy belatedly remembers it’s not nice to use words people probably don’t understand. Licking her lips she prepares to explain theriogenology is the study of animal reproduction when Thor says, “Oh, really? Was the curriculum theoretical or practical? I’m no expert on theriogenology myself, equine or otherwise, but I have had the opportunity to be present for a foaling here and there. And my friend...Homer...was always hatching odd things.”

Amy blinks. “The class was theoretical and practical...”

“Oh, excellent,” says Thor. “It’s so lovely watching foals clamber up on their wobbly little legs, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” says Amy, her mouth threatening to pull into a smile.

“Did you grow up on a farm?” Beatrice asks Thor.

“No,” he says. “But there were stables nearby.” Helping himself to the last of the stuffed cabbages, Thor says. “What are in these cabbages? They are delicious!”

Beatrice giggles like a young girl and Amy restrains a sigh as her grandmother begins to tell Thor exactly what’s in them. Instead, going to the stove, Amy ladles another bowl of mushroom soup for herself. Actually, listening to her grandmother talk about ground pork and seasonings is beginning to make her feel like this isn’t a dream.

Didn’t Dream-on-the-bus Thor tell her she’d know she was alive when things became ordinary again? And maybe Armor-in-the-garage-attic Thor was just another dream? She hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in days now. Maybe she drifted off to sleep when she came out of her shower and lay down on her bed? Of course! That must be what happened.

She’s just going back to the table when the CD player, which had been playing some mellow shoe gazing electronica, switches to her grandmother’s Glenn Miller CD.

Thor sits up straighter as the opening bars to “In the Mood” comes on. “I know this song,” he says.

Sighing, Beatrice says, “I learned to dance the Swing with this song.”

Thor grins. “So did I!” Setting his napkin on the table, he stands, bows slightly and holds out a hand. “Beatrice?”

Beatrice puts a hand to her mouth. And then she smiles and says, “Oh, why not? But let’s go to the living room. There’s no space in here.”

Taking Thor’s hand, she leads him to the other room and Amy follows.

“No dipping or throws!” Beatrice says, “Remember, I’m old!”

“Nonsense,” says Thor, putting a hand on her back as they step in front of the fireplace. “You don’t look a day over 65!”

Beatrice laughs and holds up her hand for him. “I’m closer to 85, young man!”

Taking her hand in his, Thor pauses. “No, really, I meant it, you don’t...” The look on his face is genuinely perplexed. But then he blinks, says, “Good on you!” and they begin to dance. Thor is very gentle for such a huge guy and Beatrice smiles from ear to ear — if she feels anything weird beneath Grandpa’s old shirt Thor’s wearing, she’s not showing it. Amy leans against the mantle and just watches. She hasn’t seen Grandma this happy since Grandpa died, and it makes her a little misty eyed. Even if this is all in her head, for Beatrice’s sake, she doesn’t want it to end.

And then it almost does. The light in the living room flickers and goes out, and there is an instant of darkness. But then, all at once, every single candle on the mantle lights up. Amy jumps, as her hair nearly catches fire.

“Oh, candles! Lovely!” says Beatrice.

Thor smiles at Amy. “Thanks for lighting those!”

Amy decides not to say anything. Aren’t hallucinations part of sleep deprivation?

As the music winds down, she just follows her giggling grandmother and Thor back into the kitchen.

Breathing a little heavily, Beatrice sits down and smoothes her hair.

Thor slides into the seat across from her and starts helping himself to the last of the boiled potatoes and sausage.

“You are too much fun to be Thor!” Beatrice declares.

Thor’s body stills, a spoon full of potatoes hanging in the air. “Oh?” he says. His voice has just the barest hint of an edge to it, and Amy tenses. “Who am I then?”

Something mischievous enters Beatrice’s eyes. “I’d say you’re more a friend to Hoenir than you are a Thor.”

Thor puts the potatoes down. “Friend to Hoenir...”

Winking, Beatrice says, “It’s a kenning, young man. You can Google it later.”

“Google?” says Thor.

“I’m a very tech savvy Grandma!” says Beatrice. “I email my granddaughter every day! It’s so wonderful.”

“Email...” says Thor.

“Kenning?” says Amy.

Looking at Amy, Thor says, “A kenning is a conventional poetic phrase used in place of the name of a person or thing. For instance, storm-of-swords means battle.”

Beatrice blinks, “Very good! How about whale-road?”

Putting a potato in his mouth — the whole thing, but it really isn’t that big a mouthful for him, Thor smiles, chews a moment, swallows, and then says, “The sea!”

The next half hour or so consists of Beatrice throwing kennings at Thor. Thor gets all the old obscure ones, like gore-cradle for battlefield, and battle-flame for the light on a sword, but he misses the new ones, like beer-goggles. When Amy explains it he laughs heartily. He doesn’t get surfing-the-net either; when Amy tries to explain that one, he only looks befuddled.

Thor’s cleaning up the last of everything on the table when Beatrice says, “Well, I think I’ll offer you dessert and then call it a night.” She looks at Thor’s plate. “Unless, of course, you still would like more meat and potatoes...”

She’s just being polite, of course; anyone can see it.

But Thor nods vigorously. “I could eat more meat and potatoes if you’ve got them.”

Beatrice blinks at him. “Well...I do have a cold smoked ham in the fridge I was thinking of serving my church group...”

Smacking his lips, Thor says, “That sounds delicious! I love ham!”

Beatrice stares at him, then shaking her head, gets up and says, “I forget how much young men can eat!”

Amy helps her grandmother put a huge ham on a serving plate in the middle of the table. Beatrice hands Thor a carving knife — and a loaf of bread for good measure, and then excuses herself. As she is leaving, she turns and says, “Friends of Hoenir are always welcome in this house.”

Thor smiles. “Well, Hoenir is a lovely man. I’m sure any friend of his is exceptional.”

Beatrice laughs. “Hoenir’s friend did put the gods in their place on more than one occasion,” and Thor looks absolutely befuddled again.

Beatrice leaves the room, the old floorboards, and then the stairs, creaking as she goes up to her room.

An awkward silence settles on the table. Thor rips off a piece of bread, looks down at his plate and says, “Friend of Hoenir...”

Amy whips out her iPhone and Googles it. She sits up straighter. “It’s Loki,” she says. She swears the lights flicker just a bit. At her feet, Fenrir makes the same noise she makes when she spies a rabbit.

She looks up and sees Thor staring at her, as though gauging her reaction.

Amy doesn’t move. She feels like pieces of a puzzle in her brain are falling into place, but the picture that is forming is too weird and too impossible to be real.

He looks down at his plate. “Hoenir was a good friend. From the beginning...even willing to risk his life...” Thor stirs the food on his plate, but says no more.

Loki is 12 years old. A mist is settling over the gardens outside the palace in Asgard. It is early evening, and he runs as fast as his legs can carry him down dark garden paths, his breathing loud in his ears.

He doesn’t stop until he gets to Hoenir’s hut. As he bangs at the door, a little gray mouse with eight black insect legs and no tail drops down from the eaves on a silvery trail of spider silk. Loki loves spiders. Ordinarily he’d pet the little creature, but now he’s too flustered to even raise a finger to it.

The door opens and golden light spills out. Hoenir is wearing an apron and gloves of the kind falconers wear. He steps silently aside and Loki bolts in.

Loki never knows what he’ll find when he comes into the hut. On the outside, it looks like a single room just a few paces wide, but on the inside it has many rooms, and is much larger than it looks from the garden. He never knows which room he’ll step into. Sometimes it’s a sitting room with comfy chairs and a roaring fire, sometimes an enormous library grander even than Odin’s, sometimes a kitchen, or sometimes, like tonight, he enters a workshop. There is a long workbench as high as Loki’s chest and some tall chairs next to it. From the ceiling hangs a large lamp-like thing that glows orange and nearly touches the bench top.

Mimir is standing on his neck by the lamp. “Ah, Loki, we were just about to do a hatching. Would you like to select an egg for us?”

Hoenir gestures towards an enormous basket, as big as Loki, filled with eggs, all rather long and oblong instead of the regular shape of a bird egg. Loki finds one that is about twice the length of his outstretched hands and about half as wide. It is leathery and soft.

“Excellent,” says Mimir. “Why don’t you bring it here and set it beneath the lamp.”

Hoenir leads Loki to a tall chair close to Mimir and the lamp. Loki climbs up on it and puts the egg beneath the light. The lamp gives off a lot of heat.

The three of them sit staring at it for a long time. At last Mimir says, “So, Loki. What brings you to our hut at this time of night?”

Loki shrugs.

For a few moments Mimir says nothing, and then he says, “So have you seen baby Baldur? I’m not such a fan of babies myself, but Odin and Frigga’s child...why I’ve never seen such golden curls on a newborn. And even his cries sound musical.”

Loki scowls. “His curls aren’t golden. His hair is thin and black and straight. And his cries sound just like every other baby’s cry. They’re loud and I wish he’d shut up.”

“Now, now,” says Mimir. “I’ve seen Baldur, and he most definitely has golden curls, and rosy cheeks and...”

“No,” says Loki, staring at the egg. He thinks he sees it moving. “His hair is black. And his skin is pale and nearly blue...like mine. He looks more Jotunn than Aesir. And there’s magic all around him...gray magic, so dark it’s nearly black.”

What Loki doesn’t say is how just being around Baldur makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. How he feels a chill just being near the baby.

“Did you tell Odin what you see?” Mimir asks quietly.

Loki can only swallow.

“Oh, dear,” says Mimir, and Loki glances up to see Mimir looking at Hoenir. Hoenir looks very distraught.

“I’m afraid to ask...” says Mimir.

Loki stares as the surface of the egg rips apart and a tiny hole appears. “Odin told me to leave the palace and never come back.”

It was the only time Odin has ever screamed at him — usually there have been maids and governesses for that. Loki has taken his designation as “God of Mischief” rather seriously. Mimir and Odin have stressed the Aesir aren’t really gods — more gardeners of the World Tree, but Loki likes his moniker. It’s great fun to make an illusion of a snake in a laundry basket and then explain it to Odin as his “sacred duty.” Such things never fail to make Odin chortle.

But telling Odin what Baldur looked like to him...that had not gone so well.

Beside him he hears Hoenir scoot back in his chair. The egg starts to shake.

“What sort of creature’s in the egg?” Loki asks. He doesn’t want to talk about Odin or his exile from the palace.

“A hadrosaur,” says Mimir, his voice soft.

“One of Hoenir’s creations?” asks Loki.

Mimir raises his eyebrows, “No, well, only distantly. It was created by evolution.”

Loki wonders who Evolution is but asks the more pressing question. “What is a hadrosaur?”

“It is a sort of herbivorous dragon,” says Mimir.

Loki puts his hands down on the counter and rests his head on them. The egg starts to shake some more; a tiny hole splits into a tear.

The tear splits down the side of the egg, and then a tiny dark green head peeks out. The creature has eyes set in the side of its head; its mouth is slightly agape. Its teeth look strangely sharp for a herbivore — maybe they’re just baby teeth, sharp for splitting the egg’s leathery shell?

“Wait a minute...” says Mimir.

Loki and Hoenir lean closer.

Blinking hawk like yellow eyes, the head emerges on a long ungainly neck, followed by two tiny little arms with little hands and long sharp claws. Powerful hind limbs follow and a long thick tail.

“That isn’t a hadrosaur,” says Mimir.

The little creature tilts its head towards Mimir, then catches Loki’s eye. Seemingly changing its mind, it looks back to Hoenir.

“No!” Mimir screams.

Hoenir backs up, but too late. The creature springs from the counter and sinks its claws and teeth into Hoenir’s arm. Hoenir stares at it wide-eyed as though in shock.

“Loki! Stop it! Stop it! ” Mimir shrieks.

Jumping forward, Loki grabs it by the neck like he would a snake. He pinches its jaws on either side, pushing the gums into the creature’s own sharp teeth. It releases Hoenir with a hiss and thrashes in Loki’s hands.

Mimir sighs. Loki holds it at arm’s length. “What should I do with it?”

Putting a hand on his chin, Hoenir looks around the workshop, seemingly unconcerned with the blood dripping from his arm.

Loki readjusts his grip so one hand is on the neck and the other is wrapped around the creature’s writhing torso. It really is quite interesting. He squints to get a better view of its tiny, razor teeth when the door to the hut bursts open.

Odin stands in the door frame for an instant. Then he walks over to Loki with quick strides that leave Loki paralyzed with fear.

Ripping the little dragon from Loki’s hands, he wrings its neck and throws the lifeless body across the room. Hoenir’s eyes open in horror. When Odin speaks, the hut’s windows rattle. “A velociraptor! I thought we discussed this. Never. Again!”

“We thought it was a harmless hadrosaur,” Mimir says. “We were hatching it for the elves — ”

Odin grabs Loki by the collar and shakes him so hard his teeth rattle “It’s your fault,” he says. Heaving Loki against a wall, Odin says, “What did you expect, Hoenir, inviting this little agent of chaos into your workshop? He should never come here!”

Loki can only gasp for breath. With a sneer Odin tosses him to the side.

“He can’t help what he saw!” Mimir shouts as Loki falls to the floor.

Hoenir runs between Loki and Odin, and Mimir says, “You can’t kill Loki, Odin. Not really. Not without killing Hoenir, too.”

With a cry, Odin tips over the workbench. Mimir’s head lands with a crack and then goes rolling across the floor. Laughing maniacally, Mimir says, “Oh, come now, don’t be paranoid of Hoenir and Loki’s friendship! They can’t help it.”

“Shut up, Mimir!” Odin roars.

“I won’t shut up! We don’t agree with how you treat him! Calling him the God of Mischief! You trivialize him!”

“I’m trying to give him a childhood! Doesn’t he deserve that?” Odin yells.

“You’re trying to control him!” Mimir shouts. “But as soon as he sees something you don’t like...”

Odin goes stomping in Mimir’s direction. Next to Loki, Hoenir meets Loki’s eyes and then looks towards the door. Loki nods. As Hoenir runs between Mimir and Odin, Loki darts out into the night.

The last thing he hears as darkness falls upon him is Mimir saying, “It’s not just chaos that gives birth to monsters.”

Hours later Hoenir comes for him. In one hand he carries a lantern with a flame that he holds aloft. In the other hand he has a lantern hanging at his side, but where the flame should be is Mimir’s head.

“Come with us,” Mimir says. “Odin will recover, but you’ll be staying with us for a while.”

Loki scampers up from where he’d been huddled on the ground. He’s relieved, terrified, and confused. He says nothing that night. But a few days later, when he is sitting in Hoenir’s kitchen, he says to Mimir, “What did you mean, Odin trivializes me?”

Mimir sighs. “Nothing, Loki. I said it in anger. Odin is very good at what he does...tending the branches of the World Tree, and keeping things running smoothly. I should not have questioned him in that way.”

“I like being the God of Mischief,” Loki says. He does. There is a freedom in being a mischief maker; he can skirt rules and expectations. Sometimes he does it for fun, but sometimes he does it because it feels right. Like when a group of boys were saying cruel things to Sigyn, a girl Loki fancies. He sidled up beside her and made it appear as though both he and Sigyn were Valkyries with wings and flaming spears. To most male Aesir pretending to be female, even a Valkyrie, would be shameful. But it was so much fun as the boys ran away to shout, “What’s wrong! Afraid of girls?”

Mimir says nothing for a few moments. But then he says, “Loki, about Baldur...It is alright for a man to be enchanted by his newborn baby.” Sighing, Mimir says, “And...Odin grieves for him.”

“But he’s not dead,” says Loki.

Mimir does not respond.

“I don’t remember doing anything for Hoenir except causing trouble,” Thor says, the words tumbling out suddenly after a long silence. His eyes flick up quickly to hers.

“You don’t remember doing anything...” Amy blinks. The puzzle pieces that fit together in her head, they’re just crazy. He isn’t Loki. The police let him go, he has a clean record, he’s got a social security number that checks out, for heaven’s sake. They’re obviously playing a little game here. She can play along. Raising an eyebrow, she says, “You’re Loki now, not Thor?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, but his eyes are glued to hers and there is a wicked glint there. “So you say,” he says.

Shifting her eyes back down to the iPhone she says, “Here it mentions you saving Hoenir while he was held captive by some dwarfs.”

“That never happened — it was Lopt who rescued Hoenir,” he says, too forcefully to be funny.

Tapping her screen with her thumb she says, “According to Wikipedia — ”

“Wikipedia?”

Amy feels a chill go down her spine. “How can you know what a kenning is and theriogenology and not know what Google or Wikipedia are?” She shakes her head. He is really good at this game. She blinks.

Or wait. Maybe he was raised by one of those fundamentalist religious groups that home school and don’t allow modern technology? She remembers how shy and polite he was at the police station. Even his awkward clothes. Yep. Rural religious fundamentalist home school escapee. It all makes sense.

Smirking at her he takes another bite of ham. “We don’t have Google or Wikipedia in Asgard,” he says.

Okay, now the game is funny again. “Uh-huh,” she says.

“So really,” he says leaning toward her from across the table. “What are they?”

Amy smiles. “Wikipedia is an online encyclopedia that everyone can contribute to.”

His eyes widen and a happy smile plays on his face, as though he’s just worked out something monumental. “Online means the internets?”

She does not snort. But it is a near call. “Yeah, the internets.”

Brow furrowing, he says, “If anyone can contribute, doesn’t that put the authenticity of the information in question?”

She smiles and looks down at a picture captioned, Loki as depicted on an 18th century Icelandic manuscript. “Yeah, you wouldn’t believe how unflattering the first picture of you is.” It really is hideous.

With a scowl he holds out a hand.

She passes over her iPhone.

His scowl deepens and he says, “The artist makes me look like a dwarf!” His irritation seems so genuine, she almost laughs aloud.

“And they gave you such a big nose.”

He pushes the iPhone back to her. Without taking it she says, “The picture of you and Sigyn isn’t so bad.” It isn’t a good likeness of the guy in front of her, but at least it isn’t ugly.

He stares down at the iPhone.

“Scroll with your finger,” she says.

He blinks. “Is any sort of special concentration needed?”

It takes her brain a little while to comprehend the randomness of the question.

Leaning forward, he says, “It’s like magic, isn’t it? Don’t I have to picture what I am doing in my mind?”

She purses her lips. “No,” she says softly. “You just have to move your finger.”

Swallowing, he gingerly puts his finger on the surface of her iPhone and then drags it down. Smiling, he says, “It works!”

His joy seems so real, it makes Amy’s eyes widen.

And then his smile vanishes. “Ah,” he says. “My 200 year imprisonment. It wasn’t as bad as depicted here. There was snake venom, but no snake, and I was shackled but could walk around a bit.” Squinting at her phone he says, “This looks nothing like me. Nice likeness of Sigyn, though...although I don’t remember the Bible-esque robes being in fashion then...”

Holding the phone up he smiles wryly at it and says, “Ah, yes, memories.”

And that’s a little too much. Who knew homeschoolers could be such great actors? She takes the iPhone from him. “Okay,” she says. “Enough of this game.”

Shrugging, he says, “You started it.” And then he picks up his fork and starts to eat again.

Amy looks down at the iPhone and the Wikipedia entry on Loki. “Says here you are a shape shifter.”

“Um...” he says.

She glances up and he looks distinctly nervous.

She grins and reads aloud, “Loki gave birth—in the form of a mare—to the eight-legged horse Sleipnir. Says the dad was some special stallion...”

Putting his fork down hard, he says, “Now, how can shape changing even possibly work? We are all formed by immensely complex instructions coded into our cells and by the environment. It’s hard enough to just create simple elements, and so energy consuming. But for living things, the concentration, the imagination involved...How could anyone — well except maybe Hoenir and I’m not sure about that — ever hope to match the splendid complexity of all the subtle interactions — ”

Grinning wider, Amy says, “I’ll say you have a little experience foaling.”

He rolls his eyes and she snickers.

Glaring at her he says, “It’s not true.”

Amy snickers, “Of course it’s not true.”

Narrowing his eyes, he says, “I can only create illusions of other forms.”

Amy blinks, Fenrir barks, and across from her is a woman with Thorish strawberry blond hair wearing Amazonianesque armor that is more of a glorified girdle squeezing in an impossibly small stomach and supporting enormous breasts.

The woman gestures to said breasts and says in a voice that sounds exactly like Thor’s, “I mean, if I had these, would I ever leave the house?”

Amy stares at her hallucination for a fraction of a heartbeat, and then she bursts out laughing. She laughs so hard she convulses around her middle and hits her head on the table.

“It wasn’t that funny,” says Thor.

Rubbing her sore head she says, “No, no, no, it’s just, this dream is too wacky happy and unoriginal for me to be dying in a ditch somewhere. I’m at home and I’m hallucinating and I’m going to be fine.”

“Unoriginal?” says Thor, back in his more Thor-like form.

Snickering at how scandalized he sounds, Amy stands up and stretches. “I’m going to go to bed, or slip from REM to Stage 1 sleep. Why don’t you go now...if you’re even here.”

He stares at her a moment. Turning to the food on the table, he says, “May I take the ham?”

Shrugging, she says, “Go ahead.” She looks towards the living room. Flickering light is coming through the door. “I should put out the candles even if I am only dreaming.” Just to be on the safe side.

“Good idea,” he says. “How did you light them so quickly? Electricity?”

Turning back, she points at her head. “With the power of my mind.”

Brow furrowing, he says, “Don’t toy with me,” and waves a hand. Beneath the table Fenrir barks.

Amy turns around; the other room is dark. She peers around the corner; all the candles are extinguished. She’s not even bothered anymore.

She looks back at the table. Thor is already standing up with the plate of ham in one hand, and the loaf of bread in the other. He’s not smiling.

“Pleasant dreams!” she says.

He nods at her. “Likewise.”

She shrugs. “They already are!”

After Thor’s out the door, she heads up the stairs to her bedroom. To her surprise, her grandmother is standing on the landing in her pink nightgown, looking towards the door Thor just exited.

“Sounded like you had a lot of fun chatting with Hoenir’s friend,” she says, eyes narrowing to slivers.

Amy just snorts.

Chapter 6

Amy has more dreams later that night. They aren’t as pleasant and she has trouble falling to sleep again. In desperation, she pulls Fenrir up near her pillow. Still, she doesn’t go to sleep until the very early morning. When she wakes up, it is to Fenrir whimpering by the door. She blinks at the light and then does a double take. It must be nearly noon.

Amy gets up quickly, dresses, and heads down to the kitchen. Beatrice has her apron on and is leaning over the sink washing dishes. She smiles up at Amy. “Good morning, Dear.”

Thor is sitting at the table, in his retro outfit, a Chicago Transit Authority map spread out in front of him. How did he get invited to breakfast? Or brunch, or whatever.

“Good morning,” he says. He looks like the guy she remembers from the police station. A little rumpled, shoulders not quite square, expression soft. The sort of shy guy who filled her with trust. He doesn’t look like the mischievous guy in her dream last night, the one who turned himself into an Amazon, or the guy in the armor.

She blinks as she lets Fenrir out the back door. The kitchen is flooded with warm yellow light. Thor is complimenting Beatrice on her cooking; there is a bowl of freshly scrubbed strawberries on the table; the room smells like coffee, bacon and toast.

...and it feels even more dreamlike than Amy’s dream of Thor the Amazon.

“Amy? Amy?”

Beatrice is suddenly standing very close to her.

“Are you all right?” her grandmother says.

“Yes,” says Amy.

“Sit down,” says Beatrice. “I’ll get you some coffee.”

“No,” says Amy. “I’ll make some myself.”

She goes to the cupboard and takes out a cup. It crashes to the counter but doesn’t break. Amy shakes her head and rights it. She lifts the coffee pitcher off the base and starts to pour. The stream of hot fluid bounces around, some spilling on the counter. She wipes it up quickly with a dishtowel and goes to sit at the table.

Taking a sip, she notices that her grandmother’s and Thor’s eyes are on her.

“I’m alright,” Amy says.

Her grandmother tilts her head. “You’ve had quite a shock.”

“I’m alright,” Amy says again, more forcefully this time.

“I’m sure you are,” says Thor. Turning to Beatrice he says, “Thank you for the map — and of course, for breakfast.”

Picking up a cup Amy knows contains chamomile tea, Beatrice nods, “You’re always welcome at this table, of course.” There’s something about the way her eyes are narrowed and the way she peers over the cup that tells Amy something isn’t quite right.

Thor doesn’t seem to notice. “I think I better go now,” he says with a warm, sunny smile. He stands up from the table, the Chicago Transit Authority map and a tiny white book in one hand. “Oh,” he says suddenly. “You must have dropped this last night. I found it on the floor.” He puts her driver’s license on the table and slides it towards Amy. She doesn’t remember taking it out of her wallet since the police station.

A few minutes later he’s gone. Amy scowls. “Did you invite him in?”

Beatrice nods and looks towards the door. “It’s better to make sure he’s always invited.”

Amy stares down at her coffee. What does that mean?

Tilting her head, Beatrice pulls the tea bag from her cup. “Of course, it is nice to be able to cook for someone again,” she says brightly.

Amy reaches over and grabs her license. “I need to get ready for an interview at a new temp agency.” The one she used to work for went out of business.

Beatrice blinks. “Are you sure that’s wise? You don’t seem quite yourself.”

Amy stares at her coffee. She isn’t herself. But she just has to get over it. It’s not like this experience is completely new; it is just extreme. She’s dealt with creeps before. What woman hasn’t? She’d been felt up on the ‘L’ one time — and had elbowed the guy so badly he’d sputtered and nearly puked. Some really lovely gentleman had followed her home from the bus stop one night and she’d unslung her backpack, screamed at him like a banshee, and chased him away.

She puts her head in her hands. She didn’t escape this time. She was rescued. It turns out maybe there is a big difference. And if she hadn’t been rescued...She screws her eyes shut and starts to sob.

“There, there,” says Beatrice.

“Grandma,” she says. “If it wasn’t for Thor...” she can’t talk about the pictures, can’t say what she saw in them — or them bursting into flames. That part was real, the fire, wasn’t it?

She takes a big gulp of air. She isn’t sure of anything anymore. “Should I have invited him home?” she says. “He, he, he...” What? Has featured prominently in some weird dreams, or... “Maybe I trust him more than I should because he saved me, but he could be crazy, too.” She shakes her head.

Beatrice’s hand stops. “Oh, I don’t think you or I have anything to worry about from our guest.” She looks around the kitchen, “Other than that he might eat us out of house and home. Always better to invite him to the party, though...”

“Grandma?” says Amy.

Beatrice blinks. “Oh, nothing.”

Amy stares at her grandmother for a few moments. She looks tiny and frail. But she’s not — or she wasn’t.

Beatrice’s parents put Beatrice and her two brothers on a boat to the free world back in 1940, just before the Nazis invaded. Before they left they’d already lost family members and friends under Soviet rule — some disappeared in the middle of the night, others simply died in the great famine of the early 1930s.

Beatrice lost her entire world. Amy feels like her world has changed forever, that she’s lost something precious — but compared to Beatrice, Amy has lost nothing.

“How did you do it, Grandma? When you got on the boat...”

Beatrice blinks. “What?”

Swallowing, Amy looks down at her hands and plays nervously with her fingers. “I was just wondering how you kept going...after you lost everything.”

Beatrice sighs and looks down at her tea. “You just do.”

Standing up, Amy wipes her face. “I’m going to get ready to go.”

Beatrice looks at her for a moment and then nods.

Amy manages to get ready for her interview, and she gets out of the door with plenty of time to spare — even though leaving her home shatters her sense of security.

What she doesn’t manage to do is drive. She stares at her grandmother’s Subaru Forester, keys in hand, and decides she’d rather take the bus. She’s not sure if it’s because of the rollover, or if she just wants to stay around other people.

As she walks out to the front walk and heads towards the ‘L’, she sees an older man, perhaps in his 50’s, buying an ice cream from one of the Mexican ice cream bicycle carts that frequent her neighborhood. He’s got a stern square jaw and is completely bald on top. Amy notices him because he’s wearing a gray suit despite the heat. The suit looks too nice to belong to an old timer from the neighborhood, but he isn’t young enough to be a yuppie. As she walks by, he tips his head at her over his drumstick ice cream cone. Not wanting to be rude, she nods back.

Loki consults the CTA map and his book. The location is right.

The building in front of him looks to be about 100 years old. It has not been maintained very well. The facade of brick and cement is crumbling. Cutting straight through the heart of the building is a covered brick alleyway that leads to a dismal inner courtyard. There is a decorative iron gate that is rusted and blood colored. Loki scowls — it is strange that mortals tend to erect physical gates where World Gates reside. Another strange bit of human magic? He tilts his head; fortunately the iron gate is now open and won’t be in his way. Beyond the iron gate, on the far wall of the courtyard in peeling paint, are the words, “Graphic Arts Co.” Set into the walls are boarded up doors and windows covered with graffiti.

Loki looks around. He sees a few men down the street unloading a small van. They don’t seem to notice him. Loki has altered his Midgardian attire considerably. As he walked here — only a few short miles — he observed the natives and gradually modified his clothing. He now appears to be wearing a gray tee shirt, breeches of a thick blue fabric, gray shoes with laces and stripes, and dark glasses. And he appears to have a black rectangular bag slung over one shoulder.

He is actually wearing his armor, with his helmet on, visor down. Over one arm he’s slung his army knapsack filled with the two remaining grenades, some of last night’s ham and bread, and a large bottle of water he nicked from a store on the way.

Moving beneath the overhang towards the iron gate he closes his eyes. An instant later he is invisible to anyone who looks in his direction.

Loki walks until he feels a shiver snake its way up his spine. The World Gate is here. He can feel the tug of magic in the place where time and space are weakly defined.

He begins to murmur a childhood rhyme he used to recite to his children. It isn’t a spell, per se; but it helps him focus his mind. Lifting his hands, he closes his eyes and begins to imagine pulling back a heavy curtain. The gate opens surprisingly easily, and a swirling vortex of color spins before him.

Loki steps forward...

...and feels stone beneath his feet. He takes a deep breath, drops the invisibility spell to conserve magic, and opens his eyes to the bright white-blue sunlight and silvery hues of Alfheim, land of the Elves. He looks down; beneath his feet is a silver road. That is right. The realm is right. But...

Scowling, he spins around...On both sides of the road is dense forest. On one side of the road the tree trunks are light lavender; the undergrowth is sparse and dotted with blue and yellow flowers. On the other side the trunks are deep indigo and nearly black; the undergrowth is dense and dark. Above the dark trees is an ominous swirl of dark gray magical clouds. He is certain he sees eyes peering at him from beneath the dark branches.

Unsheathing his sword, he switches to the tongue of the Dark Elves and says, “Don’t even think about it.” Just to be on the safe side he concentrates his magic towards the undergrowth and imagines the molecules there swirling and dancing together. There is a burst of flame, just as he intends, and a curse from his onlooker. He hears stirring in the undergrowth as the Dark Elf disappears into the forest.

Letting the flames dissipate, Loki consults Lothur’s journal. His jaw goes tight and his brow furrows. It’s colder here than in Chicago, but he feels himself getting hotter beneath his armor. He should be so close...but the entrance point is wrong.

Narrowing his eyes, he lets his consciousness fly to the air. He sees what he is looking for, the palace of the queen of the Light Elves about 100 miles down the road. Once this World Gate would have dropped him right outside her door, but the branches of the World Tree grow, and as they grow, they shift.

It is said the elf queen, like Odin, Heimdall, and possibly Hoenir, can see all that happens in the Nine Realms if she wishes. She may be able to tell him where his sons were deposited. Since Heimdall and Odin aren’t likely to be helpful at the moment, and Hoenir will be difficult to reach, the elf queen seems like Loki’s best option.

Most of the way the road abuts the dark forest. The Dark Elves won’t harass travelers on the road by day; but by night it will be another matter.

There are other ways to get to the elf queen’s palace besides the road. If he takes those ways, when he emerges on the other end, he won’t be helpless, but he will be much weaker, very tired, and ravenous. Not a way to make a good impression, and definitely not good if his reception is less than welcome.

He lets his consciousness sink back into his body. There is a part of him that wants to instantly go forward. The information he needs is so close...and he is strong again. Yesterday it was easy to be patient, he was too weak to be otherwise. But now, it is a struggle not to be impetuous.

He takes a sharp, frustrated breath and considers his situation. If only he had a carpet or...

Sheathing his sword, he turns and steps back to where the World Gate has shut. Closing his eyes he begins to tug at the gate again until it is open as wide as it will go. Furrowing his brow and concentrating to keep it open, he quickly measures the width by pacing the length. It is just wide enough.

Nodding to himself, he is just about to leave Alfheim, when a flash of something white on the light side of the road catches his attention. Turning towards it he scowls.

Sure enough...

Unsheathing his sword, Loki stands before the semi-open World Gate and glares at the unicorn emerging from the wood. What it wants in Midgard Loki can’t imagine, but it’s not coming through Loki’s gate. Hoenir would never hear the end of it if he let such a vicious temperamental creature loose in a major Midgardian metropolis. Lifting his sword high like a spear, Loki says, “Don’t you think about it either.”

The beast lowers its head and snorts. The air between it and Loki shimmers with heat. With a curse, Loki forces the excited molecules to quiet. Lowering the sword, he pulls a knife from his belt and hurls it in the beast’s direction, but the monster vanishes and the knife explodes harmlessly against a tree.

Narrowing his eyes, Loki shouts, “You’d taste good on an open spit!”

There is no sound. Loki doesn’t turn his eyes from the forest. Rather than risk being gored in the back, he makes himself invisible, carefully backs up through the World Gate...and promptly collides with the iron gate on the other side. He feels like Thor has just heaved him against a wall — in anger, or worse, enthusiasm. Loki doesn’t curse, but it’s a near call.

He lets the World Gate dissipate, turns around and surveys the situation. There is a plate on the gate that looks like it may have had a locking mechanism at one point, but now it’s partially rusted through. Instead, the gate is held by a simple padlock on a rusty chain. It takes hardly a thought to make the padlock spring open. He pushes at the gate gently, but it’s hanging so low on its hinges that it scrapes the ground. A tiny push isn’t going to do it. Loki grasps the metal plate and lifts. Pain shoots up his hand and he lets go. There is a loud clang as the last bit of the ancient plate falls to the ground. He does curse.

Someone shouts something from an open window.

Scowling, Loki lifts the gate again — this time using one of the great rusting vertical iron bars. It opens easily enough and he slips out of the alley and onto the street.

He walks down the block until he finds a vehicle that he thinks will suit his purposes. A Mercedes-Benz emblem is on the hood; he recognizes it from his journeys through Nazi Germany. What’s more important is that, as odd as the shape is, sleek and low to the ground, it has a visible stick shift. Most of the cars don’t. Loki’s last attempt at navigating a human vehicle didn’t end well, and he’s afraid of trying to master a new and more difficult technology on short notice. He puts a hand towards the lock, reaches out...

The car begins honking. Loudly.

From down the street he hears a man’s voice. “That’s my car!”

The car is calling to its master! Humans have crossed the divide between makers of machines to makers of living things!

A window opens. “Shut it up!”

Loki is invisible. He does not need to run. But he does anyway.

When Amy turns up Beatrice’s front walk it is still light out and the Mexican ice cream bicycle cart is still wheeling up and down her block, its bell ringing cheerfully.

She really should have stopped by the vet clinic and the restaurant where she normally hostesses over breaks. She doesn’t want to risk coming home after dark though. Not yet.

She feels like she is covered with a second skin of pollution, dried sweat, and grime. Chicago in summer. She sighs.

As soon as she is inside, she heads to the shower. When she is clean and feeling human again, she curls up with her iPhone on a big chair in the living room. She frowns at her phone. There are several missed calls. One from Chris, a guy she briefly dated. Chris is very nice, on a track to success, and a good, solid person. Someone Beatrice would like and Amy should like, but couldn’t. She thinks of their awkward fumblings in bed that never quite worked for her and blushes. Chris said she’d get it with time...she swallows. In the end she’d just made herself unavailable. He deserves someone better.

She scrolls down and sees her vet-wannabe friend Andrea called. Andrea will be sympathetic and probably make her laugh. Andrea will probably press her to see a shrink...but after she’s done with that they can talk about their Equine Theriogenology course and everything will be good. Suddenly possessed not just with the desire, but the need to call Andrea, Amy puts the phone to her ear. That’s when Beatrice walks in.

“It’s been awfully quiet today,” says Beatrice, sitting down on the sofa.

Putting down her phone, Amy looks up at her grandmother.

Reading the unformed question on her lips, Beatrice says, “I guess I just expected that the police would call. Or maybe the press...”

Amy blinks. “Please don’t call the press, Grandma.” The last thing Amy wants right now is flash bulbs and interviews.

Beatrice snorts, and Amy smiles. Good, strong, private, Ukrainian Beatrice wouldn’t want that.

“I don’t think I’d worry,” Amy says. “The police have my contact info. And they kept Thor and me for a really long time. They let us both go — the evidence was pretty...” Amy trails off.

“Oh, my!” says Beatrice. “I forgot. I have to go buy a new ham for my church group. Do you think you’ll be okay if I go out?”

“Sure, Grandma,” says Amy. She’s actually looking forward to calling her friend Andrea. She might tell her some of the details she didn’t tell Beatrice.

Beatrice gets up a little stiffly and heads towards the front door. A few minutes later, Amy hears the door slam and picks up her phone. She’s just about to dial the number when there is a knock at the back kitchen door. Fenrir dashes towards it, and Amy scowls but gets up and follows.

Thor is standing right outside on the stoop.

Amy remembers her conversation with Beatrice earlier when she questioned Thor’s trustworthiness. For a moment she hesitates, but then Fenrir does her happy dance, wagging her whole body and hopping on her feet. Fenrir doesn’t like anyone, except maybe Beatrice and Amy. The whole reason Fenrir’s name is Fenrir is because man-hating-bitch-from-Hell is too much of a mouthful, and you can’t say it in polite company.

Amy tilts her head and looks at her ecstatic little dog. Pursing her lips, she opens the door.

“Amy,” Thor says as Fenrir twines around his feet. He’s wearing clothing that looks more decade appropriate, and she wonders how he got it. “I need your help.”

Amy’s brow furrows, waiting for him to explain. He lifts his hand to push back his hair, and she notices his hand is bleeding.

“Oh, wow! Your hand,” she says. “Come in. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He looks down at his hand as though puzzled but doesn’t protest, just steps into the kitchen.

“Better wash it out in the sink,” she says going to the cabinet for the first aid kit. “How did you do that?”

“Rusty gate,” he responds.

Looking over her shoulder as she pulls down the kit she says, “I hope you have a tetanus shot.”

He blinks as he puts his hand under the sink. “Tetanus?”

Raising an eyebrow, she says, “Tetanus, it’s a disease caused by bacteria; it’s also called lockjaw. A very bad way to die.”

“Oh, a bacteria...I am safe from that.” He lifts his hand up and stares at it. There is a huge gash running down the middle of his palm. “It’s really not as bad as it looks,” he says.

Shaking her head, Amy takes his hand. He doesn’t resist.

“It’s not going to heal very well. Every time you bend your hand it’s going to open again,” she says, staring down at the cut. “I have some Nu-Skin; it’s a liquid adhesive bandage. It’s probably your best bet.”

“It’s not necessary,” he says.

“It is necessary...” Amy stops. The cut is melding itself back together before her eyes.

She gasps. “How?”

“Just a little concentration,” he says. “I can heal myself quite well. Unfortunately, I can’t do it for others.”

Amy is suddenly aware that they are standing very close, and that she barely knows him. She should back away, but instead she pulls the hand closer to her, fascinated. The skin on his hand is fresh, new, and unmarred. She lifts her eyes to his face.

He smirks. When he speaks his voice oozes bitterness. “There’s something in my nature, maybe it’s a manifestation of my selfishness, my self-centeredness...but I can’t heal anyone else, no matter how I might wish to. Even Thor, though he detests magic, has exceedingly good healing skills.”

“What are you talking about?” Amy says quietly.

“Come on, Miss Lewis,” he says. He’s so close she can feel his breath against her hair when he speaks. “You already have discovered who I really am. And I’ve given you ample proof.”

“You’re crazy,” she says, finally dropping his hand and backing up. “Or I’m crazy.”

He takes a step forward. “No, you’re not crazy. The wolf, the armor...” he smirks again. “The lovely lady you found yourself talking to last night. All real...or perfectly serviceable illusions.”

Amy feels her back hit the wall. “No.”

He grimaces. “And the picture folio catching fire and the candles last night were probably me, too — but I didn’t mean for those to happen.”

“Stop it,” Amy says, moving sideways to the kitchen door. “Just stop it.”

“No,” he says, moving forward and catching her wrist. The clothing he is wearing seems to shimmer, like heat waves above a road on a hot day, and there he is in his armor again. “I need your help,” he says, his face very close to hers, and Amy can see his blue eyes are so pale they’re almost white. “And you owe me.”

“I don’t owe you anything! Let me go!” Amy says, trying to twist her hand from his grasp. When that doesn’t work she tries stomping on his feet...but he’s not there.

From behind her his voice comes again. “Your life is worth more than a bed, some ham, and stuffed cabbages, Girl. You do owe me, and you will pay up.”

Amy spins around. He’s blocking the door from the kitchen to the living room.

She spins around again to run out the back door but he’s already standing there, his head canted forward, a scowl between his brow. “I really do not want to hurt you. I need your cooperation, my sons’ lives — ”

“I won’t!” Closing her eyes, she shouts, “Fenrir!”

From the floor comes a happy yip. She scowls down at the dog. When did her brave mutt become so unreliable?

“Just hear me out,” he says through gritted teeth.

“No!” Amy says. “You. Are. Crazy.”

“What do you want...Loki?”

Amy turns her head. Beatrice is standing in the doorway, purse in her hands; she is trembling slightly.

“Grandma?” says Amy. “I thought you were going to get a ham...”

Not taking her eyes off Thor...or Loki, or whoever it is, Beatrice says. “I forgot my wallet. What do you want, Loki?”

Straightening, mystery weird guy says, “A car ride.”

Beatrice swallows but then juts out her chin like she does when she’s about to complain to a store clerk. “You could have just asked.”

“To Alfheim,” he says.

“Oh...” says Beatrice. “Land of the Elves. Oh, my.”

Amy runs to her grandmother and grabs her shoulders. “Come on, Grandma, let’s go.”

“No,” says Beatrice, her eyes still on whoever it is. “You are worth more than a few cabbage rolls, Dear.”

“Grandma,” says Amy. “This is crazy, he isn’t...”

“Amy,” Beatrice says, meeting Amy’s eyes. “He just changed his clothing into armor, and I saw him shape shift last night. We don’t want to be in his debt.”

“Good point, Beatrice.”

Amy turns her head. Loki, Thor, or crazy fundamentalist home schooling escapee is walking towards them.

Shrugging, he says, “I’m sorry to be so insistent. Really, I’ve had a lovely time with the two of you. But I’ve recovered, and I can’t dally anymore.”

“Will you bring me back?” says Beatrice.

“Grandma!” shouts Amy, shaking her head. Beatrice brings one hand up to her shoulder and squeezes Amy’s hand.

Bowing, he says, “Of course.”

Beatrice narrows her eyes. “Do I have your oath?”

Whoever it is stops. He stands up straight. For a moment he says nothing. And then, tilting his head he says, “That is too broad a promise. You have my oath that I will do everything in my power to bring you back safely. More than that — ” He lifts his hands and lowers his head, eyes locked on Beatrice.

“Grandma, you don’t drive!” says Amy. The only reason Beatrice has a car is because the ten-year old Subaru in the garage belongs to Amy’s grandfather and Beatrice doesn’t have the heart to part with it.

“But I can,” says Beatrice. Turning, she nods at the crazy man. “I will do it, Loki.”

Crazy man beams. “It actually might be good fun for you. The Light Elves have nothing against humans.”

Shivering a little, Beatrice smiles. “Might be worth it to see Alfheim, before I die.”

“There’s no such thing as elves!” Amy says.

“On Earth,” says Crazy Guy. Bowing in her grandmother’s direction, he says, “Beatrice, you are a true lady. If you were a few hundred years older — ”

Beatrice’s smile drops. “Stow it, Silvertongue. How long will this take?”

“This is crazy, Grandma!” says Amy, dropping her hands. Her grandmother doesn’t even meet her eyes.

“About a day,” he says, face going serious.

“Take what you think we’ll need from the refrigerator. I’m going to get ready,” says Beatrice. She turns around and starts walking towards the stairs.

Amy glares at Crazy Guy. “I’m not letting her go alone anywhere with you!”

“You’re more than welcome to join us,” he says, going to the fridge.

“You fucking jerk!” Amy hisses. “Taking advantage of an old woman like that!”

Loki-Thor-Crazy Person scowls over his shoulder at her. A rag on the counter bursts into flames. Amy’s eyes widen. She looks at Crazy Guy. He is staring at the fire with eyes wide as hers. Turning to her quickly, he says nervously, “I didn’t do that!”

Frantically pushing the burning rag into the sink with a stray fork, Amy douses it with the faucet. “Of course you didn’t. That would be impossible,” she whispers.

She’s got to convince Beatrice not to go with this guy. As soon as the flames are out, she runs up the stairs and finds Beatrice packing a small overnight bag in her bedroom.

...and she gets nowhere with her cajoling, arguments or pleas.

“I said I will drive him and I am going to drive him,” her grandmother says.

“But it’s crazy! You can’t drive to Alfheim! Alfheim doesn’t exist!”

“Then maybe we’ll drive a bit and come home,” says Beatrice.

“He’s a lunatic!”

Putting a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste in an overnight bag, Beatrice smiles. “A charming lunatic.”

“So was Ted Bundy!”

Zipping up her bag, Beatrice blinks at Amy. “Who was he?”

“A serial killer!”

Beatrice’s eyes go hard. “Do you really think Loki is a serial killer? Really?”

Amy remembers the picture in the van going up in flames, and Thor...Loki...nearly stammering, I’m sorry...I didn’t mean...

Shaking her head, Amy closes her eyes. “No, but that is not the point.”

Putting her bag on the floor and wheeling it out into the hallway, Beatrice says, “Well, then what is your point?”

“This is madness.”

“I said I would drive him,” says Beatrice, beginning her agonizingly slow descent of the stairs.

Strong, independent, stubborn, Ukrainian. She hasn’t driven in years — Beatrice behind the wheel is probably more dangerous than Thor-Loki-whoever.

Swallowing, Amy shouts, “I’m driving!”

Chapter 7

A few minutes later they are standing in the garage in front of the Subaru. Fenrir is dancing happily next to them. It is not a great city car, but Amy’s grandfather liked fishing and escaping the city on weekends. Thor-Loki-Whoever-It-Is is carrying a cooler. He is back in a tee shirt and jeans, a black messenger bag over one shoulder. He is looking at the late afternoon sky. “We’ll have a few hours of daylight left.”

Amy rolls her eyes. “This is crazy,” she mumbles, hitting the unlock button on the Subaru’s remote.

The SUV beeps, and Whoever-It-Is jumps. “Will it accept me since I am with you?”

Amy looks at Beatrice. Beatrice looks at Amy. Fenrir cocks her head at the man who may or may not be Thor.

“Yes,” says Amy. “It was just saying hello.”

“Hello, Car,” says Thor, leaning tentatively forward.

Amy’s eyes go wide, but she says nothing as she slips into the driver’s seat and hits the back door release. Thor puts the cooler and Beatrice’s bag in the rear, closes the back door, and helps Beatrice into the back seat. All very chivalrous. He also closes the garage door after Amy pulls forward. For a moment Amy considers hitting the accelerator and leaving him there in the alley, but she doesn’t. She’ll just play along, this will come to nothing, and maybe on the way home she can drop Thor off at a hospital where he can get professional help.

As Thor slips into the front seat, her foot goes to the non-existent clutch and her hand goes to the non-existent stick, but of course it’s an automatic. For a moment they go nowhere.

Thor shakes his head. “This new advanced transmission system seems more trouble than it’s worth.”

Amy decides to say nothing. She just puts her foot on the gas and heads to the gas station to fill up the tank — because Thor insists the journey is about 200 miles. And then she heads towards Peoria and Randolf streets, just a mile and a half away. It’s an area known for overpriced restaurants, not elves.

The building Thor directs her to is not a restaurant. It’s one of the ancient warehouse buildings just south of Restaurant Row. There is an old iron gate that is thrown open, and a dark dirty alley leading to a neglected looking courtyard.

“Go in here,” says Thor, pointing to the alley.

“Are we allowed to do this?” says Amy. It doesn’t look like a regular alley. There is an archway above the entrance. “I don’t think we should go in there. It looks like private property.”

“For Heaven’s sake, you can say you’re just turning around,” says Beatrice.

“Grandma?” says Amy.

“Go,” says Beatrice.

Amy pulls into the alley, just up to the iron gate, and Thor says. “Stop here!”

Opening the door, he turns to them. “In a moment, I’m going to get back in the car. As soon as I do, pull forward. It’s very difficult to keep the gate open.”

Thor gets out and goes a few feet more into the alley. For a moment he bows his head and stands motionless. Then he flings out his hands as though pulling back a curtain. He moves quickly to either side, raising his hand, as though pulling the imaginary curtain back a little further.

Behind her, Beatrice is leaning forward. “Maybe this is crazy, Amy, but it can’t hurt to indulge him, can it?”

Amy sighs and rubs her eyes. For the first time since this episode began, she feels genuinely sad for him. He did save her life. He’s obviously mentally ill, probably schizophrenic, and he can’t help that.

She takes a breath. She needs to get him to a doctor. They have treatments for schizophrenia now that are much better than in the past. He saved her life and she does owe him.

She blinks. She saw his armor, and the wolf, and the fire...maybe she needs drugs, too?

Ahead of her, Thor turns around quickly and runs back to the car. Opening the door he jumps into his seat. “Go now!” he shouts, shutting the door.

Amy sighs. “Here goes nothing,” she says pulling forward. She hits the gas gently and drives forward...and the front of the car disappears.

“What!” screams Amy, putting her foot on the brake. “Oh!” says Beatrice.

“Just go!” yells Thor.

And Amy isn’t sure why, but she hits the accelerator. Maybe it is her disbelief that propels her, because she certainly wouldn’t have driven forward if she actually believed her car had dematerialized in front of her.

As the car goes forward, the dashboard, and then the steering wheel, disappear under her hands, and Amy is alone, surrounded by all the colors of the rainbow for the briefest of moments, her foot on the pedal of what would be the gas pedal if...

...and then her foot is on the gas pedal, behind her Beatrice is screaming, and next to her the man who still might be crazy is bracing his hands on the dash. “Stop!” he shouts.

Amy hits the brake.

Thor-Loki-Whoever, Beatrice, and Amy all take a deep breath. Fenrir whimpers.

“Have you recovered from your shock?” says Whoever-It-Is.

She had let the wheel go a little bit, and they might have run off the road. Amy turns her head to him. He’s wearing armor again.

Her hands are shaking. “No,” Amy says. “I really don’t think so.” Her eyes go to the window. Outside is a road, only a little wider than the alley — definitely not made for two way traffic. For some reason she isn’t surprised it is yellow brick. On either side of the road is a dense forest. But...she peers either way. On one side it is dense and foreboding. On the other side it is open and light, and she has the urge to crack open the cooler and declare it time for a picnic right away.

He takes a long breath and rubs his face. “How can I help you recover?”

Amy looks around. “Can I get out?”

Thor-Loki-Whoever looks at the sun. “I would say yes, but it would be best if we reach our destination before sunset.”

Amy looks towards the dark wood and then looks back to her grandmother. She is looking in the same direction.

“That side doesn’t look friendly, Loki,” says Beatrice.

“Exactly,” says Thor-Loki-Whoever-It-Is, his voice grim.

Amy puts her foot gently on the gas. “Loki,” she says. He really might be Loki.

“Exactly,” says the man sitting next to her, and this time she can hear the smirk in his voice.

Amy wills herself to breathe and keep her eyes on the road. Which is hard. She wants to stop and look. The trunks of the trees look lavender on the light side, the leaves almost blue. On the dark side, the tree trunks look so purple they are nearly black.

“There was color when we...crossed,” says Beatrice. “Like a rainbow — ”

“Yes,” says the man who actually might be Loki. “Time acts like a prism at the edge of the World Gates.”

“The rainbow bridge,” says Beatrice quietly.

Loki tilts his head. “I believe that humans did call it that once.”

“The light,” says Amy. “The light here is different.” Everything seems a little bit blue.

“The star that is this planet’s sun is much older. I believe you would call it a white dwarf,” says Loki.

“Oh,” says Amy. She blinks. “We’re on another planet.”

“Yes. In a whole other solar system,” says Loki.

“My, my,” says Beatrice. Amy looks in the rear-view mirror and sees her patting Fenrir on her lap. “My, my.”

For a few minutes, Amy drives in silence, too overwhelmed to speak. Beatrice must feel the same because she says nothing. After a while, Amy hazards a glance over at...Loki. His mouth is set in a firm line, his eyes focused far ahead. He looks handsome, noble even.

“Can you drive faster?” he says. The question sounds genuine, not like he’s second guessing her driving skill.

Amy looks down at the speedometer. She’s going all of 20 miles per hour. “Can I expect any oncoming traffic?” The road is narrow and straight, and there are a few rolling hills that could be dangerous.

He closes his eyes. “There is none for at least 30 miles.”

Amy glances sideways at him. “How do you know?”

He tilts his head and then blinks. When he speaks he sounds slightly awed. “Astral projection. The concept has entered your vocabulary in the last sixty years. Even though you’re incapable of it.”

She’s on another planet, on a yellow brick road; astral projection doesn’t seem like that much of a stretch of the imagination. “Good enough,” she says and hits the accelerator.

For a few minutes, no one says anything. She glances and sees Loki’s eyes focused on the road, his mouth a thin line. She focuses directly ahead, her brain churning.

“Why so solemn?” says Loki suddenly with joviality that sounds a little forced. “From you, Amy, I would expect it, but from you, Beatrice — ”

He turns towards the back seat and then says softly. “She appears to be asleep.”

Amy peeks in rear view mirror. Beatrice is slumped slightly to the side, her head bent, her eyes closed. Amy looks at the clock in the car. “Yes,” she says. “She normally takes a nap this time of evening.”

“This isn’t exciting to her?” says Loki.

Amy tilts her head. “It is exciting, maybe so exciting she needs a mental break...and...” Amy bites her lip. “People tend to nap a little bit more as they get older, and then not sleep so well at night. That doesn’t happen to...your people?”

“We don’t get old,” says Loki.

“Oh,” says Amy. She tilts her head. “Lucky.” She goes back to focusing on the road. Another planet...and Loki said something about time bending at the edges of the World Gate so —

Loki sighs loudly. “Come now, there will be plenty of time for silence when you’re dead, and I’m...” He waves a hand dramatically, “Gagged with wire or stuck in a cave. Surely you have questions for me?”

Amy’s eyes widen. “Sorry, I’m just over here quietly revising everything I thought I knew about the universe.”

He chuckles. “What a novel way of expressing it.”

And then Amy has a thought. “Astral projection isn’t one of your powers in the myths, but it is in the movies and comic books.”

“I’m not sure I’m clear on how comic books and movies differ from myths,” says Loki. “Except in the medium.”

“Well, myths exist for the purpose of explaining the universe and imparting moral values,” says Amy.

“Don’t leave out entertainment,” says Loki.

“Okay, and entertainment,” says Amy. “And comic books and movies, well, the type of movie and comic book we’re discussing, are for entertainment.”

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Loki turning towards her, puzzlement on his face. “They don’t impart moral values or attempt to explain the universe?”

Amy is about to say no, but then she blinks. “Actually...I guess they do. But in a more round-a-bout way.”

“Myths aren’t exactly straightforward,” says Loki.

“Touché,” says Amy, scowling at the road in front of her.

“...or completely accurate,” he mutters.

Amy smiles. “Yeah...no shape shifting. Right. Are you Thor’s brother? In the comic books you are.”

There is a snort. “No.”

Amy grips the steering wheel and narrows her eyes. “What about Sif’s hair.” It’s probably the most famous Loki myth. Sif was Thor’s wife. Loki cut off her hair as a prank and paid dearly for it, if she remembers right.

She can hear the grin in his voice when he says, “Snip! Snip!”

“Really?” Amy says, twisting her hands on the steering wheel. “Why?” It sounds positively childish.

“To prove that she was a lying, cheating whore.”

“How does cutting someone’s hair prove they’re a whore?” says Amy, gripping the wheel more tightly.

“It is the traditional punishment for female adulterers.”

Remembering the story as her grandfather used to read it to her, Amy scowls. “So you sneak up on her in a glade and cut off her hair and that is supposed to prove she is a ho?”

There is a moment where the only sound is the hum of the engine. And then Loki erupts into what can only be described as cackles. “I didn’t sneak up to her in a glade. I facked her!”

Amy’s eyes go wide. “Facked?”

“Am I getting the verb right? Fac, from the Latin, ‘to do’. Oh, wait, no that isn’t right. I fuck — ”

“I understood!” says Amy. She glances at him, her mouth agape.

He is blinking at her, smiling, looking very pleased. “It was really very selfless of me. No one really appreciates that. Everyone knew she was a whore, but no one else was brave enough to bring it to Thor’s attention. Well, except Odin, but he went about it in this convoluted way where he disguised himself as an old man...” There is a snort. “...like that was difficult. And told Thor to his face, but as a stranger. I delivered proof.”

She thought he was handsome? She thought he looked noble? Amy’s lips curl up in disgust. “Wasn’t Thor, like, your best friend?”

There is silence again. Amy glances over and immediately looks back at the road. She swears his eyes are glowing. “No,” says Loki, and the air seems to ripple with his voice. “No, not then. Not at all.”

Loki is close to 50 earth years old. He and Thor, not much younger, are waving goodbye to a group of happy human peasants who are jumping up and down and waving at them. The humans haven’t changed since Loki’s first visit here. They are small, dirty, smelly, and lacking many teeth. But their love is still palpable — which keeps Loki from sneering at them, or picking disdainfully at the troll guts sticking to his armor.

Said troll lies dead behind Thor and Loki. It was a particularly large creature, nearly as big as an Earth Asian elephant — they had a few in the gardens of Asgard when Indian clothing and architecture were in vogue.

“Heimdall! Bring us home!” Thor shouts to the sky.

There is a flash of light, a blur of color, and then Loki and Thor are facing Heimdall in the great circle of Midgard’s World Gate on Asgard.

“Four times!” roars Thor with a smile on his face. “Four times I’ve been to Midgard troll hunting and not once did I find a troll. The one time I bring Loki, this beast — ” he gestures with his hand towards the felled troll. “— this beast sets upon us immediately.”

“It is a fine trophy, my Lord,” says Heimdall, and his voice holds only reverence. Since Thor’s return to court, Odin’s bastard son has done nothing but make friends. Mostly because Baldur the beautiful, crown prince, son of Odin and Frigga, has taken a shine to his “big brother” and declared Thor “fitting to be in a court among Gods.” Baldur possesses a type of magical glamour that not only makes him beautiful, but allows none to gainsay anything he says. Even Frigga has decided she likes Thor now.

Before Loki knows what is happening, Thor swats Loki’s back with his hand. Stumbling forward, Loki barely manages to keep his feet. “From now on you come with me on every troll hunting expedition, Loki!”

“Lovely,” says Loki, scowling down at the troll innards on his armor. Not that he doubted it would be otherwise. Just before this trip Odin informed Loki that his job as retainer now was to accompany Thor on all his quests.

“We should tell Baldur!” Thor declares, pulling Loki by the arm away from the World Gate. “We’ll invite him to come with us on our next adventure.”

Loki’s stomach twists and he scowls. He detests Baldur. He detests that everyone thinks Baldur is beautiful, brave and wise. He detests that they think Baldur is good. And he detests that Mimir has suggested that the reason for this seething dislike is jealousy...and that there may be some truth to that.

Loki would never be accused of being ugly, but his ‘fair countenance’ is almost an insult in itself. He doesn’t look as roughly hewn or as square in the jaw as a typical Aesir, or even Jotunn. He’s only of average height, and he’s too thin, despite the fact that only Thor’s appetite is a match for his.

And Loki’s not considered brave. He’s simply not much good at feigning battle lust or interest in killing trolls. If he wasn’t ordered by Odin to watch after Thor, he would have spent the last few days in the library — he’d really like to master astral projection.

Finally, absolutely no one would consider Loki wise. He has too much fun with his magic. Loki knows he shouldn’t take such delight in making himself appear like a Valkyrie upon occasion, or pulling the occasional flower from Odin’s nose, but he just can’t help himself.

Looking for any way to avoid a run in with Baldur, Loki says, “Shouldn’t you go home to see your wife Sif first?”

“No, no, no,” says Thor, walking briskly towards the palace, now under the illusion of Roman Golden Age architecture. “She’ll understand. She is a fine wife, Loki, and doesn’t begrudge me a bit my adventures and traveling — this is just a bit more of the journey.”

Loki raises an eyebrow. She doesn’t begrudge it probably because it leaves more time for her whoring. Sif is so easy with her affections, even Loki is uninterested in her.

Thor smiles and looks sideways at Loki. “But perhaps you’d just like to see your Lady Sigyn?”

“She is not my lady,” says Loki , feeling heat rise to his face. Are his affections so obvious? Sigyn left the court for a few decades to live in the realm of Alfheim — the stay has given her an interesting perspective on a foreign culture and on Asgard’s own. She is a rather fascinating companion for conversation. And she still seems to fancy Loki, maybe because Loki occasionally protected her with his magic when they were children, or maybe because she hasn’t been steeped in court gossip — Loki does have a bit of a reputation. It is pathetic, but her genuine warmth towards him makes Loki go absolutely soft inside. And although he protests her decline of his physical advances he actually rather respects her for it. How many times after a physical conquest has he decided the prize was too dull to be worth keeping? Even Freyja for all her beauty and charm was rather a bore after a while.

Loki blinks. Perhaps Sigyn does know his reputation.

“She hasn’t hooked you yet then!” yells Thor, slapping Loki’s back again jovially. Loki tries not to wince; it takes effort. “But she will!”

Loki keeps his eyes forward. The idea of being hooked by Sigyn is strangely not as unsettling as it should be.

They veer away from the palace proper to Briedablick, Baldur’s hall. As Briedablick comes into view, Loki scowls again. He’s heard the place is quite beautiful to others' eyes; everyone tells Loki it glows. All Loki can see is the dark swirl of Baldur’s magic around the massive gray stone structure as they approach. As usual, when he is around Baldur, he feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

A few minutes later they are ushered into the foyer by a servant who bows and says, “I will go inform my master you are here, Thor.” Tipping his head first to Thor and then Loki, he leaves.

From down the hall in the opposite direction of the servant’s departure comes a feminine squeak and a rough male gasp.

Thor’s eyes go wide. “The servant went the wrong way!” he says delightedly.

Rolling his eyes at Thor’s childishness, Loki says, “So it would seem.” Tipping his head in the direction of the exit, he says, “We should go.”

Another male grunt echoes in the foyer.

Snickering like a little boy, Thor doesn’t move. “Who do you think is sampling Baldur’s beauty right now?”

Loki’s jaw tenses and he stares at the large man before him. Despite the fact that Baldur likes Thor, Loki doesn’t hate him. Thor is loud, gregarious, and far too trusting. But he actually complimented Loki on an illusion he cast to confuse the troll they killed — it is nice to have his abilities are appreciated for once.

And Thor isn’t stupid, no matter how he tries to hide his brain on occasion. They had a decent conversation about Troll nesting habits as they started out on their quest. Loki thinks he could actually like Thor, if he were to let himself. Even Mimir has said that Thor has the potential to be Loki’s ally and true friend...and Loki can see that happening, if he just plays along and is nice.

But he can’t quite do it. Smirking, Loki says, “Well, I think we can safely assume it isn’t his mother.”

Thor tilts his head, his childish grin fading.

Lifting an eyebrow, Loki crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall. “But other than that...really it could be anyone.”

“I think you insult Baldur and a great many virtuous women,” says Thor, a furrow settling in his brow.

Loki should stop, should apologize. Instead, he lets the truth slip from his lips. “Oh, I suppose the old men are probably safe, and probably the livestock, too.” His lips quirk. “Maybe.”

Thor steps forward, his face going a little red. “End this jest now, Trickster.”

And Loki should, because Thor, like everyone but Loki, is blind to Baldur’s shortcomings. Thor doesn’t see how Baldur’s charms, illusory though they are, are irresistible to all of Asgard. Thor doesn’t see how Baldur abuses them.

Loki shouldn’t test Thor this way, shouldn’t set himself up to lose a potential comrade. There is a loud grunt from down the hall. Thor turns his head, momentarily distracted.

Loki should apologize. But he can’t.

There is the sound of a door creaking. And then there is the sound of soft feminine footfalls. Thor, looking in the direction of the footsteps, smiles. It isn’t a friendly smile.

Curious despite himself, Loki lets his gaze go down the hall...and sees a rumpled Sigyn emerging.

Loki’s mouth drops. He feels like he may throw up.

Thor pulls away from Loki to let Sigyn pass. Her eyes go up to Thor’s and her face reddens. And then her eyes meet Loki’s.

Her face crumples into a look of confusion and sadness. “Loki... I...”

Loki’s mouth goes to a hard line, and he looks away from her.

From the corner of his eye, he sees her bow her head. Turning, she runs out the door.

Thor laughs lowly. “You should see your face.”

Loki hears a grinding noise...it’s his own teeth. He is suddenly angrier at Thor than he is angry at Sigyn or even Baldur. Sigyn was obviously charmed by Baldur’s glamour, like everyone else. Baldur was just an ass, like always, and Loki expected no better from him — nor can Loki retaliate against the crown prince.

But Thor...Loki had hoped better of Thor. He had hoped for the bastard’s friendship — some loyalty, some understanding. Loki uncrosses his arms and steps away from the wall towards the larger man. The air between them seems to shimmer. Thor narrows his eyes and his hands ball into fists.

At that moment Baldur comes down the hall. “Oh, brother! Loki!” Baldur says, and both Thor and Loki turn. Baldur is adjusting his shirt. Loki has seen paintings of Baldur, he knows what other people see, a crown of golden curls, tanned golden skin, blue eyes on a face chiseled like a roman sculpture, broad shoulders and height nearly as tall as Thor’s. Loki sees a tangle of light brown hair, a slightly pudgy face with narrow hazel eyes and a soft body only as tall as his own.

“Loki,” says Baldur, smirking slightly, though Loki has no doubt he appears to be smiling benevolently to Thor. “I think you know Lady Sigyn?”

“No,” says Loki. “Not well.”

He shoots a sidelong gaze toward Thor, daring him to contradict him.

Thor says nothing. But he smiles, a knowing, cruel smile.

That smile changes everything.

Later that night at the banquet, Loki stands behind Odin at the table, behaving like a truly proper retainer — albeit a slightly drunk one. Thor is boasting of his exploits to a crowd of happy admirers. In a far corner, Sif has her own admirers. Sigyn is nowhere to be seen.

Odin, deep into his cups, slams his goblet down on the table. The clang is drowned out by the sound of Thor’s laughter further down the table. Glaring in the direction of Sif, Odin snarls. “I have warned him about her. He is becoming a laughingstock!”

Pushing back from the table, Odin growls and stands from his chair. “I can’t watch this.”

Pursing his lips, Loki says, “If you permit me, sire, I’ll take care of it.”

Snorting, Odin says, “Good luck.” And then the giant man turns and storms from the hall.

As soon as Odin has left, Loki walks over to Sif.

“Here to grace me with your silver tongue, Trickster?” the lady asks.

A reputation can be a helpful thing. Loki smiles. Very shortly afterwards he is in Sif’s bedchamber.

After the “lady” falls asleep, Loki trims her golden locks. Gathering them in his hands, he ties them in one of her own ribbons. When Thor returns home Loki is waiting for him at the front door.

As he throws the shorn locks, the traditional symbol of an unfaithful wife, at Thor’s feet, Loki smiles as sweetly as he can. “You should see your face,” he says.

He completely expects the beating that comes next.

What he doesn’t expect is for Hoenir and Mimir to be so unsympathetic when he comes crawling to the hut for help.

“You did what!” Mimir screeches. Loki winces from where he lays atop Hoenir’s workbench, the self-satisfied smile slipping from his lips.

Hoenir slaps a hand down hard on a rib he is repairing. Loki’s eyes go wide. Hoenir is actually scowling at him. Hoenir never scowls at him.

“I gave Thor proof of his wife’s infidelity,” says Loki, and Hoenir’s hand comes down hard on another rib.

“You’re supposed to be helping me fix that,” says Loki lifting his head.

Hoenir just raises an eyebrow.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” says Mimir. “Do you know what you would do if someone slept with your wife?”

Raising an eyebrow, Loki drops his head on the bench. “As I don’t have a wife and am unlikely to acquire one — ”

“I’ll tell you what you’d do!” Mimir says, voice trembling. “You’d cut him up into little pieces, that’s what you’d do.”

Loki blinks...there is something in that, something he can’t quite place. He raises his head.

Mimir’s face is livid. “And then you’d take all those pieces and flush them all down the — ”

“Mimir!” Odin’s voice rings through the hut.

Loki’s blood goes cold.

“Don’t talk about that, Mimir,” and Loki blinks because he almost thinks he hears worry in Odin’s voice. But a few moments more and Odin is leaning over him. He doesn’t look worried. Oddly, he doesn’t look as angry as he did after Baldur’s birth. He looks more...disgusted.

“You told me he was turning into a laughingstock,” Loki says. “I told you I’d take care of it, and I have. I delivered proof that — ”

“Sif has told everyone you used your magic to sneak in on her while she slept,” says Odin.

“And people believe that?” says Mimir. “From that trollop?”

Odin’s eyes don’t leave Loki’s. “What matters is what Thor thinks. He believes his wife. Which is lucky — otherwise you could be tried for treason.”

Loki swallows, his brow furrowing. He was only obeying orders. The fickleness and duplicity of royalty.

“— but he is only requesting your banishment,” says Odin, his eyes narrowing.

The breath catches in Loki’s throat. Odin doesn’t mean banishment to Alfheim, Jotunheim, Vaneheim or any of the other civilized worlds. He can only mean Midgard. There is a very small part of him that wants to accept that fate, sees it almost as an open door from a cage, but his rational mind tells him what he would be accepting is a short, painful life, and death by plague — or in his case, more likely hunger.

Odin’s lip curls up. “Fix this, Loki.” He stares down at Loki for a few moments more, and Loki feels himself shrinking. And then Odin turns and strides from the room.

Loki looks at Hoenir. He doesn’t meet his eyes. He looks to Mimir, and the head winces. “You owe Sif, Thor and Odin a very big apology.”

Staring at Amy, Loki feels the heat of Thor’s first betrayal, that first cruel laugh, itching beneath his skin. How could he have trusted Thor after that?

Beatrice’s voice startles Loki out of his dark reverie. “So did you get Thor his hammer, Sif the golden wig, Odin Daupnir and Gungnir — and the boat for Frey?”

“Daupnir, Gungnir, boat?” says Amy.

Loki smiles a brittle smile. “Daupnir is a lovely little ring. The boat is called Skidbladnir. It has a clever way of folding into time so that all of it that remains in real-time can fit in the palm of your hand.”

Amy’s face lights up, “It sounds kind of like the TARDIS!”

“Tardis?” says Loki, somewhat amazed that she seems to have grasped the concept at all. Humans usually didn’t.

“It’s a phone booth,” says Beatrice.

“Bigger on the inside than outside,” says Amy. “And it can travel through space and time too. Can Skidbladnir do that?”

Loki blinks. “Humans have such a vessel?”

“No, no, no,” says Amy. “It’s just a story.” She frowns a little. “Just the way you described Skidbladnir, I thought it could be true.”

Slightly disappointed, Loki says, “Other than its compactibility, Skidbladnir is just a boat. We used it for camping trips. Until Odin gave it to Frey, chief of the Vanir.”

“What about Gungnir, the spear that can hit any mark?” says Beatrice.

Tapping his chin, Loki says, “I did give that to Odin, but that was a different...adventure.” Another one of his under-appreciated acts of self-sacrifice. Really, Odin should have appreciated what Loki did for Thor. It’s not like sleeping with Sif was any great prize.

“Did the dwarf sew up your lips?” says Beatrice.

“Grandma!” says Amy, sounding absolutely scandalized. The gifts to Odin, Thor and Sif were made by two rival clans of dwarfs in a contest. The prize was Loki’s head. At the last minute Loki convinced the winner that since only his head had been promised, it couldn’t be detached at the neck. Said dwarf chose to sew up Loki’s mouth in lieu of decapitation.

He’s not sure exactly why Amy sounds so disapproving, but he senses an opportunity for comedy, or at least shock value.

With just the barest bit of concentration, he creates an illusion of wire stitches over his lips. Turning to Amy, and Beatrice he says, “Mmmphhhff!”

Beatrice sits back in her seat, hand over her mouth.

Amy gasps. “How can you even joke about that?!”

Loki tilts his head. The serious answer, the truthful answer, is how can he not? Joking about pain is the only weapon he has. It is the way he thumbs his nose up at the universe. The way he proves he is unbroken, and if not the god of mischief, then at least mischief’s master.

But that isn’t the funny answer.

He creates an illusion of himself in the backseat next to Beatrice and lets that projection say, “Don’t worry, m’lady. I am not offended by my joke.”

“Ahh!” says Beatrice looking frantically back and forth between the illusion of Loki and Loki’s real self.

The car almost swerves off the road. “Don’t do that without warning me!” says Amy.

“Mmmphhhff,” says Loki’s real self, still feigning the stitches.

“Don’t you people believe in proportional punishment?” Amy shoots him a glance that looks angry, hurt and scandalized all at once.

Loki tilts his head. In the scheme of things, that physical agony was small. He had done a wrong. He paid a price. It was logical. There were other pains, other slights that were random and unjust. They hurt more. But he cannot think of them, much less speak of them. Instead, he lets his astrally-projected self lean forward and whisper near her ear. “But if I hadn’t had my lips sewn shut I wouldn’t have learned the art of astral projection — out of sheer desperation to wag my tongue.”

Beatrice snorts.

Loki lets the illusion of himself and the stitches fade. “And if Thor hadn’t had the opportunity to hold me down while the stitches were put in, he might not have felt that he’d recovered his honor and we might never have become friends.”

Amy shoots him a look that communicates both revulsion and disbelief.

But Thor and Loki had been friends, hadn’t they? They’d both risked their lives for one another. And for a long time Thor’s friendship had surely helped ease Valli and Nari’s dealings with other Asgardians. They had been known more for Thor’s patronage, and less as Loki’s sons.

In the end what good had it done them, though? Even, brave, noble, supposedly honest, Thor had caved to Odin.

Loki clenches his fists. He cannot believe that Valli and Nari have met their ends. They are somewhere, alive, if not well, and wherever they are he will find them. Loki is very good at finding lost things, and the more impossible the task, the more likely it is he will succeed. Even Odin gives him that.

“So...” says Amy, eyes focused on the road ahead. “Can you tell us what we’re going to do when we find gala drill?”

“Gala drill?” says Loki. A party and a drill? He scratches his ear... Did he hear right, or lose the thread of magic? Something tickles in the back of his mind

“You know, elf queen, in the books?” says Amy.

“And movies!” Beatrice pipes in.

“Ahhh...a name from a new myth,” says Loki, the tickle becoming an itch. There is something about the name that feels almost, but not quite right.

Amy blinks. “I guess, maybe.”

Shaking his head, Loki says, “No king or queen of the elves would reveal their true name. It would mean sacrificing too much of their power.” Lifting his eyebrows, he tilts his head. “And believe me, power isn’t something elven monarchs are keen on relinquishing.”

Amy leans forward in her seat. She isn’t wearing the figure-flattering shirt she wore the other day. What she is wearing now is baggy, and goes too far up her chest. Loki has no idea why someone with such astonishing breasts would want to hide them.

“Uh....is she going to be unhappy to see us here?” Amy says, looking nervously out the window.

“You and Beatrice? Oh, no, you are fine. The elves resented Odin’s orders to withdraw from your realm. They saw it their duty to play an active role in shaping human culture. They’ll be delighted to see you. Me, on the other hand...” He puts a hand to his chin, and taps contemplatively. “I will need a disguise.”

“The elf queen can’t read hearts?” whispers Amy quietly.

Startled by the question, Loki turns to her. “Actually, the elf queen can read hearts, or minds rather. I’m sure that she’ll see through the disguise, but it will confuse her court, and give her plausible deniability should Odin pay her a visit.”

“You’re on the outs with Odin already?” says Beatrice.

Choosing to ignore that question, Loki says, “As for what I want with the elf queen...I want a simple exchange of information.”

He sees Amy’s eyes lift to the rear view mirror and realizes she and Beatrice are exchanging a glance.

Let them wonder. He has been more than accommodating.

Amy squeezes Car’s steering wheel. “What sort of disguise?”

Loki tilts his head. “The best disguise is like the best lie. As close to the truth as possible.” He concentrates. His armor with its magical camouflage is too fine to belong to just any ordinary soldier. He dulls it to steel, painted dark gray. His hair he changes to brown, his chin and nose he broadens, and he increases his height and the width of his shoulders.

“Whoa,” says Amy, “you were big enough already.”

Unable to resist a chance to jest, Loki smirks. “Yes, yes, I was,” he says in a deep, husky voice.

Amy tilts her head. “What does that mean?”

Before Loki even has a chance to purse his lips at her disappointing inability to grasp that little bit of sly innuendo, Beatrice hits him on the back of the head.

That’s more like it!

“Argh!” Loki screams, feigning pain. He turns and smiles at Beatrice. She scowls at him.

“Oh, my God,” says Amy.

Loki smirks at her. “I’m not really a god, but I’ll pretend to be one for you.”

Beatrice hits him again. “Argh!” Loki cries, but he is unable to suppress a wide grin. There’s nothing like a bit of comedy to take one’s mind off a daunting quest.

“Was that an allusion to penis size?” Amy says, hands tightening on the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turn white.

Loki’s smile drops. Cringing in genuine distaste he says, “Must you be so anatomical?”

Amy is silent for a moment. Dipping her chin and scowling, she begins to chant. “Penis, penis, penis.”

Beatrice whacks him over the head again.

“...penis, penis, penis...”

“Hit her, not me!” Loki cries.

“...penis, penis, penis,” says Amy, looking angrier and angrier.

“You started it,” the old woman replies.

Huffing, Loki says, “To return to the previous topic — ”

Amy stops her chant.

“Thank you,” says Beatrice.

“I will not try to disguise my Frost Giant nature, but I will go by the name of Fjölnir Thorsbruter. It’s a common name among Frost Giants in Thor’s legion, and won’t raise suspicion.”

“You look like a Frost Giant now?” says Amy, looking him up and down.

“Of course,” says Loki, slightly vexed.

“You’re not blue. In the movies Frost Giants are blue.”

Loki stares at her, completely at a loss for what she could be talking about.

From the backseat comes Beatrice’s voice. “Oh, my, how lovely.”

Amy’s eyes go back to the road. They have just come over a gentle rise, and now in the distance beyond cultivated fields, orchards, pasture lands, and a wide river, Alfheim’s only city in the domain of the light elves is on full display.

“It’s beautiful,” Amy says.

Loki gazes at the city in the distance. Set into the side of a mountain, it sits beside the border road. The city’s architecture is reminiscent of human European architecture from the 12th century. The entire city is made from white stone. Thick walls and ramparts with small slitted windows encircle more buildings with the same small slitted windows. There are peaked tile roofs, all in green. At the center of the city, rising up above the other buildings, is the castle proper. Dark green ivy climbs along walls; trees with lavender leaves lift their crowns alongside the buildings.

Loki hasn’t been here in over a hundred years. Squinting, he looks hard for any changes in the scenery, but even the ivy and trees within the city gates remain exactly as he remembers them. Absolutely nothing has changed.

“I suppose it’s quaint,” he says. He’s not sure how the humans can be impressed. Chicago, with its riot of styles from only the last century or so, displays more variety of architecture in a single block than the whole city of Alfheim. And Alfheim’s city is so small. It is only a few miles wide and the tallest tower can’t be over ten stories.

“Like a fairy castle,” says Beatrice, her voice awed.

Loki snorts. “Well, technically — ”

“Are those dinosaurs?” Amy says, looking out at the fields.

Loki follows her gaze. A few hadrosaurs dot the pastures, and two are being ridden in neat formation along the city’s main wall. From afar they look a lot like the velociraptors Loki hatched so long ago. They have powerful hind legs and smaller forelimbs. They do not walk on their hind limbs exclusively though, and their mouths are beak-like. They also get much larger than velociraptors — up to the size of a bus.

“Yes,” says Loki.

He blinks. He’s a bit surprised English has a word for dinosaur. Loki doesn’t know English particularly well. He uses magic to translate languages. On Asgard they call it “The Gift of Tongues.” Humans might call it a “spell,” but it’s more a state of mind. Loki doesn’t fight the magic that flows through Amy and Beatrice that wants to interact with the appropriate neurons in his brain’s speech centers.

The trick has its limitations: if there is no corresponding word between languages, translations become difficult. But now there is a common English word for dinosaurs! Fascinating. Staring at the creatures, he realizes there is even an English word for specific dinosaur species. “Specifically, hadrosaurs, harmless herbivores,” he adds. Harmless unless they step on you, of course.

Tensing at the wheel, Amy looks nervously to the dark forest still on their left. “I don’t have to worry about T-rexes or velociraptors, do I?”

Loki’s mouth drops open. “You know what a velociraptor is?”

“I’ve seen Jurassic Park,” says Amy. Voice rising tremulously she says, “Are there velociraptors here?”

“No,” says Loki. “No....nasty creatures though, I’ll give you that.”

Amy turns her face quickly to him. She doesn’t look relieved for some reason.

Puzzling over that, Loki looks out at the road and his eyes go wide. “Look out for the hadrosaur dung!”

Amy hits the brakes and they screech to a halt just in time.

“It’s the size of a dog!” says Beatrice.

“It looks like bird poop,” says Amy. “White...but really lumpy. I wonder if I could get a sample and take it back to school? We have a thermos, don’t we? I have a friend from undergrad in the micro lab at UIC. We could compare the genome of the hadrosaur dung bacteria to the bacteria in bird guano. If elves were on Earth at one time, there is a possibility that the bacteria might share a common ancestor!”

Loki blinks.

“We probably don’t have time for that, Dear. Right Loki?” says Beatrice.

Loki stifles a laugh at Beatrice’s conspiratorial prompting, but he’s more impressed than repulsed. It’s something Hoenir would do — at this point Loki is quite inured to dung collection. Pursing his lips he says, “Maybe later. For now, perhaps you should drive more slowly? We are close enough to the castle for it to be safe after dark.”

“Right,” says Amy, steering the vehicle so it straddles the dung.

Loki hopes none gets on the axles; it is quite foul smelling. He sighs. Elves. No appreciation for any type of evolution.

Chapter 8

Amy is glad for the chance to slow down. It gives her a chance to look around. As they cross the neat fields of what looks like wheat, she can see little thatched cottages. She catches sight of goats, sheep, small shaggy horses, chickens — and sometimes hadrosaurs. From afar their scales are reminiscent of tropical birds, deep, almost iridescent green, with spots of red and yellow.

As they drive along, people — well, they look like people — come out of their little homes, take one look at them, and rush back inside. If they didn’t seemed so terrified Amy would probably stop the car and get out — no matter how much Loki might protest.

They are just a few miles from the city proper, when two knights come riding up the road towards them. She thinks they are knights anyway. They are wearing armor like the kind she is accustomed to from the Art Institute, are seated on shaggy little white horses, and are carrying lances. Their faces and ears are covered, so despite their proximity she can’t see if they’re Elves.

“Um...” says Amy.

Loki, now looking like a very pale Conan the Barbarian, looks at the door. “Where is the window crank? I’d like to address them.”

“The button,” says Amy.

“What button?” says Loki.

“Switch,” says Beatrice.

“Ahhhhh....” says Loki.

“Wait, I have a better idea,” says Amy. Pressing a button on the side of the door, she opens the skylight.

“Perfect!” says Loki smiling broadly. “I love this machine.” He looks at Amy, an expression of deep earnestness on his now broad barbarian face. “Do you think it could ever love me?”

Unsure if this is another one of his jokes, Amy just stares at him.

From the backseat, Beatrice says, “Loki dear, they’re jostling their sticks.”

Loki looks out at the knights who are raising their lances. “Just give me a minute,” he says, and then he stands up next to Amy. It puts his hips rather too close to her face. Her cheeks go hot and she’s on guard instantly. She’s really glad he’s busy talking to the knights; otherwise she’s pretty sure he’d have a bit of innuendo to throw her way just now.

A knight gives a yell, and Amy blinks and straightens. The knight is pointing at her car with his lance.

The words coming out of Loki’s mouth seem smooth, almost musical. But the knights raise their lances and then both of them are yelling at Loki. Amy starts gauging the feasibility of a three point turn. The sun is slipping down on the horizon, and Loki has warned against the wisdom of traveling the road at night, but...

From the direction of the castle eight more knights come riding out on horses, followed by knights on hadrosaurs at the rear. The giant creatures move relatively slowly, but they are intimidating. Loki is still talking, and the knights are still waving their lances.

Hand going to the gears, Amy gets ready to switch into reverse. “Loki! Should I turn around?”

Pulling himself back into the car, Loki smiles broadly at her. It’s even more disconcerting than it should be since he’s changed his appearance to be more Conan the Barbarian-esque. Her brain is having a little difficulty wrapping itself around the concept that it is still the wiry guy with red hair in there. She wants to pinch his cheek or something, to verify everything is real, but the timing is a little inconvenient. And he’d probably misconstrue it as flirting. He’s still in the middle of the front seat and way too close to her.

“No, no, we’re fine!” he says, his voice still his own. Amy’s not sure if it makes the Conan thing better or worse.

“Nothing to worry about,” he says. “They’re just giving us an escort.”

As he says that, the first two knights run around their car, turn around and turn their lances on them again. In front of them the other knights bring their mounts around so their steeds and their lances are perpendicular to the road.

“See,” says Conan-esque Loki. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, dear,” says Beatrice, summing up Amy’s feelings exactly.

Falling back into his own seat, Loki-Conan waves a hand forward. “Go ahead!”

Amy checks the rear view mirror. Going backwards doesn’t seem much of an option. She puts her foot gently on the gas and drives through the gauntlet. There is a bridge just ahead of them, and a river as wide as an eight-lane highway beneath. Amy notices on the side of the river near the castle the water reflects the sky. On the side of the bridge where the water drains into the dark forest, the river is a muddy snake of churning brown and black. She follows the river’s path into the dark forest with her eyes to where it seems to split into tributaries.

“The Delta of Sorrows,” says Loki softly. She looks over at him and he’s shaking his head, one side of his mouth curled up in a crooked smile. “Luddites and hypocrites,” he mutters.

Amy blinks and focuses her attention ahead. The knights are falling into formation behind them.

“The first fork in the road past the river, take a right turn toward the castle,” says Loki.

Amy swallows and nods. As they get closer to the castle, Beatrice says, “Oh, my, it’s even lovelier up close.”

And it is. It’s hard for Amy to keep her eyes on the road. The tremendous white wall on her left is covered with dark green ivy. Blue flowers are interspersed with the leaves.

“Yes,” says Loki. “You have to hand it to the elves, they can make even man-eating plants picturesque.”

“Man-eating?” says Beatrice.

“Let’s say you wouldn’t want to try and scale the wall by climbing the ivy,” says Loki.

“Oh,” says Beatrice. “It is so pretty, though...I wonder if it would keep the squirrels away from the bird feeder outside our kitchen window?”

“Grandma!” says Amy.

“It’s difficult to get clippings of the stuff,” says Loki. “It bites.”

“A shame,” says Beatrice.

Before Amy can say anything, Beatrice lets out a gasp. They’re closing in on the main gates of the city, and for the first time can see within. More knights are riding out, but others are holding back a crowd.

Amy pulls the car through the gates, into what seems to be a market square with brightly colored tents for stalls interspersed with lavender-leafed trees with white bark. Great buildings of white stone look over the square. They are able to see the people of the realm up close for the first time. They are slender, and not terribly tall. Most appear pale, but Amy sees every shade of skin tone. They seem to all be blessed with delicate, doll like features, and there is no mistaking the pointed ears.

“Elves...” breathes Amy.

Conan-Loki snorts. “You expected trolls?”

Neither Amy nor Beatrice bother to respond. A moment later the sun slips completely from the sky, and all around them great orbs of green light rise into the air until they reach a height just above the great wall around the city. The car’s headlights become brighter.

From the crowd there is a collective, “Oooooh.”

“Clever car,” says Loki, patting the dash.

The elves in the market push against the knights holding them back and begin to smile and wave at Amy, Beatrice and Loki. Amy hears shouts rising up in the crowd. In the corner of her eye she swears she sees an elf raising his fist at the knights.

Amy cranes her neck for a better view, but Loki says, “Keep driving. The hadrosaurs can tip us over.” He looks over his shoulder. “Or step on us.”

That does wonders to focus Amy’s attention.

They follow a knight through the market, and between buildings that are a few stories tall, the knights on hadrosaurs close behind them. In the glow of the orbs the white stone looks green. Some of the buildings have wide windows. Behind her Amy hears Beatrice say, “Oh, that looks like a dress shop, and that looks like toys maybe...Oh, my, the people are just darling.”

Amy wishes she could look, but trains her eyes on the knight leading them. She tries to keep track of the way they’re going. It’s dark, and a little difficult to tell for sure, but it seems to be one main road that switches back on itself as it makes its way up the mountain.

They make a few more switchback turns and come to a street that has walls on both sides. On one side the wall is covered with the ivy and flowers.

“Oh, the shops are gone,” says Beatrice.

“We’re nearly on the palace grounds,” says Loki.

The knight in front of them holds up a hand. Abruptly, the ivy on the wall slithers away like a mass of snakes and a metal gate is revealed. Beatrice gives a startled cry, and Amy swallows.

The gates swing open with a loud, metallic clang, the knight shouts, and Loki says, “Drive in.”

Amy’s foot is already on the gas. She eases through the gates. Up until this point they’ve been driving on a steady incline up the mountainside, but before her the ground plateaus. There are trees, bushes, and masses of tall flowering plants. The road leads to what can only be described as a palace — it rises up at least ten stories. Its delicate towers and walls crawl with more ivy. Above the road hover the green orbs. All along the road are elves standing at attention, wearing what looks like chain mail. From the palace more elves are coming. Even at a distance, Amy can see they are not wearing armor of any kind. Male and female, they wear clothing that looks medieval, but Amy’s pretty sure that human medieval clothing did not glow.

The knight in front of them barks an order. “Time to get out,” says Loki.

He turns to them, his features sharp. “Remember, I am Fjölnir Thorsbrutter.” He tips his head. “If Odin finds out I am here, it will be difficult for me to return you to your realm.”

Amy hears the back door open. “I don’t know if I’d mind staying,” says Beatrice as the retinue of elves in glowing gowns draws to a halt in front of them. “My, my.” With that she climbs out of the car.

Loki looks at Amy, his eyes wide.

“Don’t worry, Amy says. “I don’t want to stay anywhere that doesn’t have antibiotics.” Or a good laboratory. What fun was dung if she couldn’t analyze it?

Mouth grim, jaw hard, Conan-Loki says, “Smart girl.”

An instant later he is standing outside on the golden road, smiling broadly.

Amy slips the key from the ignition and watches him. He’s like a chameleon, and not just in the way he changes his physical appearance.

Stepping from the car, she takes a breath and pockets her keys and attached pepper spray. The air is cool, clear and untainted by the car’s air freshener or vents. The sun may be gone, but everything still smells like sunlight and grass, and floral smells she can’t quite place. She looks up past the orbs. The stars are bright, but the Big Dipper is nowhere to be seen. Her mouth drops open, and then she smiles at the wonder of it. She is on another world.

Smile still in place, she walks around to where Conan-Loki and Beatrice stand. One elf, a man dressed in subdued black who looks no older than Amy, is talking to Loki. The other elves are thronged around Beatrice.

“You human!” says a young man in a sing-song voice to Beatrice. His hair is golden and long. He is wearing long robes of dark blue velvet with embroidered stars that literally sparkle. He turns to Amy. “You, too! Come to feast!”

“First, clothes!” says a woman. Amy blinks. At her side is an elf woman with skin dark as ebony. She wears a dress of emerald green, cinched tightly at the waist, low cut on the front, with gold brocade along the neckline that seems to project its own light.

Small hands go to Amy’s arms and pull her forward, but then a heavier arm drapes over her shoulder. Conan-Loki’s voice whispers in her ear. “I told them I was accidentally drawn into your realm, and that I rescued you, and this is how you are repaying me. The only detail I’ve changed is my name. Fjölnir. Thorsbrutter. Don’t forget.”

Before Amy can even respond, Loki’s arm is gone, and he’s stepping around the crowd to the elf in black.

As the lady in emerald scoots up to Amy, Amy turns her head to see the man in blue, arm-in-arm with Beatrice.

Touching Beatrice’s hair lightly, he speaks with an oddly lilting accent Amy can’t place. “You like most beautiful gnome I have ever seen.”

Amy’s eyes bug out, but Beatrice just giggles and smiles.

“My name Belladal,” says the woman next to Amy in the same lilting tones as the man.

“Amy,” says Amy, trying to keep her eyes on Conan-Loki, walking ahead of the throng, towering next to the elf in black.

“Aaay Meeee,” says Belladal.

“Aaay Meeee,” say the other elves in unison.

Amy turns her eyes to them for an instant. Beatrice and Amy are positively thronged now. She smiles and they gasp. “You many teeth for human!” says Belladal. Confused, Amy blinks. Turning her head she tries to find Loki, but he and the elf in black are nowhere to be seen. Before she even has a chance to process that thought or be afraid, great wooden doors ahead of them open and light spills out of the palace.

She hears the elf man next to Beatrice exclaim. “No, no, no! You not 85! Humans not live that long!” She can’t hear Beatrice’s response. Her eyes are nearly blinded by the golden light in the palace, and elves in much simpler attire are running out of the doors singing or maybe talking in musical tones.

“Dresses! You get dresses!” says Belladal. “Elves like humans. Not see so long! You like dresses! Music! Feast! Happy! Happy! Happy!”

“Happp—eeeee!” sing the elves.

And Amy isn’t sure if it is magic, or just that everything is magical, but she begins to feel her heart lift, and her lips pull into a wide grin.

Beatrice slips her arm into Amy’s as Belladal glides into the palace ahead of them, her dark skin warm and glowing in the light. Following the elven woman with her eyes, Beatrice shakes her head and whispers to Amy, “the elves have Negroes, too. I never would have expected that.”

Amy squeezes her eyes shut and resists the desire to facepalm. Beside her Beatrice doesn’t seem to even notice. She’s chattering away with the elven man.

Amy sighs and opens her eyes. At least Beatrice didn’t say anything about Belladal getting a position of lady or princess elf through affirmative action. She smiles ruefully; some of the magic of the place must be rubbing off after all.

An hour or so and a magically altered dress later, Amy’s standing in a great hall. Lining the wall are tapestries that glitter, glow and almost seem to move. A giant orb of gold is suspended in the air. The floor beneath her feet is white polished stone. To one side of the room are large ornately carved doors that lead, she’s told, to “big feast...little wait only.” Music that sounds like harps and flutes is floating through the air, but she can’t see any musicians. She looks around the room a little anxiously. She hasn’t seen Loki since they entered the palace.

Fenrir isn’t here either. During the dressmaking session an elf woman had taken the dog away — Belladal said it was “so small beast no smell like dead things.” Amy would have protested more, but it was true, her little beast still stunk. Fenrir’s supposed to be back in time for the feast, though. Looking around again, Amy pats her skirts and feels the comforting lumps of her key chain and pepper spray beneath the fabric.

At the other end of the hall Beatrice is sitting down on an elaborately carved wooden chair, a throng of elves around her. Grinning ear-to-ear, she looks beautiful. Her dress is palest rose with an elegant princess neckline. Her white hair is lifted up in a bun that is crowned with pale pink flowers. It occurs to Amy that Beatrice must seem far more exotic to them than Amy herself does. No one in the hall looks older than 25.

Amy looks down at her own dress self-consciously. It’s very pretty, creamy with emerald green trim. But the neckline is painfully low and wide. She’s afraid if she bends forwards she might spill out. She tried to ask for something more discreet, but her protests were met with laughter. “Why hide best feature?” Belladal had said. And then Belladal’s expression had contorted to one of genuine curiosity. “Are you wet-nurse?”

Remembering that comment did nothing to ease Amy’s self-consciousness now. The elves, male and female, crowded around her speaking in their musical tones and staring at her breasts doesn’t help either. Different ideas about propriety, obviously. None of them seem to speak English the way Belladal or the elf man in blue are able to, so commenting on her embarrassment doesn’t help.

Figures clad in black and gray emerging from a small door at the side of the hall catches her attention. It’s Loki at last — still looking like a pale version of Conan the Barbarian. The elf in black is next to him. Grateful for a chance to escape her ogling little throng, Amy casts a smile around her, looks apologetically in the direction of Loki, and then back at them. The throng seems to understand because a narrow path opens up before her. She bolts through it without a backwards glance.

Loki catches her eye, says something to the elf in black, and then tilts his head towards a hallway off to the side. A few moments later Amy is there beside him. His armor is still the dark gray he changed it to in the car, and he’s donned no other finery. His face is uncharacteristically pensive.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, and he blinks.

“Nothing,” he says. “I will be granted an audience with the queen during the feast.” Her brows furrow slightly. She thinks they are alone in the small hallway, the noise of revelry at their backs, but she’s not quite sure. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she leans close to him. “Are you worried she’ll know who you are?”

Smiling a little sadly, he says, “I’m certain that she will. That isn’t what disturbs me.”

“Well, what then?” says Amy, a hand almost unconsciously going to his arm.

Not meeting her eyes, his lips quirk slightly, his expression looks sad instead of happy.

“I find myself nervous about the answer to my question,” he says.

“You never told us what the question is,” Amy says.

His eyes narrow, though the quirk of his lips doesn’t disappear. “I try, as much as possible, to push it from my mind. If I think of it I might go mad.” He looks so distraught, Amy has the urge to give him a hug.

Stepping back, he takes her hand. “But where are my manners? You look lovely.”

From the great hall there is the sound of horns.

“Nice breasts,” says Loki, barely audible over the din.

Amy’s jaw falls. Every time she feels the slightest bit of sympathy for him, he just has to go and ruin it. “Did you just say nice breasts?”

He quirks an eyebrow. Leaning in he says, “Actually, I said nice dress.”

Amy blinks and reddens; how foolish of her. She’s about to apologize when still holding her hand, his eyes drift down and his mouth stretches into a leer. “But now that you mention it....”

Her hand connects with his cheek a moment later with a satisfying smack.

Rubbing his cheek, he just grins at her.

Amy points at her eyes and says, “Focus.”

The grin vanishes. “You’re right, I can’t be seen to be fraternizing with the help.” He smirks. “Who knows, the queen may want to take advantage of my silver tongue.”

“Huh?” says Amy, not seeing any connection.

The smirk vanishes.

Amy blinks.

Patting her shoulder, Loki sighs. “If I ever need to capture a unicorn I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Conan-Loki’s inappropriate leers are immediately forgiven. “I would love to see a unicorn!”

Putting a hand to her back, he guides her towards the hall. “And I’m sure one would love to see you.” As they step into the great hall, Loki says, “Dinner has just been called. I will see you later.”

The elf woman who had taken Fenrir away during the dressmaking session approaches, Fenrir at her feet, bathed, groomed and looking — well, almost like a dog. “This way,” the elf woman says.

Eyes going wide, Amy says, “You speak English!”

The elf blinks at her, as though surprised to be understood. “Yes. But secret, please?”

Amy tilts her head, curious. But all she says is, “Of course.” She turns to look at Loki but he’s already gone.

As the rest of the guests are herded into the dining hall, Lionel, the steward, leads Loki to a small antechamber dimly lit by dancing fireflies. It’s furnished only with a tapestry on one wall, and two chairs facing one another, a low table in the middle. It is exactly the sort of thing Loki would have expected.

Closing the door behind them, Lionel presses his ear to it as though listening for something.

Loki tilts his head. Lionel meets his gaze, nods, and then moves quickly to the room’s only window and draws the curtains. Putting his finger to his lips, Lionel moves to the opposite wall and draws back the curtain. Pressing against a few of the white stones in rapid succession, Lionel backs up. The stones seem to dissolve, as though made of sand, revealing a dark narrow passage.

Lionel gestures with his hands for Loki to enter.

Loki does not move. “Where are you taking me?”

Lionel is small and thin even for an elf. He swallows. “The queen will speak a few words at the feast, and then she will retire to her chambers. She will meet you there.”

Loki stares at him for a few uncomfortably long heartbeats. Not because he doesn’t believe Lionel’s words — Loki can’t read hearts, but he has a sense for lies. It is the truth, but still unbelievable. Loki is nowhere near the queen’s station, whether a member of Thor’s personal legion or as Odin’s retainer...former retainer. Having him in her chambers would be scandalous, but it would explain the secrecy; and a secret passage would make perfect sense.

“If you like, I will go first,” says Lionel.

“I would like,” says Loki. Lionel may not be lying, but he wouldn’t put it past a monarch to leave a surprise without their retainer’s knowledge.

Lionel bows his head. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a dull olive orb. As he lifts it, it lights from within, casting the same green glow as the orbs outside the palace. And then Lionel steps into the dark passageway, Loki following.

Loki hears the tapestry fall back into place, and a sound like pebbles sliding together. When he looks behind him there is a seemingly solid wall.

After a few paces, the passageway changes to a stairway. The steps are low and narrow. Loki touches the walls. They are dry and cool beneath his slightly warm damp fingers. He can feel his pulse quickening. This is it. Soon he will know where his sons and Sigyn are, whether they are alive or dead.

Taking a deep breath, he tries to calm himself as best he can.

They have gone a few flights when the scent of stone and dust gives way to the smell of green living things, pine and sage maybe. It’s not unpleasant at all. Loki suddenly has an overpowering sense of deja vu. He blinks. Prophecy is completely beyond him. He is over 1,000 years old. He may never have been in this stairway, but he has been in ones like it. Surely.

And yet...the fragrance. He takes a long breath. He is just anxious.

In front of him Lionel draws to a stop. Loki can’t see what he does with his hands but the wall falls away, and they step from behind another tapestry into a living area. The smell of pine and sage is stronger, and there is also the smell of meat and fresh bread. There is a chandelier above that looks like a mass of long silver leaves. There are no candles or orbs set in it: the whole thing glows, casting a glow like moonlight. Below it are two chairs, and a table laden with food. Nearby Loki can hear the sound of falling water.

“Her Majesty’s chambers,” says the steward. He gestures to a seat. “Please, sit and eat your fill.”

Loki’s mouth is watering, but he doesn’t sit down. He tilts his head to the sound of water. In his mind he pictures a living wall of lichens, a small spout emerging from it, and a stream of water falling into a semi-circular pool set flush in the floor. Turning, he walks quickly from the little room, Lionel at his heels, saying, “Stop! Wait!”

He steps into the next room over and draws up short. There are the wall and fountain just as he imagined them.

“Sir,” Lionel says, “you are to wait in the other room.”

Loki doesn’t move. And then he sees it, magic, the same color as moonlight, spilling from behind his back.

“Leave us, Lionel,” says a feminine voice as smooth and sure as water over rocks.

Loki and Lionel both turn. The elf queen approaches them. She wears a simple circlet on her brow. Her ears peek out from straight black hair. Her eyes are almond shaped, almost like a human from the continent of Asia, but they are nearly as light as Loki’s own. Her features are fine, delicate and almost painfully symmetrical, like all of the elf race. She is as slender and willowy as a reed — not precisely his type, but undeniably beautiful.

Loki has seen her several times before. He’s always looked at her from a distance, or from over Odin’s shoulder as a retainer. She’s never met his eyes before. She does now. Loki has the peculiar sensation of coming in from the cold to find a warm and welcome fire.

For some reason he almost says “Gala” aloud, but holds it back. Strange to be affected so by a silly human myth.

He tilts his head. This feeling of belonging, is it a trick of her magic?

“Yes, my Queen,” Lionel says, drawing Loki from his reverie. Bowing quickly the retainer leaves the room.

“Loki, son of wildfire and the green and peaceful isle,” says the elf queen.

He hasn’t heard his heritage described that way before, but he doesn’t argue. Bowing, Loki lets his disguise drop and prepares to kneel.

“Please,” says the elf queen holding out a pale hand. “Don’t.”

Loki straightens. There is something in her voice, fear or apprehension; he can’t tell.

“Why are you here?” she says coming forward, magic swirling in the air so much it warms his skin. She cannot possibly be afraid of him, her magic is so much stronger.

“I mean you no harm, your highness. I come only for an exchange of information.”

“What information do you wish to give me?”

Loki tilts his head. “A pathway, from your realm to Asgard.”

“I know many of those,” she says dropping her eyes and moving quietly as a shadow so they are no more than a foot apart. That closeness should strike him as odd — but it doesn’t, and that is truly odd.

“Ah, but this is a very strategic one, your highness. Right from the heart of your realm to just behind the throne of Odin himself.”

The elf queen’s eyes shoot up to his and then she looks aside and walks away. “I already know of such a pathway,” she says.

Loki feels the first prickle of worry. “But this, your highness, this one....” He licks his lips. “It is very near, but so small you would never find it unless — ”

“The one inside our wine cellar,” she says.

Loki’s eyes go wide. He feels as though the wind has been knocked out of him. He brings a hand to the chest plate of his armor and feels the press of his book tucked inside there. The queen’s eyes follow the movement, and for an instant he thinks he sees something cruel and predatory flash in them. But then the look is gone, and her features again are cool and distant.

“Someone already bartered that piece of information to me...long, long ago,” she says, her eyes dropping to the small pool in the floor.

She looks sharply at him, and then comes forward again. Tilting her head she says, “But I would hear your question anyways.”

It takes a moment for Loki to process her words. No barter? No exchange? When do gifts ever come freely?

“Tell me,” she says. And again she is very close, too close for decorum, and again it is a fact that hovers at the edge of his consciousness, something that should strike him as uncomfortable and off, but the feeling of her proximity is completely different. It’s like a warm fire.

He closes his eyes. He sees Valli and Nari as children, with Helen — who he also lost. He cannot think them lost, too — or Sigyn, gone like his Aggie. “My sons, my ex-wife, Sigyn, I want to know where they are, ” he says softly. She draws back, just a bit. Maybe he isn’t speaking softly, maybe it just sounds faint over the angry pounding of his own heart.

“I don’t know,” she says, her gaze firm on his. “I cannot see everything. I am sorry.”

She’s not lying...and yet...

His next breath is too hard and too loud. He wants to turn away, but doesn’t think he can. Valli and Nari’s faces and the blackness of space flash before him. His sons...his beautiful sons.

The elf queen takes his arm, and that act of comfort is scandalous, ridiculous, coming from a queen. Not that he hasn’t gotten women far above his station to do things far more scandalous — but not without trying.

“Come sit down,” she says pulling him towards the chairs in the other room.

“I should go,” he says. He doesn’t know where.

“Odin does not know you’re here,” she says.

That is pure truth.

He lets himself be led and sinks down into the chair. She doesn’t move away. Rubbing a hand on his shoulder she says, “Loki, Loki, Loki,” as though practicing the word. Her touch is oddly familiar.

Almost unconsciously he takes her hand in his and she comes around so that she stands just to the side of him, very close. She leans down so their eyes are level; locks of her black hair fall down over her shoulders. “If I cannot give you the knowledge you need, at least let me give you comfort,” she says, her face close to his.

When Loki jested with the human girl earlier about the elf queen taking advantage of his silver tongue, it had been just that, a jest, and nothing more. The queen was not known to take lovers casually, if at all. Even Baldur had tried and failed.

And yet...Loki looks at the pale skin where her neck meets the junction of her shoulders. He has the feeling that if he ghosts his lips there he knows exactly what sound she’ll make. He looks at her lips and thinks he knows exactly how they will taste.

He pulls her closer and she doesn’t resist. When he kisses her it isn’t like a first kiss, laced with excitement and uncertainty. It’s like comfort and homecoming. He needs those things.

And she tastes exactly as he thought she would.

Afterwards, when he feels a brief bit of peace, it feels natural to fall asleep with his arms draped around the elf woman he hasn’t called anything less formal than “your Majesty.” He dreams of a younger Alfheim, with a brighter, yellower sun, of gazing out the window of the palace at a mortal peasant man come to visit. The human smiles at Loki and it’s warm, good humored and yet it fills him with dread.

His eyes snap open. He hears fast footfalls, and then the sting of sharp cold metal at his throat.

He looks up. The elf queen is there, holding his own blade against his neck with one hand, his book in the other.

This is not good.

The dining room is as grand as the other halls of the palace. More tapestries, another glowing orb in the ceiling, and a great table still piled high with food — even though the diners are mostly done.

Amy sits back in her seat, pleasantly full. Near her feet Fenrir whines. Amy glances around. All eyes in the hall are trained on Beatrice, who is recounting the story of her life. Taking advantage of their lack of attention, Amy slips a piece of cheese to Fenrir.

The queen came into the hall a few hours ago. From a raised dais at the end of the table she bid Amy and her grandmother greetings in English nearly as perfect as Loki’s, before addressing her own people and then taking her leave.

Amy was asked a few questions during the meal by Belladal, but Beatrice very quickly became the star of the show. Now Beatrice is telling the story of her life, how she was born to a formerly wealthy clothing merchant in the Ukraine. She has described her parents, her family and her friends in greater detail than Amy has ever heard. Amy is as enraptured as the elves are to hear previously unheard stories of her family’s history. The tale is interrupted frequently by the elf man in blue translating for the rest of the table.

Beatrice comes to the part of how her family and friends were persecuted after the communists took power, and the elves hiss before the translation even starts. Startled, Beatrice, a few seats down and across the table, meets Amy’s eyes. Next to Amy, Belladal says, “We know of these communists. Killers of kings, queens, lords and ladies...but not only just! Kill common people, too.”

“Yes,” says Beatrice nodding gravely at Belladal. “They caused a great famine.”

“This we know not!” says the elf man. The whole hall goes silent, as though they are hanging breathlessly on Beatrice’s words. When she finishes describing the Holodomor, the famine induced by Stalin that killed nearly 2.7 million people, the elf in blue begins to translate again. Amy notices he doesn’t just address the people at the table, he also addresses the servants in the background.

For some reason it makes her stomach feel heavy.

At one point Belladal leans to Amy and whispers. “Your grandmother. So brave. Journey to lawless land no king. No queen. Much danger!”

Amy puts the crystal goblet in her hands down on the table. There is a sweet liquid within it — she’s pretty sure it’s alcoholic and wishes she could just drink some water. She is the designated driver after all. “We do all right,” she says to the elf woman.

Belladal’s eyes go wide. “If you not saved by Frost Giant...” She shakes her head. “No king. No queen. Is...is...discord....chaos.”

Amy scowls a little. “Well, no...” But Beatrice has begun to speak again and Belladal’s head turns away. At Amy’s feet Fenrir whimpers.

“I have to take her out,” Amy whispers to Belladal.

Belladal looks like she is about to get up, but the servant elf Amy had spoken to briefly is by Amy’s side at that instant. “Don’t worry,” says Amy. “I’ll go with her.”

Belladal nods and returns her gaze to Beatrice who has just begun her story of her voyage to America. Amy wishes she could stay for it, but part of her also wants to flee the hall as soon as possible.

The servant leads Amy and Fenrir out of the dining hall and Amy finds herself close to a place she remembers from earlier — the restroom. There is a group of elves in drab garb with an orb like the ones that line the ceilings and hover in the sky. But this one is brown and murky. As Amy watches, they take the orb into the restroom.

Drawing to a stop, Amy tilts her head. “What are they doing?”

The elf woman next to her bites her lip. “The orb magic water...used up. They empty. They refill new magic water.”

Amy’s eyes widen. “Are they flushing it down the toilet?” Despite the quaintness of the elf architecture, they do have flush toilets, thankfully.

The elf woman bites her lip again. “Yes. But don’t worry. Dark water goes down to delta. We get drinking water and fish up river.”

Fenrir begins tugging at the leash, and the elf woman pulls Amy down the passageway. Amy follows obediently, but the image of the river churning brown and black towards the dark lands is heavy in her mind.

A few paces later, they are stepping out into the cool night air onto a path of worn stones. The green orbs hover in the air, and light blue fireflies dance around them.

“What is your name?” Amy asks.

“Dolinar,” says the elf woman.

“Dolinar,” says Amy. “Do elves live down river?”

For a moment there is just the sound of Fenrir’s leash in the grass, and Dolinar’s and Amy’s footfalls. And then Dolinar says quietly, “Yes. But only thieves, murderers, traitors...and those who will not obey the life price.”

The night air suddenly feels very chill. Clutching her arms to her chest, Amy says, “That’s wrong. Even if it’s criminals down river, poisoning them is still wrong.”

Dolinar looks quickly to the palace, and then back to Amy. Pointed ears trembling, she whispers, “Yes, I think so, too.”

They stare at one another a moment. It occurs to Amy that even dressed in plain servants’ garb, Dolinar looks more noble than Amy ever will. Dolinar’s hair is a deep walnut brown. Her eyes are hazel, and Amy is sure she sees light flickering in them. Her facial features are so delicate, and so perfect; her body is as small and poised as a ballet dancer.

Dolinar looks away from the palace and into the darkness. “My life mate works in stables. You say you are studying to be animal doctor. Want to see animals?”

Amy’s eyes widen, and she starts walking into the darkness and direction of Dolinar’s gaze. “Let’s go!”

A few minutes later they are approaching a building that is at least four stories tall. Through narrow windows Amy sees the glow of green orbs. There is an enormous door at the front, but Dolinar leads her around to a small door in the back.

As soon as they enter the stables, Dolinar runs forward. Out of the shadows an elf man in drab pants and a simple shirt comes forward. His hair is long and blonde, his eyes are brown. He takes Dolinar in his arms and they begin speaking quickly in their own tongue.

It’s touching, but Amy’s eyes almost immediately go down the row of stalls. Her mouth opens. On one side of the stable are horses. On the other are hadrosaurs. The dinosaurs sit on their powerful hind limbs, their front limbs pulled up, and their beak-like snouts turned on their long necks and tucked against their bodies. They look like nothing so much as roosting birds.

Feet moving of their own accord, she approaches one of the sleeping dinosaur’s enclosure. The creature untucks its neck, brings its large snout around and blinks yellow eyes. Between its eyes and its colorful, nearly iridescent scales, it looks like a giant parrot. A small gasp comes from Amy’s lips.

“She gentle,” comes a man’s voice from behind her. He says something in elvish and then Dolinar says, “You may touch her, if you wish.”

Amy doesn’t have to be coaxed. She holds out a hand. The hadrosaur brings its snout forward and sniffs. Then walking forward on its large hind legs, it drops its snout and begins rubbing the side of its head against Amy’s fingers. Up close, its scales are actually more like feathers, and they are soft as a chick’s down. Amy bites back a laugh of pure wonderment. She doesn’t doubt that the moment is real. She can smell the familiar smells of horses and straw, but there is also the smell of the hadrosaur, very akin to a bird. The animal is making soft huffing noises, and Amy catches the odor of its breath, warm and thick with the smell of half digested vegetation. It’s wonderful. Magical.

Suddenly, everything that has happened — her horrible sickening run-in with a psychopath, her fear, the horrible sensation that her life was just a dream, the elves Amy is beginning to suspect are charming fascists, Loki frightening her in the kitchen, and his terrible come-ons, it is all worth it. Even if she can’t breathe a word of this moment to anyone except Beatrice; she will know it happened. The universe seems to be grinding along with such beautiful perfection, and Amy’s part may be insignificant, but it is still wonderful.

She rubs the hadrosaur’s head and finds a small opening. She smiles; it is the animal’s ear. She scratches just behind it and the hadrosaur lets loose a deep, pleasant, lowing noise.

“She like you,” says Dolinar.

Amy doesn’t say anything. Just continues rubbing a few minutes more, feeling the exquisite, alien and yet familiar softness of the creature’s scales. She can feel her pulse racing just from the sheer joy of it. This perfect moment, it is all Loki’s fault, and that thought almost makes her laugh.

The hadrosaur abruptly pulls itself further upright, shakes its head, and then tucks its snout against its body again.

“Now go back to sleep,” says man.

Smiling, Amy turns to them. “Thank you so much...” She blinks at them standing arm in arm. Her brain disconnects from the moment she’s just experienced. Tilting her head at the lovely couple she says, “How come you speak English?”

Squeezing the man’s hand, Dolinar steps forward. “We do not speak English. We use magic to translate. My life mate, Liddel, and I study magic in secret.”

Face very serious, Liddel draws closer to Dolinar. “We would like to learn more magic. We are both hard workers and we were wondering...”

“We have to leave,” Dolinar says quickly. Amy’s eyes widen and she steps back.

Dolinar swallows. “We haven’t paid the life price. ”

Overwhelmed and confused, Amy says in a small voice, “Life price?”

“I am pregnant,” says Dolinar and Amy’s eyes flash between the two elves. “But no one in family has died so it is not allowed. Balance of elves and other creatures will be disrupted....”

Charming fascists indeed! “They aren’t going to kill your baby?” Amy gasps.

Dolinar and Liddel blink at her. “No,” says Liddel. “They will take him away.”

“Oh,” says Amy. That is better — but not by much.

“Fjölnir,” says Dolinar. “The Frost Giant you came with, we see his magic, he is very powerful...maybe more powerful than queen.”

“Would he take us as apprentices?” says Liddel. “Just me for now, but later...”

From outside there come loud shouts and the sound of horns. Liddel’s eyes widen. “It is the royal messengers. They may be angered if they know I’ve let you both into Queen’s stables. Hide!”

Dolinar takes Amy’s hand and pulls her and Fenrir towards a hadrosaur stall. She opens the latch with trembling hands as Liddel walks to the main door, shouting something. Amy, Fenrir and Dolinar swing into the stall next to an oblivious hadrosaur, and Dolinar shuts the stall door just as the main door of the stables swings open, and green orbs float in above.

There is much shouting and whinnying of horses. Amy scoops Fenrir up and wraps her hand around her dog’s muzzle before she can bark. Wiggling in her arms, Fenrir makes muffled yipping noises anyway.

Outside the stall door, someone says something that sounds like a question. Amy hears Liddel responding. The stall door rattles.

Turning towards Fenrir, eyes wide, Dolinar points a finger at the dog’s mouth just as her muzzle slips through Amy’s fingers. Fenrir opens her mouth, the stall door rattles again, and Amy’s heart misses a beat. Her dog’s jaws open and shut, Amy can see her tiny lungs heave...but then no sound comes out. Amy looks at Dolinar...the elf woman’s brow looks damp and she brings a finger to her lips.

Fenrir blinks and starts rubbing her muzzle.

The door of the stall shakes, and then someone says something, and Amy hears footsteps going away. Heart pounding in her ears, she lets out a breath and settles into the shadow of the hadrosaur, still sleeping peacefully.

Amy’s not sure how long it is before the elves leave the stable; it feels like an eternity. She hears the sound of livery being readied, and hooves marching out into the night. At last, the stall door swings open, and Liddel’s form appears. Looking perplexed, he says, “The messenger and an armed escort is going to the World Gate. It’s strange so late in the evening.”

“World Gate?” says Amy. “World Gate to where?”

The elves turn to her and look at her as though she has asked a silly question. “To Asgard.”

Amy’s heart leaps to her throat. “I have to get my grandmother...I have to get my car...” She runs forward and takes Dolinar’s hands. “I don’t know if Loki needs an apprentice, but I’m sure he’ll let you come with us.”

“Loki?” say Dolinar and Liddel in unison.

Amy puts her hand to her mouth. The one thing she wasn’t supposed to do and she’s done it!

The elves look at each other and whisper back and forth in their own language. Liddel puts a hand on Amy’s shoulder. “We thank you for your kindness. Perhaps it would be better for you if you come with us to the Dark Lands.”

Amy looks between them. Their eyes are wide and sincere.

“No, no, he’s really not that bad,” Amy says. “He saved my life...and he’s kind, a little pervy, ...but...”

The elves exchange glances.

“Please don’t tell!” Amy says. “Just please don’t tell.”

Liddel’s eyes narrow. “We will tell no one.”

Narrowing her own eyes, Dolinar smiles slightly...and it’s not a kind smile. “Let the queen deal with the breaker of worlds.”

Chapter 9

Loki pulls his neck back instinctively from the sharp bite of his blade. He just needs a moment’s distraction. He glances around the room. Perhaps if he set the curtains on fire...

Hissing, the elf queen steps forward and he feels the point nip at his skin again. His eyes return to the shining piece of steel.

“You should not be awake,” she says. That answers a question at the back of his mind. She’d enchanted him. He searches for something pithy to say, but before he can open his mouth, she shakes the book and shouts, “My lover’s book. You have it! Why?”

The book is Lothur’s journal. Hoenir gave it to Loki centuries ago. Shocked by the question, Loki just stares at her dumbly. She wears only a dressing gown tied loosely at the waist. Her eyes are narrow and too wet, her mouth open and slightly turned down. He tries to parse the emotions he is seeing: anger, sadness, disbelief.

“Can you read it!” she says, pricking the blade beneath his chin. He feels the warm ooze of a trickle of blood.

Loki scrambles backwards on his elbows, the sheet falling away from his bare chest. “Gala—,” he starts to whisper.

“How do you know that name?” the elf queen shouts, sword shaking dangerously in her hands. “Only she knew that name!”

Loki blinks. How does he know it? Amy told him...but it’s more than that. She lowers the blade a fraction. “Can you read the book?” she says her voice a low hiss.

Staring at the gleaming steel, he says, “Yes.”

“Prove it!” she says, throwing the small, ancient volume towards him.

Loki’s heart nearly stops as the book tumbles through the air and opens like a bird. Heedless of the blade, Loki throws up his hands and catches it as gently as he can. Glaring at her, he pulls it to his chest.

“Read,” she says. Taking a step forward, she brings the blade to his neck again.

He blinks and looks down. The book has fallen open. It always opens to the same place; it’s a passage Loki knows well. He makes a move to turn the page, but the elf queen says, “No, read that page. I know that page.”

Loki looks up at her and then down at the book. He doesn’t like reading this passage. There is something about it. It makes his heart fall and a lump form in his throat. He reads it anyway, maybe because of the sword in the queen’s hand, or maybe because with it open in front of him, he can’t turn away.

"And I have dreams of my love, who was not my love, but was. Her father said words low against me, so low that it caused her heart to flame.“

Swallowing, Loki tries to banish the imagery that dances in his mind. The passage is too real. Not like a story, more like a memory.

“Keep going,” says the elf queen.

With a deep breath, Loki reads. “And the flame of her heart spread to the utmost ends of her limbs. My love died in flames..."

There is a loud clang. The vision of flames in Loki’s eyes vanishes. He looks up to see the elf queen has dropped the blade on the ground. She stands before him, her shoulders slouched, her face empty. “Only my lover, and Lothur, could read that book,” she says.

Loki looks down at the pages. There was an entry at the very beginning where Lothur said he’d enchanted the volume to be readable by no one but himself. But Loki could read it; he’d always assumed that Lothur was a touch mad.

Suddenly very curious, Loki says, “But my lady, you have the Gift of Tongues. You must be able to read it.”

Shaking her head and not meeting his eyes, she says, “No. No, I cannot.” Swallowing, she meets his gaze, her eyes red, her ears trembling slightly. Despite the rude awakening, Loki has an inexplicable desire to go to her and comfort her.

He resists on principle. Tilting his head, he says, “This book was a gift. I did not steal it from...” he lets his words drift off.

“Loka,” she says. “Loka...she died over 2,500 years ago. I betrayed her to Odin.”

That is long before Loki’s time, but he feels a ripple of anger on Loka’s behalf. Loki shuts the book sharply.

The queen meets his eyes. Her jaw goes hard. “I sent the royal messengers to Asgard moments before you awoke.” Turning quickly she says, “Gather your armor and meet me at the pool. We have only a little time to find your sons, and for you to make your escape.”

Loki looks around the bedchamber at his blade lying on the floor and his armor strewn about like a jigsaw puzzle. Cursing, he rolls out of the bed, pulls on his breeches, and then yanks a sheet off the mattress. Spreading the sheet out, he tosses his armor onto it, then gathers it up by the corners, throws it over his back, and grabs his sword.

As he paces into the other room, he has half a mind to run the elf queen through with his blade. But she’s standing over the pool. It’s casting white light on her face, and the murderous thought is subverted by curiosity.

He goes to where she stands and looks into the water. Instead of their reflections he sees the front of Hoenir’s hut, its door flung open to the night. Hoenir and Sigyn are standing there and Loki’s eyes widen.

“This is a few days ago,” says the queen.

There is a flash of light outside the hut, and there are Valli and Nari, falling to the ground and gasping for air. Loki squats to the floor in front of the pond and holds out his hand as though to touch them, his mouth falling open in hope and relief. In the pool, Hoenir and Sigyn run forward and pull Loki’s boys into the hut. “They’re alive,” he says running a hand through his hair. “They’re alive.” He feels lighter. Like laughing aloud, like picking up the queen and spinning her around, faithless witch and betrayer though she may be.

The elf queen begins to chant. The scene begins to move too quickly, like a human film played too fast. Dawn glows on the horizon beyond the hut and Heimdall appears with armed guards. Valkyries swoop and land to encircle the small dwelling. Loki scowls as Odin walks onto the scene and stands just within the circle of guards, about ten paces from Hoenir’s door. Loki can’t hear the words, but he sees Odin’s lips moving.

Heart beating too loud in his chest, Loki watches as Heimdall goes forward. He is accompanied by Skaddi, a Frost Giant like Loki and the self proclaimed “goddess of justice.”

The Valkyries begin to raise their spears, lightning flashes on the scene, and all eyes turn. Thor appears. Guards fall back to let him pass. He goes and speaks quietly to Odin and Heimdall. Heimdall scowls and Thor walks forward, turns so his back is to the hut, and holds up his hammer.

Loki’s mouth falls open. “He’s protecting them. Thor is protecting them!”

The guards don’t move, but Loki sees them scowl. Heimdall is saying something to Odin, and Loki can tell without hearing that the gatekeeper is shouting. Loki sees a few Valkyries pound their spears. He can see them shouting, too. Someone shoots a bolt of fire; it seems to go into the sky...

But then at the top of Hoenir’s roof, there is a burst of flame. A swarm of butterfly snakes take to the air, birds with lizard heads take wing. New flames lick at the foundations; Loki doesn’t know how they even got there.

Thor turns and tries to rush into the hut, but Heimdall and Odin hold him back.

Loki’s eyes widen. “What is happening, what is happening!” Loki shouts. In the scene in the pool Thor holds up his arm, and Loki sees the sky darken. Thor’s calling rain. Loki has never been so grateful he gave Thor the damned hammer.

The queen chants more quickly. The scene in the pool is smoky and obscure, but Loki sees the flames leap, even as the rain begins to fall. The flames surround the hut like a curtain. He can’t make out doors, windows or chimney. Odin pounds Gungnir into the earth in front of the hut and leaves it there upright.

The scene is moving incredibly fast. It’s early morning there in the pool...and the curtain of flames is falling. He sees the downpour is now a drizzle

Gungnir is gone...and Hoenir’s hut is not there. Where the hut stood there is only charred ground.

Loki stares at the pool, not really seeing it. He feels as though a weight was briefly lifted from his body and then hurled down upon him. He puts his hands to his head, runs his fingers through his hair, scraping his nails against his scalp with such force it hurts.

As though from a great distance he hears the crackle of fire, and screaming — his mind supplying the details of Valli, Nari, Hoenir, Mimir’s and Sigyn’s brutal ends?

And then another sound comes. Loud and insistent — the sound of a car calling for its master. Loki blinks...Amy and Beatrice...he has an oath to keep to them.

He wants to stay, he wants to fight Odin and his legions — not to win, to die. Helen, Aggie, now Valli, Nari, Sigyn, and even Mimir and Hoenir. He squeezes his eyes shut. It’s because of him, somehow it is all because of him. Loki knows there is no afterlife, no Valhalla for the valiant, no Hel for the meek. And that is good, he wants the release of nothingness.

The car calls again — it sounds so close, and the way its call echoes through the palace it sounds almost as though it is inside. Taking a sharp breath he opens his eyes. He doesn’t break oaths.

That thought is the thread of strength that makes him stand up. He looks around. To one side is the receiving room he entered by last night, to the other side is the elf queen’s bedroom, now in flames. She stands in front of him, haloed by the fire, her face calm. “Once again you leave me for a mortal,” she says.

Loki has no time for her games. Narrowing his eyes he says, “How long do I have?”

“I will give you five minutes to leave the palace grounds before I send the guards after you. After that you’re on your own.”

Loki tilts his head. In the receiving chambers he hears the crackle of more flames.

“I cannot afford to let Odin think I allowed you to escape,” says the queen.

“Of course not,” Loki hisses. For a moment the air between them shimmers. Loki wants to see her smooth beautiful body burst into flames. But another part...another part of him feels sorrow, pity and guilt that he cannot understand.

The queen’s face is as unworried as a Greek statue, and that’s a shame. Such a beautiful face would be more beautiful with emotion on it — even if the emotion were anger or hatred.

“You don’t have time for this,” the elf queen says. “Run.”

Loki stares at her a heartbeat more. And then securing his makeshift pack over his shoulder, he backs away from her into the receiving room. The door to the secret passage is open, the covering tapestry nowhere in sight.

Loki runs.

Chapter 10

Maybe it won’t be so bad if the elves alert Asgard, and presumably Odin, that Loki is in Alfheim. Maybe Odin will just take Loki, send Beatrice and Amy home, and be on his way.

Or maybe he’ll leave Amy and Beatrice in Alfheim forever.

Amy swallows. The truth is, no matter what mercy Odin might grant to her and Beatrice, Amy’s worried about Loki. Twisted and perverted as he may be, if it weren’t for him she wouldn’t be alive — or have ever seen a hadrosaur.

Hands shaking, Amy drives up the road to the elf palace. The sky has turned overcast. There is no starlight, just the light of the green orbs that seem to be the elven version of street lights. A light drizzle is in the air. At the top of a staircase of long low stairs, four elf guards stand in front of the wide front door. As she gets closer, they cross their spears. It will take a long time for Beatrice to get down those stairs...and Amy still has to find her.

Biting her lip, Amy stares at the guards. And then she is struck by inspiration.

Pressing a button on her keychain, she lets the car alarm shriek. The guards visibly jump.

From the door the elf in black who had spoken to Loki emerges. “What going on?” he says.

Turning off the alarm and switching into 4 wheel drive, Amy sticks her head out the window. “My car, he wants to come in — we hurt his feelings leaving him out all night and now he’s worried about Fjölnir and Beatrice!” Hitting the gas, she edges to the stairs. Craning her head out the window, she adds, “Please, open the door! He’ll be good if you just let him in and we find them.”

The elf in black says something to the guards again. They eye the car warily but open the doors. The man in black runs inside.

Slipping back into the driver’s seat, Amy puts her foot on the gas and bumps up the steps.

She hits the horn as soon as she gets into the foyer and then jumps out of the car. Pressing the alarm button again, she says, “Don’t go near him! He might bite!” Then she runs around the car towards the dining hall and her mouth falls open.

The elf in black is leading four other elves who are carrying a large chair between them. On the chair slumped over asleep is Beatrice.

Looking visibly worried, the elf in black says, “She drink too much our mead. Beastly chariot not angry?”

Amy’s mouth forms a small ‘o’. “I think he’ll be fine if we just put her inside and he can see she’s alright.”

Shaking his head, the elf in black says, “We not mean insult. Not know chariot have feelings.”

Trying to keep a straight face, Amy says, “It’s okay, I’m sure he’ll understand...” She looks at her grandmother snoring softly. Maybe it’s for the best she won’t be awake. She has a feeling this will be a rough ride.

Running down the steps of the secret passage, Loki has no idea how he’ll manage to round-up Beatrice and Amy in time to escape the grounds in only a few minutes.

He bursts into the first private receiving chamber, still lit by fireflies. And then he hears it again. The car...it sounds so close. Could it be?

He runs through the door, down a passage, and around a corner, and his eyes go wide. The car is parked in the foyer of the palace. Some elves and Amy are securing Beatrice in the back seat.

“That’s good,” says Amy. “Get out, please. Don’t make the car mad. He doesn’t know you, thank you, that’s good...now we need to find Fjölnir...”

She turns around and her eyes fall on him and go wide. “Lo — Fjölnir!” The car gives a happy little chirp. “Car is so happy to see you!”

Loki blinks for a moment. She’s lying; he can feel it.

Raising her voice above the murmuring of the crowd that is rapidly forming, she says, “Car wants to go home, so we have to go. Now.” She hops into the driver’s side, and motions to Loki to get into the passenger’s side. He hurries to comply, throwing his sack of armor and sword on the floor of the back seat in front of Fenrir and a gently snoring Beatrice.

Before he’s even closed the door, Amy’s sticking her head out the window saying,“Thanks for everything, everyone!” The car starts to move and she says, “Oh, sorry! Car is anxious! Long, lonely night for him! Got to go!” She pulls all the way into the car, turns it around, and heads towards the door and the stairs. The car gives a few more happy beeps.

Loki stares at her, stunned. It was all lies. Brilliant lies, on her part and possibly Car’s. How did she know?

“They sent messengers to Asgard, Loki,” Amy says, as they bump down the front steps of the palace. “I’m not sure...but I thought maybe we should leave.”

“Good thought,” he says. He owes this girl more respect than he’s given her.

A look of confusion crosses her face. “Where is your armor? Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

But in some ways...she is really so naive. Normally, he might make a joke, but he feels too empty. “Drive as fast as you can; we don’t have much time.”

Scowling at the wheel, she says, “Why? What happened? ”

“Just drive,” he says.

“Did you get your answers?” she asks.

“Just drive,” he says. “Please!”

There must be something in his voice, because she hits the gas. It’s still dark outside. There is the soft patter of rain on the car roof. Ahead, a long shadow is covering the gate of the palace. Loki’s heart skips a beat. At his feet is the army knapsack. Reaching into it he pulls out a grenade.

“The gate!” Amy cries. “It’s open but the vines are down. Can they hurt the car?”

Loki has no idea. Before he can say anything, the girl says, “Is that a grenade in your hand? Use it!”

The top window opens. Loki’s not sure how, but he doesn’t have to be told twice. “Stop Car!” he shouts.

The car screeches to a halt and he stands up in the rain. Blinking to clear his vision, he flings the grenade at the curtain of vines. Pulling back into the car, he pushes Amy down so they are both protected by the dash. There is a boom, the car shakes, but the window does not shatter. They both sit up to see a large hole in the curtain, but long tendrils are already snaking down to close it.

Hitting the gas without even being asked, Amy grumbles. “I don’t want to be stuck here with these pointy-eared fascists!”

He looks at her for an instant. She is wearing clothing finer than she probably has ever worn or will ever wear again. Her hair is upswept, with crystal flowers woven into it. She looks radiant and beautiful, and if she stayed here the elves could help her remain so for a time...in her own realm she’ll be doomed to fade and age so quickly. Yet she wants to leave. Part of him wants to smile at her, but he can’t. His face feels frozen into a slight scowl and a frown. He has a lump in his throat that has nothing to do with her.

He hears a rumble of hooves and heavy feet behind them. “That will be the guards,” he says. He looks up; the top window is already closed. He touches his wet face and looks at the pavement shining beneath the green orbs.

Amy’s eyes go to the rear-view mirror. “What? Why are they following us? They seemed fine letting us go...maybe we should stop?”

Loki feels the car start to slow. “No, do not stop! It’s a ruse — the queen cannot let Odin think she let us go too easily.”

The girl speeds up a little but her eyes dart to the mirror again. “They’re closing in fast...” Turning her attention back to the road, she swallows. “I can’t go much faster than them on the hairpin turns, especially since the road is wet.”

“Go as fast as you can,” Loki says, bracing himself as she makes a sharp turn.

“I am, I am!” Amy says, a frantic note in her voice. Car’s wheels screech and Loki hears the shouts and hooves of the rapidly approaching cavalry.

He scowls. He needs to put on his armor, but their pursuers are catching up to them too fast. Reaching up, he taps the overhead window that now is closed. “Car, open up.”

Amy looks at him, eyes wide. The window slides open, and Loki stands up.

“What are you doing?” Amy shouts, her voice just audible over the sound of the rain, the hoof beats of the elves’ horses, and the lowing of the hadrosaurs.

Not responding, Loki turns to face their pursuers.

“Halt now!” one cries in the elf tongue. “By order of the All Father!”

They don’t shoot at him, though some carry bows. Odin must want him alive — he won’t let that happen again.

Loki thinks of the brief flare of hope he had when he saw Valli and Nari in the pool disappearing into the hut, and then the cold realization just moments later when he saw the flames. Let the elves feel the hollow cold of his heart.

Car makes another sharp turn, and Loki is nearly thrown out. Righting himself, he focuses on the rain falling on his pursuers, and the water rivulets running down the cobblestone street. He sees the magic between the water and himself and he pulls on it, tugs at it, imagines the magic stilling the water, calming it, deep at the molecular level — so the water’s spinning hydrogen atoms lock together and crystals form on the ground and in the sky.

Horses scream and the hadrosaurs bellow in terror as the rain turns to snow, and the road behind Car turns to ice.

“What’s going on?” says Amy.

Loki falls panting back through the open window.

“Ice...you turned the road to ice...” Amy says, eyes in the mirror.

Turning his head, Loki looks back. Where there had been at least a dozen elves on horseback before, and two hadrosaurs, now there are no dinosaur mounts, and only four horsemen are left — but they are pulling out lances and looking very determined.

Rain is streaking in through the open roof.

Amy glances at him, eyes wide. “You probably broke the horses’ legs.”

“Not enough of them,” Loki says, lip curling upward.

“You can’t do that!” Amy says. “It’s not the horses’ faults!” She twists the wheel as they take another sharp turn.

He stares at her a moment in disbelief. And then his disbelief turns to rage, red and hot beneath his skin. “Fine,” he says. “I won’t use ice this time.” He stands up again.

“What — ”

He can’t hear the rest of what she says. He looks back at the horsemen in the rain. “Stop now, Loki!” one calls. “You’ll never get through the main gate!”

Loki lets his rage loose in a scream. What he expects to happen, happens. Magic rips the water molecules apart into oxygen and hydrogen, and excites the hydrogen atoms to the point where they burst into flame. But it should have just been a little spark in the air before the horses’ eyes. Instead a wall of flame forms between Car and the riders, as thick and as high as the flames that overcame Hoenir’s hut.

Loki falls back into the car, his eyes wide. Amy is silent, but he sees her hands shaking.

He hardly feels as though he’s exerted any energy at all. He looks over his shoulder. The flames still burn — he can’t see beyond them. Something is wrong. He’s not that strong. “Gala...” he murmurs to himself. “It must have been the queen’s doing.”

“What?” says Amy.

“She wants to let me escape,” Loki says almost to himself. “But needs it to look like an accident...”

The flames behind them make the window in front of them reflective for a brief moment. Loki catches sight of his face, slightly blue in the strange light. For an instant he is looking at his daughter Helen’s face, or half her face. He shakes his head. Is he going mad with grief?

Car’s wheels screech, and Loki’s body bangs into the door as they make another sharp turn. And then they’re at the marketplace. Car’s horn lets out a loud alarm. Some elves part and run in front of them.

“Ummm...” says Amy. “If she wants us to escape, why’d she lock the front door?”

Looking at the closed doors of the heavy metal gate, Loki’s heart falls. He doesn’t know any trick to open it — he can move small things with his mind, but this is too large, too heavy, and too fireproof. He looks down at the bag at his feet. There is one more grenade, but it won’t be strong enough...his jaw tightens. He reaches into the bag, and says, “Car, open your top window again!” Loki doesn’t remember when it even closed.

Hitting the brakes, Amy gives him a funny look. But the window opens. Standing up, Loki pulls the pin and hurls the last grenade. He pulls back into the car. Amy’s already ducking. Loki presses himself down as far as he can, his chest pressing against Amy’s back.

The blast goes off, and the car rattles. Loki and Amy both lift themselves up. The gate is closed.

“Oh,” says Amy, her shoulders sagging.

Loki closes his eyes. “I won’t be taken alive,” he says. “Not this time. I’ll fight to the death.”

There is a loud creak.

He opens his eyes and blinks. There is a shimmer of magic the color of moonlight, and then the gate creaks again and swings open. In the open way stands the elf queen, or more likely an astral projection of her, considering she floats above the ground.

In her own language she says, “Be gone from my realm, and set no more of my people aflame — or not only Odin will hunt you!”

Loki blinks. He didn’t create that inferno...did he?

“What did she say?” Amy says, hunching over the wheel.

In front of them, the projection disappears. “She wishes us well and bids us be on our way,” says Loki.

Amy puts her foot on the gas. “It sounded more like she was angry.”

“Mmmm...” says Loki settling back into his seat. “Go quickly as you can. The armies of Asgard will be upon us quickly.”

“Armies?” squeaks Amy, turning out onto the lane that will take them to the Border Road.

“Don’t worry,” Loki says. “I’m sure you’ll be able to convince Odin that you were deceived by the God of Lies and he’ll spare your lives.”

Car’s lights become even brighter and Amy speeds up. Her voice shaking, she says, “I would rather you not die either.”

Loki looks over at her, his mouth still frozen in a frown, his brows still knit together. He brings destruction to everything he touches, and everyone he loves. He wants to die.

Amy casts a worried glance in his direction.

He cannot die now. He has an oath to keep.

Without a word he turns in his seat and begins to rummage through the makeshift sack for his armor. Beatrice is still asleep, but Fenrir eyes him curiously.

He’s got his shirt on and is awkwardly attaching his breast plate when Amy turns onto the border road. She steps on the gas and they surge forward at what feels like dizzying speed. They’re still in a relatively populous region; farmlands line the road on their left. They don’t have to worry about dark elves just yet.

He tilts his head. Over the elf queen’s lands, the sky is just starting to lighten.

He’s sure it must be taking all of Amy’s concentration to remain on the road, but then she begins to speak. “You were blue for a few moments when the fire started. Is that your natural color? I thought Frost Giants only turned blue when they were cold.”

He freezes, his hands on the buckle of an arm guard. “I don’t turn blue.” He isn’t Helen.

“You looked blue,” says Amy.

“That was a trick of the light,” Loki says, his voice coming out nearly a hiss. He doesn’t have time for this inane chatter.

“You looked good blue. Not like in the movies with pointy teeth and a giant horny head,” she says her words running together as though she’s just speaking to hear herself speak. “More like — ”

“Be quiet,” he snaps.

“I thought you weren’t sensitive about your Frost Giant nature?”

“Frost Giants are not blue!” he says. “I should know. I’ve been one for more than 1,000 years!”

“Huh,” says Amy.

“The forest is approaching,” says Loki, turning his attention to the mail links that cover his right elbow. “If you hit anything or anyone just keep going.”

“Just because the queen thinks the elves over there are bad doesn’t mean they are!” says Amy, slowing down as they slip into the forest.

Looking up, Loki blinks at her, surprised how much of Alfheim politics she’s managed to divine in such a short time. Ordering her isn’t going to work. He sighs inwardly.

“No, they’re not,” he says quietly. “I’ve had dealings with Dark Elves before. But trust me, any Dark Elf that would choose to attack Car merely for transversing the border road isn’t one you should stop for. Under any circumstances.”

Amy swallows and her hands shake even more violently.

Loki turns back to his armor and curses. The plate that covers his upper left arm is completely missing. He grabs the piece for his forearm and attaches it best he can, without the anchor of the upper section.

It’s only a few minutes later when a shadow seems to fall on the land in the East, and the wind and rain outside them pick up.

“Ummm...” says Amy.

“Thor,” mutters Loki, narrowing his eyes. Is Thor Odin’s puppet once again? Or is he here for some reason of his own? To beg forgiveness maybe? Not that Loki could give it.

A streak of lightning turns the realm bright as day.

“What are those shadows in the sky?” Amy says.

“Valkyries,” Loki says, the word spitting out of his mouth. His mouth twists. “Not here to beg forgiveness after all.”

“Forgiveness?” says Amy.

“We have a few minutes,” says Loki twisting to reach into the backseat “Concentrate on the road,” he says. “I need to eat something.”

Amy is trying to concentrate on the road. Rain and wind are whipping through the sky. It might be her imagination, but both seem to be getting stronger.

She shivers. Her back is still damp from where Loki leaned over her as the grenades went off. Her eyes dart over to him. He’s still wet, armor half on, stuffing peanut butter into his mouth with a spoon, a liter bottle of Coca Cola open in his lap. He hasn’t spoken to her since grabbing some food. How can he be eating? Her own stomach is heavy with fear, and her mind is swimming with everything that’s happened this evening: the elves, the hadrosaurs, and seeing Loki in a lovely robin’s egg shade of blue. Trick of the light or not, it had been strange, lovely, and as magical as the fire, the ice, or his astral projections.

She takes a shaky breath. Loki says he’s over 1,000 years old. She can’t even imagine that.

Whoever’s chasing them is likely just as old or older than him, possibly more powerful...

That’s too much to think about. Taking a deep breath, she glances in the rearview mirror. Beatrice is thankfully still asleep. Fenrir is awake, her nose darting from side to side.

Amy looks at the clock on the dash. Fifteen minutes ago Loki said, “It’s Thor.” It feels like an eternity, and like only a heartbeat. Tightening her grip on the wheel she speeds up.

Lightning rips across the road just 50 yards in front of the car. A humanoid shadow is haloed in its light. Amy screams, hits the brakes, and tries to dodge it.

“Keep going!” Loki yells. His hand shoots to the wheel and holds it straight. Whoever it was hits the car and sinks below the hood. The car bumps sickeningly.

“Hit the gas!” Loki says.

But Amy’s foot is on the brake. “No,” she says. “We hit someone! We have to stop.” Even if it is a criminal.

“He’s fine!” Loki says, “Go!”

“No, I can’t,” Amy says.

Something bangs against the back window of the car. Amy turns and screams again. There is a huge mouth filled with sharp teeth attached to the flat plane of the back window. Fingers with suction cups are at its side.

She hears the sound of a thunk as Loki drops his bottle of cola.

“Drive!” shouts Loki twisting and crawling into the back.

Amy floors it. She looks in the rearview mirror. Loki obscures most of the view, but Amy can see the thing is still there. It doesn’t seem to have eyes or nose...just that huge maw.

“Car, open the back window!” Loki says.

“What?” screams Amy.

“Just let Car do it!”

Amy hits the button at her left and the window begins to drop. Over the sound of the wind comes a horrible noise like lips smacking, and then there is a gurgling noise and an inhuman scream.

“Roll up the window!”

Amy doesn’t have to be told twice. She raises the window, and Loki pulls back into the front seat, his sword in his hand, something dark and black at the point.

Another bolt of lightning rips across the road.

“Next time I’ll just keep going,” Amy says. “I’ll just keep going.”

Looking at the ceiling, Loki says, “There isn’t going to be a next time. Thor and the Valkyries are almost upon us.”

Amy bites her lips. “What do I do?”

“I’m going to try and make us invisible,” Loki says, his voice very calm. “You’ll still be able to hear everything...but you’ll only be able to see things outside of Car, you won’t even be able to see anything inside, not even yourself. I’ll need you to keep driving though. Can you do that?”

Amy nods. “Yes...I think so.” Not because she thinks she can, just because she doesn’t like the idea of what may happen if she can’t.

The words are hardly out of her mouth when everything in front and behind her starts to fade from view.

Her foot hits the brakes. She hears the sound of tires on pavement, the thump of rain on the roof, the engine. But she can’t see the car, Beatrice, Loki, even herself...She takes a ragged breath.

Loki’s voice comes from her right. “It’s disorienting.”

“Yes!” Amy shouts, maybe just to hear her own voice.

Loki’s voice sounds tight. “You must keep driving.”

“I can’t see the dash, the steering wheel or the pedals!” Amy says.

“You don’t even look at those,” Loki says, his voice sharp.

That’s true. Amy licks her lips, feels the sensation of her tongue, cool and wet against her skin. “I can’t see myself...it’s almost like I’m not here.”

There is a moment of heavy silence. “How can I help?” Loki says, sounding like his voice is coming through gritted teeth.

“Would you touch me?” Amy asks before she’s even thought about it, and she almost wants to bang her head on the invisible steering wheel for making the suggestion.

In a voice that is surprisingly clinical Loki says, “You’re going to feel my hand on your thigh; it’s the best place for me to touch you without obstructing your ability to drive.”

Before she even has a chance to react, she feels his hand on her leg, large and warm, and as long as she doesn’t look down, seemingly solid. And it does help; she’s too grateful to worry about the implications of it. She puts her foot down on the gas and holds the steering wheel at 3 and 9 o’clock.

“Very good,” Loki says, giving her leg a pat. It shouldn’t be as encouraging as it is.

Amy nods and bites her lip. She’s just getting to the point where she’s feeling a little more comfortable when bright lights like lasers shoot down on the road and forest in front of them sending off sparks in every direction, lighting up weird hominid shadows as they do.

The shadows leap from the trees on the dark side of the forest. Amy screams again, puts her foot on the brake, and almost runs them off the road, but Loki’s hand is suddenly on the wheel, holding it firm. “They’re magical flares,” he says. “They won’t hurt us. Try to dodge them if you can, but keep us on the road!”

Shaking, Amy puts her foot back on the gas.

“They don’t want us dead,” Loki says as though the words are a revelation to himself. “They’re just trying to flush us out.”

Amy blinks. “The sparks will hit the car, and they’ll see them bounce...”

“Exactly,” says Loki, his hand on her leg again.

“I think I can do this.” says Amy, speeding up. As long as she doesn’t have to worry about the blasts killing them, she feels much better. Also, they’re scaring the crazy shadow things away. And that’s good.

Amy zigzags through the flares that are falling down on the road.

At one point she thinks they’re going to roll over, but a few minutes later, the road ahead of them is clear. She looks in the rearview mirror, all the flares are bursting on the road behind them.

Loki pats her lap. “Well done.”

Her heart is in her ears, and she’s panting, but she laughs aloud. “We did it!”

The words are barely out of her mouth when she hears a loud clang. Sparks cascade over her head and down the sides of the car like a waterfall. “Uh-oh,” she says.

“Drive!” says Loki.

Amy floors the pedal, but up ahead and behind them shapes are falling from the sky. Another flare is fired directly towards them from in front; it explodes on the windshield, and suddenly the car and everything inside is visible again — but Amy can’t see the road at all. She puts her foot on the brakes, gently this time so they don’t skid.

She looks to her side. Loki is next to her. His face has a sheen to it, his mouth is open, and she notices he’s breathing heavily. He’s not looking at her. His eyes are focused on the road ahead of them.

Amy follows his gaze. About 100 yards ahead of them are women carrying spears, standing around an enormous man in front of a chariot without a horse. In the enormous man’s hands there is a hammer that is glowing with the pale blue white of lightning.

Loki takes a deep breath, and his voice comes out low, malevolent, but tinged with something desperate. “It is the mighty Thor.”

Uh-oh.

Chapter 11

“What do I do?” says the girl.

Loki stares at Thor in front of his golden chariot. Valkyries stand beside Thor and are blocking the road behind Car. More are alighting along the sides of the road.

“Drive forward,” he says. “Slowly. When I tap the roof, stop.” Knocking at the top window, he says, “Car, open up.”

“You know...” the girl begins to say.

“What?” he snaps, not bothering to look at her.

“It can wait,” she says, gripping Car’s door as the window above slides open.

Loki stands up. Heavy but sparse drops of rain fall on him. He can see trees waving madly in the distance, but around him the air is nearly still. They are in the eye of the storm.

Around Car, Valkyries raise their spears, but they do not fire. In front of him, Thor stands up straighter. His eyes meet Loki’s, then go over Car, before coming back to meet Loki’s gaze again.

Neither Loki nor Thor say anything. When Amy has brought Car within a few paces of Thor, Loki taps the roof. She obediently stops the vehicle.

“Well met,” says Thor in the Asgard tongue.

Loki does not respond.

Thor licks his lips and looks distinctly uncomfortable. “I bring grave tidings — ”

“If you mean the fire that consumed Hoenir’s hut, and all within, including Sigyn and my sons, I already know,” Loki snaps.

Appearing genuinely hurt, Thor takes a step forward. “Loki, I did try — ”

“To save them,” Loki says sharply. His body sags and he looks away. “Yes, I know that, too.” It occurs to him how devious it was for Odin to send Thor on this particular outing. Thor is possibly the only Asgardian Loki will hear out at this point. And Thor does have something to say; if he didn’t, Loki would be dead by now.

It’s uncomfortable standing half in Car, half out. Loki’s legs are at odd angles, so he slips onto the roof and sits there, legs dangling into the inside of Car below. The roof buckles a little at his weight, Amy gasps, and Fenrir yips, but Loki ignores them. “Spit it out, Thor. What do you want?”

Thor straightens. He takes a deep breath and appears almost to go a little green, as though he has just been asked to eat something extremely distasteful. “I have been sent...to beg you to return.”

Loki stares at him for several long heartbeats. Then he bursts out laughing. The sound seems brittle and hard even to him. Waving at the Valkyries, Loki says, “You came to beg me...at spear point?”

Thor doesn’t back down. Raising an eyebrow, he smiles slightly. “It would seem I needed their help to find you.”

Loki sighs. Once he might have warmed to that; now he feels only emptiness. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Thor.”

The slight smile on Thor’s face vanishes. “Nonetheless, everything I say is true. Loki, my father needs you to come home. ”

Loki’s lip curls into a sneer. “And he would have the gall to ask me after killing Hoenir, Mimir, Sigyn and my boys!”

Scowling, Thor takes a step forward. “It wasn’t like that! The fire — ”

“Wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t tried to execute my sons!”

“Let me finish!” Thor’s voice rips so loudly through the darkness of the stormy dawn that Car reverberates. Lifting his hammer, Thor shouts, “My father tried to stop the flames — but even Gungnir couldn’t halt them. Something is growing in the nine realms, something that is twisting magic and time and will pull the World Tree asunder.” Thor swings his hammer for emphasis and a stray bit of lightning sprays off into the trees. There is a loud crack, and a small scream from Amy. The Valkyries shift on their feet.

Stepping back with one foot, Thor’s face contorts into something like disbelief or revulsion. “My father believes only you can stop it.” Loki crosses his arms. Of course Thor would feel ashamed if there was some threat to the realms he couldn’t resolve with a few pounds of his hammer.

Not that Loki believes this little story. “Would saving the realms involve me remaining in a cave doused in snake venom for a few centuries?”

“It isn’t like that!” Thor says. “You will be absolved of all wrongdoing in this matter. This is the truth!”

Absolved? As though he was the one who needs absolution. His sons, Sigyn, Mimir and Hoenir are dead. Loki grits his teeth and feels his eyes get hot. Thinking about them all gone — his body feels hollow, as though he is an empty shell.

He takes a deep breath and pulls himself back into the moment. Absolution is a farce. As soon as Loki returns to Asgard, there will be some dire punishment, and this time there will be no Sigyn to tend to him. Loki rolls his eyes at Thor’s naivete. When will Thor realize Odin is as capable at lying as Loki, perhaps more so? Anything to “protect” the realms, or rather, his own power.

“Lovely,” says Loki, tapping his fingers on Car’s roof. “But I’m afraid I have to refuse.” Shrugging, he points down at Car and says, “I have some mortals I have sworn to return to their own realm. You know I always keep my oaths.”

Thor scowls. “Father said that you could slip between the realms...” He walks around the car towards the driver’s side — as he does so, the Valkyries raise their spears a bit higher. Loki scowls at them and then turns his attention to Thor. Odin’s son is now peeking in the driver’s side window. Thor smiles and waggles a finger at Amy as one might waggle a finger at a pretty bird in a cage. In the back seat Fenrir growls warningly.

Looking up, Thor raises his eyebrows and says brightly, “She is a pretty thing, Loki. And just your type.” Raising one hand to his chest, Thor makes groping motions with his fingers in what is probably a universal symbol for large breasts. “I suppose the old woman in the back is her kin. Convince them to come back to Asgard with you. Keep the girl as your plaything for a decade. When she withers she can remain your servant, a much better life than she’d have in her own realm.”

Somewhere a Valkyrie’s spear must fire accidentally because Loki sees a flare of orange flame in the periphery of his vision. His sons are dead. As are his ex-wife and two best friends. Thor dares talk of playthings? Loki is too furious to speak.

“What did he just say?” says Amy in English, her voice sounding indignant.

Loki looks down at her. She is staring hard out the window at Thor who is waggling his finger at her again and smiling like an idiot. It is probably innate contrariness that makes Loki translate. “Oh, he’s just suggested I bring you home to Asgard and keep you as a plaything and servant. Perhaps you’d like to answer?”

Eyes going wide, Amy’s brows draw together and she springs up through the window in the roof between Loki’s knees. Facing Thor she says, “You can tell the God of Blunder he can take that idea and shove it up his great big Viking butt!”

Loki blinks. Well, that was absolutely priceless. The corners of his lips pull up.

Thor’s face goes completely red, his lips curve into something between a frown and a grimace, and his brows draw into one line. The hand holding his hammer starts to tremble.

“Actually,” Loki says, keeping his gaze fixed on Thor, “Thor understands English well enough.”

“Oh,” says Amy, sounding not at all brave. Putting a hand gently on her head, Loki pushes her back into the car.

Thor is breathing deeply, but Loki nor Car nor the girl are dead. Odin must want Loki very badly.

In English, Thor says very slowly, “You can tell your whore that my orders are to bring you back to Asgard alive. Father will not care about her puny little mortal life.”

Head darting out of the car again, in a voice that is plaintive rather than angry, Amy says, “I am not a whore!”

Putting his hand on her head not so gently this time, Loki pushes her back inside. With a smirk he says, “She has my oath of protection. You’ll have to kill me first.”

With a bellow, Thor swings his hammer in empty air like a toddler having a tantrum. Something cracks in the distance, like lightning hitting tree branches. Loki smiles. He hears the Valkyries at the dark side of the forest give angry cries.

In Car, Amy starts pulling at his leg. “Loki!” she whispers.

“Not now!” he snaps down at her.

In the distance he hears more cracking in rapid succession. Thor looks away. Someone shouts, “Dark Elves!”

“Loki!” says Amy.

He scowls at her. But she gives a ferocious tug at his leg. Letting himself be tugged into Car, he finds his face just inches from hers. Her eyes are wide with fear — and so help him he’s about to make her more afraid with the words at the tip of his tongue. But before he can even breathe she says, “Do elves have automatic weapons? Because that sounds like automatic weapons.”

Loki’s eyes go wide. He looks towards the dark forest. Something hits the side of Car and there is the sharp clang of metal on metal. In the dark forest there are loud angry popping noises getting closer. Valkyries from the left side of the road are streaming past Car to the dark side. Car makes a sharp beep.

Turning back to Amy, he sees her hands are already at the wheel.

“That does sound like automatic weapons fire,” he says. He hasn’t heard it since World War II.

Amy hits the gas. Loki puts a hand on her leg and says, “I’m making us invisible again!”

From the backseat Beatrice says quietly, “Oh, the elves have fireworks.” Loki looks back at her; her eyes are still closed. Everything around them begins to shimmer as his spell takes effect. He hears Thor yelling orders.

Loki looks at the shimmering Amy, now steering them around Thor’s chariot. “How do you know what automatic weapons sound like?” he asks.

“I live in Chicago,” she says, as though that is explanation.

Her shimmering form hunching over the wheel, Amy says, “Elves have guns?”

“No,” says Loki. More gunshots go off, and the car shoots forward. “Not that I know of.”

“Oh, what lovely fireworks,” says Beatrice.

An explosion goes off in the distance behind them and something whizzes past. Amy jumps beneath his hand. Loki follows the whizzing shape with his eyes and turns his head. “That was just another flare.”

He turns around. “Thor’s broken off from the rest and is pursuing us!”

Car shoots forward.

It’s like a video game Amy tells herself. The flares aren’t going to hurt them. No one dies if they get hit.

“Veer left,” Loki says. Amy veers left and a bolt of blue shoots by the car. She’s not sure how long she’s been driving since the Valkyries were overtaken by dark elves. It seems like forever, but it’s probably only a few minutes.

“We’re almost at the gate,” Loki says. “Slow down.”

“How will you open it?” Amy says, putting a foot gently on the brake. “Will you have to get out of the car?”

“Of course I’ll have to get out of the car,” Loki snaps. “Stop here!”

Amy stops so quickly she bumps the steering wheel.

Loki’s hand leaves her knee, and she is suspended in absolute nothingness.

“Car, open up the top hatch!” Loki says.

Amy doesn’t try to argue with him. She just searches blindly for the button in the door's armrest. Another flare goes by. She hears what sounds like feet on the hood of the car, and then the only sound is the wind. She can feel rain coming in through the open sunroof and she shivers.

There is the sound of quick steps on the hood again, and then Loki’s voice is very close to her ear. “Drive forward!”

Amy does. She sees the rainbow of the gateway again, and her body and the car come into view bathed in early morning light. Dark bricks surround her on either side and she smells garbage and urine and thinks that an alley has never smelled so sweet. She looks up. Loki is half on the hood, half on the roof. His head is above her, looking in the direction they came, a sword in his hand. Glancing in the rear view mirror she sees Beatrice sleeping, the seat behind her Grandmother just coming into view.

Amy smiles and breathes out a long breath of relief. The car is almost through when it suddenly jerks up and backwards, the back wheels seeming to leave the ground. Lines of light surround it on either side. Loki swears. Amy looks back in the window and sees a huge hulking Thor-like shadow seeming to emerge out of nothing behind her. It looks like he’s pulling the car backwards by the bumper.

Loki scrambles across the roof towards the back of the car. Amy doesn’t think. Shouting “Loki, hold on!” she throws the car into four wheel drive, then reverse, and hits the gas. There is a loud thud. Amy can’t see the back of the car; it must still be in Alfheim. But she feels it when the back tires hit the ground and bounce. Heart suddenly very loud, Amy puts the car into first gear and pulls forward but meets resistance.

She looks back. Light flashes in a wide vertical circle behind the car. There is a loud clang, and Loki jumps down off the car and stands in the middle of the circle shouting something in a weird slavic-sounding language. His sword is gone, but in one hand he holds what looks like a tiny book. She thinks she sees Thor again, but then the circle collapses on itself and there’s just Loki swaying on his feet.

Turning, with wavering steps he comes around the car. Amy hears the scrape of metal on pavement, and then Loki climbs into the passenger side, sword in his hand.

Beatrice is rubbing her eyes. Fenrir is standing on top of her, looking out the backseat. There is no Thor, but the last six inches of the rear of the car is just gone.

Closing the door and hanging his head, Loki says softly, “Will Car be alright?”

Amy looks back at the missing rear end, and over at Loki. “You know...it’s just a machine.”

Loki turns his head to look at her. “How can you say that?”

Feeling like a heel, she turns to the steering wheel. Her hands are shaking so much she doesn’t really want to go anywhere for a few minutes.

“Dude!” comes a loud voice from outside the car.

Raising her eyes, she sees three guys with spiky hair in hipster clothing standing directly in front of them in the alley. Their mouths are open. The middle one’s got a bottle of something in his hands. It falls to the ground and lands with a crash.

Somewhere a police siren wails.

Swallowing, Amy revs the engine a bit. The hipsters move to the side. She pulls out into the alley and heads home. Thankfully, they don’t run into any police. She’s sure driving with a hole in the back of your car is some sort of moving violation.

Loki says nothing the entire way. He just slouches over in the seat, his breathing ragged and uneven as though he’s extremely tired or might weep.

It’s still mostly dark out when she backs into the garage, and she doesn’t see any neighbors about. Beatrice says, “Oh, my, are we home already?”

Before Amy’s even parked, Loki jumps out of his seat and walks out of the garage.

“I’ll be right back, Grandma!” Amy says, following him.

She catches him just a few feet outside of the garage. “Loki,” she says putting a hand on his left arm that doesn’t have any armor on it. He stops but doesn’t look at her.

Jaw tight he says, “I think you should know, I have tangled the branch of the world tree we came through. Neither Odin or Heimdall will be able to follow it and find you — ” He stops, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and disappears. For an instant Amy feels him beneath her hand, warm and solid, but then that’s gone, too.

Fenrir barks in the garage. Amy just stands staring in the empty alley, feeling hollow and empty.

Chapter 12

It’s nearly 9:00 PM, three days after Loki disappeared. Amy is just coming home from a shift as vet tech at a clinic up on the North Side. She only gets about eight hours a week from the clinic, and she has managed to get another four as a hostess at a restaurant, but jobs are surprisingly hard to come by this summer.

As Amy climbs the stairs with Fenrir scampering at her feet, she sees Beatrice’s door ajar, the light on. She peeks in. Beatrice is sitting on her bed. The dress from Alfheim is hanging on her closet door. It still glows.

Beatrice must hear her because she turns to Amy, a little girl smile on her face. “Would it be wrong to put on our dresses occasionally and throw tea parties?”

Amy blinks, feeling her eyes get wet. Beatrice’s memories of Alfheim are only good. Despite Amy’s decidedly more mixed experience, she understands what Beatrice means. “I’d be happy to join you for tea,” Amy says.

Beatrice sighs and relaxes. “I’m not just going senile. It was real, it really happened!”

Amy stares at the dress.

Beatrice sighs. “Still no sign of Loki. He left his sword.” She turns to Amy. “That must be a sign he will come back?”

Amy bites her lip. She is worried it might be a sign of something worse, something self-destructive. “I hope so,” she says. Loki in some ways reminds her of the worst frat-boy she’s ever met, except with magic. But there is a part of her that believes he’s good, and noble even. She remembers the way he stood up to Thor when that big overgrown oaf suggested keeping her as a pet. And Loki did save her from Malson. And then the way he danced with Beatrice... She swallows. Hopefully he’s out there, and okay.

Amy looks at Beatrice’s beautiful dress and then down at her slightly stained blue scrubs. Suddenly realizing how much she smells like ill cats and dogs, she says, “I’m going to go take a shower.”

Beatrice nods.

When Amy comes out of the shower, Beatrice’s light is off. With Fenrir by her side, Amy curls up in her own bed and tries to read a book. She’s exhausted, but she’s still having trouble sleeping. After an hour or so, she turns off her light. She lies in the dark gazing at the ceiling for far too long, but she must eventually drift off because she lifts her head at one point and Fenrir says in a deep masculine voice, “Amy, get up.”

Amy stares at her little dog. Fenrir is lying down at her feet, her ears cocked, seemingly staring at a point at the end of her nose.

Amy blinks. It must be a dream — if Fenrir spoke it would be with a girl’s voice. At least I’m sleeping, she thinks. With that sleep-induced logic at the forefront of her mind, she lies back down and closes her eyes.

“Ahem!”

Amy opens her eyes. Where her little Fenrir was lying at the end of her bed, there is now a giant wolf sitting on its haunches.

Amy screams, scrambles backwards, and hits the backboard of her bed so hard her head bounces. She tries to jump out of her bed, catches her feet on the sheets, and promptly falls flat on the floor.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” says the wolf in a voice that is still masculine, but also familiar...and slightly slurred.

Amy turns her head. “Loki?” she asks cautiously.

The wolf raises a paw to its mouth and snickers. Putting the paw down, it says in a loud voice, “I am the spirit of Fenrir!” Letting loose a howl, it lies down on the bed, rolls over on its back, and closes its eyes. From tail to nose it completely fills the bed. Amy’s mouth opens, and the real Fenrir runs over and starts barking at the wolf.

From the door comes a knock. “Amy?”

“It’s alright, Grandma. I think it’s just...Fenrir.”

The wolf blinks its eyes open. “Actually, you were right the first time. Sort of. I think I’m more Loki’s subconscious.”

“Loki’s subconscious?” says Amy.

“Loki’s subconscious?” says Beatrice through the door.

Rolling on its stomach, the wolf says, “Yes, that tiny, tiny, little part of him that doesn’t want to drown in his own vomit in your backyard.”

Amy springs up and opens her bedroom door. “Grandma,” she says. “I think Loki is in the backyard.”

Beatrice looks past Amy and says, “Who were you talking to?”

“The wolf.”

“Wolf?” says Beatrice.

Amy looks back. The bed is empty.

“Never mind,” she says, turning and running down the hall. She hears Beatrice following more slowly behind her.

A few moments later Amy throws open the kitchen door. Sure enough there is Loki sprawled out on the lawn on his back, an arm thrown over his eyes, his attire flickering from armor to street clothes and back again. She sees something wet glistening on his chin and winces. Magical frat boy indeed.

Behind her she hears Beatrice tsk-tsk. Her grandmother walks right by Amy and out onto the lawn. As she goes over to Loki, a light in the neighbor’s house goes on. A window opens and said neighbor, Harry, a sixty five-ish year old man who’s lived there forever, says, “Beatrice, I saw that bum pissing in your bushes! Want me to call the cops?”

Amy sags. Whatever hope she had for nobility in Loki is flushed down the drain. Or peed into the hedge.

“No, no, no! That’s alright, Harry!” Beatrice shouts. “We know him.”

“What’s that he’s wearing?” Harry shouts. Several other lights down the block go on.

Beatrice taps Loki with a foot, then looks up at Harry again. “Clothes, Harry! Clothes!”

Loki begins to cough.

“Amy!” Beatrice says. “Help me roll him over!”

Startled out of her reverie, Amy runs out and helps Beatrice roll Loki onto his side. He smells like a wino, and up close she can see he hasn’t shaven, probably since Alfheim.

“Ugh,” says Amy.

Beatrice turns her head and winces.

Fenrir, Amy’s Fenrir, moves closer and licks his face. Which is probably a testament to just how disgusting whatever is on his chin is.

“Eww...” says Amy.

Beatrice puts a hand over her nose and her mouth and kicks Loki in the ribs with surprising force.

Loki’s eyes flutter but don’t open.

“Get in the house, Loki!” Beatrice says.

“Grandma,” Amy says, “I don’t think that’s going to work.”

Beatrice kicks him again. To Amy’s surprise, Loki rolls over onto his stomach and pulls himself up onto his feet, but he tips dangerously.

“You get under that arm,” says Beatrice resolutely. “I’ll get under this one.”

Together they manage to get Loki across the lawn and up the stoop. They’ve just stepped into the kitchen and Amy’s head is bent over when Beatrice screams and drops the arm she’s holding.

Loki falls to the side and crashes on the floor. Amy looks up and there is wolf Fenrir sitting in front of the kitchen sink.

Grabbing her grandmother, Amy narrows her eyes. “Couldn’t you have just made yourself look like yourself!”

“That would be needlessly straightforward,” says the wolf.

“Wha - wha - wha -” says Beatrice.

“It’s alright, Grandma,” Amy says, patting her back. “It’s just Loki’s subconscious.”

Tilting its head, the wolf says, “Shouldn’t you move him to the couch?”

Amy looks down at Loki lying on his side on the floor in a semi-fetal position.

“Should we, Grandma?”

Eyeing the wolf carefully, Beatrice says shakily, “No, it’ll be easier to clean up if he throws up here.”

The wolf puts back its ears, bobs its head, thumps its tail and opens its eyes wide.

“No,” says Beatrice, the self-assuredness back in her voice.

Straightening, the wolf sighs. “It was worth a try.”

The real Loki mutters in his sleep.

Wincing, Amy says, “What happened?”

“He went on a three day bender,” says Beatrice, her voice very dry, a scowl settling on her features.

“Why?” says Amy, walking over to get a dish towel. The spittle or whatever it is on his chin is grossing her out.

“They killed his sons...and Hoenir, Mimir and Sigyn,” the wolf says.

Amy looks up from where she is about to wipe Loki’s face.

She looks over at Beatrice. The hard lines in her grandmother's brow have softened.

The wolf settles down on the floor with a whimper. “Gone now like Aggie and Helen.”

“Helen?” says Amy.

The wolf stares at Loki, his voice far off. “You know her as Hel.”

“And Aggie...” says Beatrice. “Angrboða?”

Turning its eyes to Beatrice, the wolf snarls. “Her name was Anganboða, bringer of joy! Do not call her by the name Baldur gave!”

Beatrice puts her hand to her mouth and steps back.

Snarling, the wolf says. “Baldur destroyed her! Called her a troll and a witch. Even Odin spoke ill against her.” The wolf’s voice takes on a sing-song quality. “Because no one would ever gainsay the words of Baldur the Brave.”

And then dropping its head down, the wolf that is maybe a figment of Loki’s imagination puts its paws over his nose. “She saw Baldur for what he was. What she saw in Loki...” The wolf whimpers.

The great hall of Odin’s palace is filled with golden firelight and the buzz of conversation. Loki stands just to the right of the thrones of Odin, Frigga and crown prince Baldur.

Loki’s lips were released from the dwarf wire just a month ago, and he isn’t quite healed. Small circles of white scar tissue dot his upper lip and chin. As proficient as he is with magic, the wire itself was magical; the scars are slow to heal and difficult to cover with an illusion.

Odin has commanded he be here. Asgard is receiving King Frosthyrr from Jotunheim, land of the Frost Giants. Loki has never been to Jotunheim — not since Odin rescued him as an infant during a campaign, anyway. He doesn’t know Jotunn customs, and the scars on his lips don’t speak well of his treatment in Asgard. He has no idea what his presence is supposed to accomplish.

Now as they wait for their guests to enter, Loki scans the hall. He catches Thor’s eyes. Thor smiles with too many teeth and raises his hammer. Loki looks away.

He sees Sigyn in a distant corner and looks away again. Hoenir is standing near her in the shadows. Mimir is with him. For the occasion Mimir has been mounted on the end of a long staff. Loki contains a wince. Mimir loves being on the staff point. It gives him a better view. It also is a quite gruesome sight to the uninitiated. Loki wonders how Hoenir convinced Odin to allow it.

Catching his gaze, Mimir smiles brightly at Loki and lifts his eyebrows. It’s a Mimir rendition of a wave. Loki nods in his direction.

Horns announce the Jotunn’s arrival, and the hall goes quiet. Great double doors opposite the thrones open up and the Jotunn delegation marches in. King Frosthyrr is just one of many kings of Jotunheim squabbling for control of that realm. The civil wars on Jotunheim have given Frost Giants a reputation for primitive savagery, but you would not know it from looking at King Frosthyrr or the lords and ladies accompanying him. Their armor and clothing are fine, their bearing regal. But whereas Odin’s palace is bathed in warm colors — oranges, reds and golds — the Frost Giants wear whites, silvers and blues. The giantesses wear jewelry of cool crystal. Like Loki, to a one they are pale, their skin almost translucent.

At the head of the procession marches King Frosthyrr with his daughter, Princess Járnsaxa. Odin has instructed Baldur to pay special attention to the princess. Loki notices with some disappointment that she is actually quite lovely. Her pale cheeks are rosy, her eyes blue and sparkling beneath dark blonde locks. She is smiling perhaps more than a princess should, but overall...Loki sighs. Why does Baldur always get the pleasant tasks?

He looks over at the crown prince. To his surprise, Baldur’s eyes are riveted at the far end of the procession. Loki blinks, and then he sees what has caught Baldur’s attention. A giantess stands there, her attire somewhat more modest than her companions. She has the darkest hair Loki has ever seen, falling behind her shoulders like a black curtain. Her features are delicate and fine except for wide generous lips. Tall, and voluptuous without being fat, her bearing is as regal as a queen’s.

She is the most beautiful woman Loki has ever seen; and next to her, Princess Járnsaxa is only plain.

He shifts on his feet and finds her eyes on his. Her gaze quickly drops and wanders over the royal family beside him, and then it comes back to Loki. She smiles slightly as though they are sharing some secret joke, and then the man standing next to her whispers something in her ear and she frowns and looks away.

Loki stands transfixed for a moment, Odin’s words to King Frosthyrr are an unintelligible murmur at the edge of his consciousness. He looks to the crown prince. Baldur’s eyes are still riveted on the giantess.

If she has the attention of the golden prince, she is a lost cause. Loki looks away, but over the next few hours his eyes keep going back to her.

Much later in the evening, after the feasting is mostly done and the festivities are turning to dancing, Loki eyes are still wandering to the giantess. He’s learned her name is Anganboða. She is unmarried; the man she was speaking to earlier is her brother. Now she stands between said brother and Baldur. Loki scowls.

Thor’s loud voice bellows over his shoulder. “What’s wrong, Scar Lip? Won’t anyone dance with you?”

Loki glares at Thor. “I simply have not asked anyone.”

Thor’s eyes sparkle and he smiles wickedly. “And you think anyone would give you that honor?”

Loki feels his blood go hot. Without thinking he says, “I bet you six months of your princely stipend that the very first individual I ask will be unable to refuse me.”

Thor’s smile drops. “If I win I get your stipend for same.”

“Done,” says Loki, smirking despite the fact he has no idea how he’s going to pull this off. His eyes pass over the room. The only woman who might dance with him is Sigyn, but he recoils at that idea. And then he blinks, and recalling his wager, he turns and walks, nay nearly skips, over to Hoenir and Mimir. Bowing low before the staff that Mimir is mounted on, Loki says, “Mimir, would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”

Before Mimir can even respond, Loki pulls the staff from Hoenir’s hands and starts moving towards the floor. Behind him Loki can hear Hoenir snort. At the top of the staff Mimir says loudly, “Well, it’s not like I can refuse, is it?”

Across the room Loki sees Thor’s face go red. Loki smiles with all his teeth and steps with Mimir into the line of dancers, twirling the staff as he does so. From the crowd he hears laughter and cries of “fool,” but imagining what he’ll do with six months of a princeling’s allowance more than makes up for it.

“I say, Loki,” says Mimir. “This actually isn’t half bad. I can see so much this way. Spin me again!”

Now that Loki’s technically fulfilled the requirements of his wager he could quit, but seeing Thor’s furious glare across the hall is just too priceless to let go. He dances with Mimir, spins him, dips him, catches the staff on his foot, and tips it back up into his hands.

“I say,” says Mimir, “dip me again! I didn’t realize the frescoes on the ceiling had changed. I miss being able to bend my neck...”

Loki grins, even though the hall is filling with raucous laughter at his expense. The music gets louder and faster. The torches start to flicker madly, the fires in their pits send sparks shooting up into the air, and then the laughter takes on a nervous edge and someone screams.

“Or maybe we should stop,” says Mimir.

The music is slowing anyway. Loki tilts Mimir back for a final, proper dip and as he bows, Mimir’s staff in hand, he hears curses and shouts, but above it all the sound of one set of hands clapping.

Loki looks up and there is Anganboða not two paces away, clapping happily. “Well done!” she says, smiling at him. He does not smile back. She is so beautiful and so close. He wants to go to her, to smile in return, but she has the eye of Baldur and he knows who will win in such a contest. The effort it takes to stifle his natural impulses makes his lips twist into a frown; his body flushes with heat and rage.

Screams rise in the hall. Anganboða turns, and Loki follows her gaze. Sparks of fire are jumping madly from candles and the fire pits. Loki’s mouth opens in surprise, and his rage cools a bit just as the sparks subside.

“Oh, dear,” says Mimir.

Baldur and Anganboða’s brother are suddenly at her side, steering her away.

Loki watches them go, his face a mask of indifference. And then beside him he hears Odin’s voice. “I grow weary of playing politics. I need a drink. Come with us, Loki.”

Loki turns and there is Hoenir and Odin. A drink sounds like a very good idea.

Away from the party, in Odin’s own rooms, one drink turns into a few. Loki manages to lose all the money he won from Thor in a wager over a chess game while he is only slightly drunk.

...and then he proceeds to win it all back — and a rather nice guest house thrown in for good measure, while he is incredibly, mind-bendingly drunk during a second chess match.

His head is lying on the board and he hears Mimir nagging with Odin somewhere far, far, far, off in the distance. “It’s your fault! You should never have played him while he was so drunk. You had to know with those odds he’d win! Now look, you’re all drunk...Hoenir, don’t animate the chess pieces! You know they’ll squabble and cause all sorts of trouble — and you haven’t given them mouths! You’ve doomed them to die!”

Loki hears Odin guffaw and Hoenir snort. Loki manages to raise his head. The chess pieces are sliding at each other and not paying attention to the rules of the board at all. He drops his head again.

“Come on, Hoenir,” says Mimir. “Let’s take Loki home...you’re less drunk than he is...Well then, heal yourself...I don’t care if you don’t want to be sober!”

Loki feels a hand slap his back, and then suddenly his head stops spinning and the world comes into focus. The chess pieces are knocking one another off the board, Odin has his hand on Hoenir’s shoulder, and they’re both laughing hysterically. Mimir’s staff is propped against the wall. For his part, Mimir looks extremely put out.

Loki sits up and meets Odin’s unblinking eye. Odin points his finger at him and laughs, “Ha! You get to be the responsible one for once! Take Hoenir home or I’ll lift my eye patch and give you a fright!”

At that Hoenir snickers with such force he falls off his stool. The stool promptly hops backwards and begins to scamper around like a small dog.

“Loki, let’s go before Hoenir animates something dangerous,” Mimir mutters.

Suddenly noticing the wide array of weapons decorating the walls of Odin’s private chamber, Loki gets off his chair and slides one of Hoenir’s arms under his shoulder. With the other hand he grabs Mimir’s staff. They leave Odin talking with the chess pieces, idly patting Hoenir’s stool.

“Well, that was just like old times,” Mimir says as they make their way down a long hallway past Odin’s guard. Loki can’t be bothered to respond. Hoenir is heavy. Also, Loki is watching for signs that he will throw up.

Loki decides to cut through the guest wing of the palace. There is a servants’ corridor and exit that will let them out closer to Hoenir’s hut than the front or back entrance. He is passing through some long unremarkable corridor when he hears a female voice echoing down the hall. “For so long you have said my honor was my most important possession, and now you want me to give it away to some so-called-golden prince so that you may rise in power!”

It takes a moment for Loki to realize it is Anganboða’s voice. And another moment more to comprehend what she is saying. So-called-golden prince? She is not smitten? He must have heard wrong. He finds himself stopping, his hands tightening on Mimir’s staff. There is a sound like a slap and then a door slams. Loki watches as Anganboða’s brother strides off down the hall in the opposite direction, passing by another servant as he does.

That servant meets Loki’s eyes. In his hands, Mimir whispers, “There really is nothing you can do at this point that won’t make the lady’s situation worse.”

Loki frowns but continues slowly on his way.

By the time he reaches the small door that exits to the garden, he doesn’t think his mood can get worse. There is a lantern by the door that he gives to Mimir to hold in his teeth, and then they step out into the night and Loki realizes it’s raining. Soon Loki is wet and chilled and Hoenir is getting heavier and heavier, and less and less cooperative. It would be better if Loki could swing him over his shoulder, but he also has to tote Mimir along.

Loki thinks of Odin warm and drunk and happy in his rooms and scowls. He hates being the responsible one.

Head bent over, he continues on. The rain picks up, and they’re just turning into a walkway lined with long hedges when Mimir mumbles through the lantern handle in his mouth. “‘ook!”

Loki looks up; a hooded figure is pressed against the hedge. Whoever it is doesn’t seem to be aware of their approach until they are nearly upon them, and then the figure turns. The hood spills off and Loki and Mimir are facing a very red-eyed Anganboða.

“What are you doing here?” he says, the words harsher than he intends.

“Is it any of your business?” she says.

Loki stares at her and he knows. “You’re running away,” he says. At least temporarily. From Baldur. Maybe from her family.

She doesn’t deny it.

He twists his hands on Mimir’s staff. Choosing to run away in the rain, probably without a plan, or without really knowing where she was going...She’s obviously a bit mad.

The right thing for Loki to do, if he values his position at court, is to convince her to go back to the palace, grit her teeth, and allow Baldur’s “affections.”

He holds out Mimir’s staff to her and says, “You can come with us.” Apparently Loki can only be responsible to a point.

She takes the staff, looks up at Mimir and says, “Would you like me to take the lantern?”

“Yesh!” says the head, dropping it from his mouth into her hands.

It was quite nice of her to think of Mimir that way. For some reason it irritates him. Swinging the nearly unconscious Hoenir over his shoulder, he begins to walk away. A few paces later he turns back. Anganboða hasn’t moved.

“You need not worry about your honor. You have my oath it is safe with me,” Loki says, the words spilling out before he even thinks about them.

She tilts her head and then says, “I trust you.” And she does. Loki has a rather keen sense for disambiguation. She’s definitely mad.

Heaving a breath, she says, “But it doesn’t seem to matter what you do, it’s what people say you do...”

“Ahem,” says Mimir. “Consider me your chaperone.”

Looking up at the head, Anganboða’s lips part. Those very wide, generous lips. Loki can’t help but stare.

Why did he just make an oath to protect her honor? Scowling, Loki says, “Come on, Hoenir’s heavy,” and starts walking again. This time she hurries to catch up.

“Did you have any plans?” Loki gasps out as they trudge along. “Since you have chosen to run rather than accept the suit of Baldur the Beautiful, Wise and Brave.”

“Is he those things?” Anganboða says.

Loki turns to her. Rain has plastered her raven locks to her face, and he realizes what he took for a cloak is actually just a blanket, probably stolen from her rooms in the palace. She is very desperate.

Turning her eyes to the muddy ground she says, “I look at him...and I see a golden prince, but when I turn away, from the corner of my eye I see something quite different. Something I don’t like, something dark. When I hear his words they sound sweet, but when I replay them in my mind they are cruel.” She laughs and there is something frantic in it. “Yet everyone says he is beautiful, wise and brave.”

Loki turns to her, mouth open. No one else has ever doubted Baldur. A knot in his stomach uncoils with a force so strong it hurts.

“I must be mad,” she says softly. “And yet...he bartered for my honor with my brother...am I worth so little that a man can do that and still be good?”

“No, my lady,” Loki says.

She turns to him and smiles softly, and he finds himself silently vowing that if Baldur ever lays a finger on her, ever hurts her, he will make him die a slow and painful death.

They turn round a hedge and step through the large trees that shield Hoenir’s hut from the rest of Asgard. “What a meager abode for Odin’s brother,” Anganboða says out of nowhere.

Loki blinks and shoves Hoenir against the door. “Hoenir is not Odin’s brother. Whatever made you think that?”

Hoenir grunts, the door gives way, and Mimir is overcome with a minor coughing fit.

Following him in the door, Anganboða says, “But the three of you...you’re brothers, surely...”

“We aren’t related,” says Loki.

Mimir’s minor coughing fit turns to a major coughing fit. Loki looks at him sharply, wondering what’s amiss. Mimir says nothing, just turns very red.

“Brothers,” the wolf mutters nonsensically. “She was mad...but I still loved her. And Sigyn...” It whimpers again.

Amy looks down at Loki. Beside her, Beatrice kneels down, too. Surely losing your children, best friends and wife warranted a little sympathy? She touches the cloth gingerly to Loki’s chin, the reek suddenly not bothering her as much. Underneath his unshaven face she begins to see that nobility again.

“So sad,” says Beatrice with a sigh.

Loki’s eyes flutter open. “Where am I?” he asks, rolling onto his back.

Leaning over him, gently brushing his cheeks, Amy says, “You’re safe. You’re back with Beatrice and me.”

Loki’s eyes go over to Beatrice and then rove down Amy’s body. He mutters something. Even though it is in a strange foreign language, it sounds heavy with gratitude.

His eyes close again and Amy says to the wolf. “What did he just say?”

Blinking, the wolf says, “Oh, he said ‘By the World Tree you have nice tits.’” And then it pops out of existence.

Amy leans away, just a little bit horrified.

Beatrice shakes her head ruefully. “Well, he’s not the god of niceness.” Standing up she says, “I’m going to bed.”

Chapter 13

The next morning when Amy comes into the kitchen Beatrice is already there, and so is Loki. Beatrice is buzzing around the stove; Loki is sitting at the table, hunched over a cup of coffee and a half eaten plate of eggs. His hair is wet like he’s just come out of the shower, but he still hasn’t shaved. He isn’t in his armor. He’s wearing one of her grandfather’s old tee shirts and a pair of Grandpa’s utility pants that fit Loki like capris.

He doesn’t raise his eyes when she comes in, just stares at a point on the table next to the sugar jar.

“Hi,” Amy says.

Loki doesn’t move or speak. But Beatrice says, “Good morning, Dear.” And then her grandmother takes a cup of tea and goes and sits down next to Loki at the table.

Amy pours herself a cup of coffee and joins them.

Loki doesn’t do anything, just sits hunched over, as though inhabiting his own dark world. It’s frightening, and sad.

Swallowing, Amy says, “You told us what happened.”

Loki’s eyes shoot up to hers. For a moment Amy thinks they are completely black, but she blinks, and they’re that eerie light gray color again.

“You told us last night,” Amy says. Or his subconscious did. It doesn’t seem worthwhile to go into the whole wolf Fenrir thing. “I’m sorry about your family, and your friends.”

Loki looks away.

Beatrice shakily puts down her teacup. “I hope you won’t do anything ...rash...”

Amy blinks. A three-day bender seems pretty rash to her.

Loki’s eyes slide to Beatrice and then he smirks. “Are you are referring to Ragnarok, Beatrice?”

“It had crossed my mind.” Beatrice’s eyes are steady, but her hands are shaking on her teacup.

Amy’s heart stops. If she remembers Loki’s Wikipedia entry correctly, he’s the one who leads the dead in the battle against the Norse gods at Ragnarok, the end of the world.

Loki snorts, and then he begins to laugh quietly. Playing idly with his fork he says, “Oh, if only I could hop aboard the ship Naglfar and lead the armies of Hel against Asgard, I would, definitely. But there are no armies in the realm of Hel. Just my daughter’s corpse, and the corpses of her maids.” His smile drops and he looks away. “There is no Hel for the meek, no Valhalla for warriors slain in battle. Those are just dreams you humans use to console yourselves during your fleeting lives. There is just nothingness.”

“You don’t know that!” says Beatrice, fingering the cross hanging around her neck.

Loki looks up at her and glares. And then he stands from the table and walks out the door. Beatrice and Amy watch him walk into the garage. Amy looks around the kitchen. Nothing is on fire. For some reason that makes her sad.

Sitting with her laptop and checkbook on the kitchen table, Amy’s looking at her bank accounts trying not to feel depressed. It’s the evening after Loki’s return. She had a temp job in the afternoon, and now she’s obsessively reconciling her checkbook, calculating how much she has earned and how much she’ll need to earn to have enough money to pay the school fees her scholarship doesn’t cover, and to make a down payment on a new place to live in the fall.

Hearing a knock at the door, Amy looks up. Through the window she sees Loki wearing the same clothes he had on earlier.

Grateful for the distraction and relieved that he looks sober and shaven, Amy walks over and opens the door. Face almost expressionless, Loki says, “Miss Lewis, it seems I will be a guest of your world for awhile. I was wondering if...” He looks away. “If you might help me get acclimated to your world’s current magic...technologies.”

Amy’s stares at him. That seems so healthy and proactive. “Wow. Good for you,” she says, too shocked to move from the doorway.

Shrugging, he says in a flat voice, “If I’m going to see Odin kneel before me while I hold his testicles in my hands as all of Asgard burns, I have to start somewhere.”

Amy’s mouth drops.

Straightening, Loki says, “I will make it worth your while somehow, I give you my — ”

Amy waves a hand. “No, no, no. It’s okay...of course I’ll help you if I can; you don’t owe me anything.” She’ll just take that Odin’s testicle thing and Asgard burning thing as a slight bit of hyperbole brought on by grief.

Loki tilts his head and his expression softens just a bit.

Her brow furrows. “Is there any place you’d like to start?”

Loki’s eyes go over to her laptop on the kitchen table. “Computers and the internets. The last time I was here I had some access to ENIAC — but things have come so far since then.”

Amy blinks at him. ENIAC? Shaking her head she steps aside and motions for him to come in. “Have a seat. I’ll get us something to drink.”

“Thank you,” says Loki, walking over and sitting in front of her computer. As she turns to the refrigerator, he’s staring at the blank screen of power save mode.

Taking out a pitcher of freshly made peach tea, she pours two glasses and turns around. Loki has one finger hovering above the keyboard and he’s staring at her bank account information.

“Whoa,” says Amy, going to the table and closing that tab.

Loki looks at her, brows slightly raised.

Wincing, Amy says, “You probably shouldn’t have seen that.”

Loki holds up two hands. “I just touched it and — ”

“No, no, no...It’s okay.” She grabs her checkbook and then brings the two glasses of tea over to the table. Handing him one, she takes a sip of her own. It’s not as cold as she expected. “Drats, I’ll have to get some ice,” she says.

Holding out a hand to her, Loki says, “Sit down and allow me.”

She hands him the glasses. He gives her a twisted half smile and frost climbs up the outside of both. “Here,” he says, handing one back.

Amy finds herself smiling...more than she should. Is she being flirty? She shouldn’t be flirty. He just lost his family and his best friends and that would be inappropriate. She schools her face to neutral. Is it her imagination or is her pulse a little quick? Just knowing about his family...he doesn’t seem so much like an obnoxious flirt anymore. He has children, he’s —

Loki clinks his glass with hers which snaps her back to the moment. She takes a sip. “It’s perfect,” she says, staring over her glass at him.

Loki raises an eyebrow. “Where should we start?”

Realizing she’s staring, she spins back to her computer. “Well, I guess, first...this is a mouse.” She toggles the wireless mouse she has next to her iMac. Remembering his confusion over Car, she says, “It’s just what it’s called...it’s not actually alive.”

Loki holds out a hand and she hands it to him. Eying the mouse he murmurs, “Hoenir would have fun with this.” Expression hardening, he says, “How does it work?”

Amy has some experience teaching techie neophytes. She expects hours of back and forth, and obvious questions that make her want to tear her hair out. That doesn’t happen.

Loki grasps the point and click concept immediately. They move quickly from mice to the internet, and he begins asking questions that are too technical. He accidentally calls up the browser’s options and gets a menu she has never seen. He clicks on something, and when the page of gobbledygook comes up, he recognizes it immediately as the code for the page.

That’s when she looks down and sees it. “Um...” she says. “Loki, your fingertips are blue...” It’s that lovely, robin’s egg shade she had seen before, and it almost seems to be alight from within.

He looks down and his brow furrows. He takes a breath and the color fades away, like a wave draining from sand. Turning to her, his expression sharp, he says, “It is just an illusion.”

Amy can’t help it; she puts a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

Turning back to the computer he says dryly, “I blame you for putting the damned idea in my head.”

Removing her hand and taking a deep uncomfortable breath, Amy says, “Okay, maybe we should go next to Google. It’s an internet site that can tell you just about everything....”

Once Loki has access to Google, it quickly becomes apparent that Amy isn’t so much helping as holding Loki back. She gets up and lets him explore ‘How the Internet Works’ and ‘Static Versus Dynamic Web Pages’ by himself.

Beatrice comes in, they all eat dinner together, and then Loki is at the computer again. When Amy goes to bed, Loki is still there, the screen flashing from one page to another. His eyes look very dark, and she swears his skin has a blue cast but decides not to say anything.

The next day when Beatrice goes to fetch Loki for breakfast, Amy clicks on the browser’s history — just out of curiosity. She’s not sure what she expected to find, but she doesn’t expect to find a whole bunch of entries on something called Schrödinger’s cat, the Heisenberg uncertainty principle, quantum computing, random number generators and something on financial derivatives. She backs slowly away.

At breakfast when she asks him what he was browsing the night before, he just smirks and says, “Magic.”

With the help of Google, Loki fixes the ceiling fan in her grandmother’s room — turns out the problem was actually in the fuse box. During his first week with them, among other acts of computer wizardry, Loki cleans up the hard drive on Beatrice’s PC — something Amy would have thought impossible since her grandmother seems to open every attachment and click on every link she’s ever gotten in an email. And he also manages to get a nasty virus off of nosy-neighbor Harry’s computer — Harry’s on Beatrice’s email list. Sometime that first week he also hooks up the television, the DVD player and the stereo so that all share one remote, something Amy never managed to do. After that Amy finds herself regularly watching TV with Loki late into the night. He lies on the couch, feet propped up on one end. She sits on the EZ-boy chair — she starts sleeping better there than anywhere else.

Overall, Beatrice and Amy are both really impressed by the way Loki immerses himself in modern technology and modern life. But there are some incidents.

Amy comes home just after lunchtime during Loki’s second week with them. She had a job as a hostess at a local restaurant that morning. Beatrice meets her in the backyard, water pot in hand. “He’s in the kitchen,” Beatrice says. “I think you need to talk to him. We just don’t do that!”

Puzzled, Amy heads into the kitchen. Loki is wearing her grandmother’s apron...which is a little odd considering it is pink and far too small...but that isn’t what really grabs her attention.

“Why is there a dead pig on our kitchen table?” She’s been around enough dead animals in vet school to recognize it without most of its skin and to not be disgusted — even if she is mostly vegetarian.

Loki looks up from where he is leaning over said pig with a very big cleaver. His brows furrow. “It has come to my attention that I am, in Beatrice’s words, ‘Eating you out of house and home.’ I am trying to do my ‘fair share’.”

“By butchering a pig...”

“It is a free-range pig, much higher quality than you would get in the the grocery store. Also, it is freshly slaughtered. It will be delicious...even you will want to eat this bacon.” He smacks the pig’s hindquarters and smiles.

Tilting his chin and rubbing the back of his cheek with a bloody hand, he says, “Though tonight I think we should eat the head. I make a delicious sweetbread.” He looks at her, holding up the cleaver in a way that is kind of psycho-esque. “What?”

“You cook?” she says. That is probably the least important question in her mind, but somehow it pops up first.

He rolls his eyes. “Odin was always sending me out to babysit Thor when he went adventuring. Thor was a prince; a bastard, but a prince... I got to cook.”

Amy looks at the dead animal stretched out and filling the whole kitchen table. “Where did you get the pig?”

He blinks at her and then leans down and starts sliding the knife under the pig’s skin. “From a butcher on Fulton. I read about it on the internet and went this morning.”

“You don’t drive...did you take this thing on the bus?” She had taught him how to use the bus and left a pass out for him. The one time Amy tried to teach Loki how to drive, he turned the Subaru into a load bearing part of the garage wall. Amy doesn’t know how he can build her a personal website on ‘server space’ she didn’t know she had and hook it up to ‘RSS feeds’ on veterinary medicine but can’t manage to put a car in reverse. It probably relates somehow to him setting the toaster on fire, though.

He looks up at her. “You know they wouldn’t let me?” He shakes his head as though amazed. “I carried it back. I got a lot of stares. You’d think people never had seen a hog before.”

Amy can hear the neighborhood gossip mill grinding in her head. Trying not to think about it she says, “How did you pay for it?”

He blinks again.

Oh, no. “Did you steal this pig?”

“I have no money. Of course I stole the pig,” he says.

“We don’t do that!” says Amy.

He stares at her. Then frowning and crossing his arms, cleaver still in hand, he says, “Do you want me to return it?”

Amy looks at the partially butchered animal and rubs her eyes. “No, just tell me where you stole it from and give me your oath that you won’t do it again.” She tells herself she’ll send the butcher compensation. Somehow. Anonymously.

“Fine...you have my oath, while I reside at your house, I will not steal another pig — ”

“Anything,” says Amy.

He glowers at her.

She glowers right back even though she feels a pang of fear. “It could attract attention and the police.”

Narrowing his eyes, he uncrosses his arms and rolls his eyes. “Fine, you have my oath I will not steal while I reside under your roof.”

Amy decides that is the best she is going to do. Later that night, despite her better judgment, she tries some pig cheek — it just smells so good. It is delicious.

It is near the end of the second week when the second incident occurs. Amy is just coming home late from her hostessing job. There is a light in the living room. She follows it and finds Loki kneeling in front of the TV cabinet fiddling with the remote.

Without thinking, she puts her hostessing apron with the $66.73 she got in tips from takeaway orders on the coffee table next to her laptop. It was a long day, she made hardly any money, and she has no idea how she’s going to pay all her expenses at this rate. Settling into the EZ boy, she just sighs.

Without looking at her, Loki flops down on the couch. “I’ve hooked the television up to your computer. We can watch YouTube, Netflix, Hulu...”

“Whatever,” Amy says.

Without looking at her, Loki points the remote at the TV and some strange menu with cute icons comes up. He selects some talk on YouTube about Higgs Boson particles. Physics really isn’t Amy’s thing, but it is interesting — until it isn’t. Amy finds herself drifting off into sleep, Loki talking in the background...Something about, “Humans can’t see magic, but you’ve found all these ways to look at it indirectly. I really can see why Hoenir is so fond of you...”

She jerks awake when the program ends. The strange menu comes up and Loki flips to Netflix and Star Trek TOS reruns.

Spock’s making eyes at some incredibly elegant woman, and Amy’s just drifting off to sleep again when Loki says, “She’s scrawny.”

“Mmmm...” says Amy.

And then out of the blue Loki says, “You know, Amy, you really are just my type, but I don’t even feel like having sex right now.”

Amy bolts upright. Loki isn’t even looking at her. He’s just lying on the couch, head turned to the television screen. Her heart rate goes from racing back to normal. For a moment she’d felt like her sanctuary was going to collapse on her.

Staring at the flickering light without even seeing it, Amy feels exhausted again. “Sex is overrated,” she says. Sex is a tease. Your body convinces you you want it, and then during it you hardly feel like you’re even there, your mind wanders, the sensations become muted. Once it’s over you’re left feeling incomplete, and empty, wondering why you’d bothered in the first place. And then your partner describes it as awesome. She huffs at a recent memory and stares at her fingernails on the arm of the chair.

“Ordinarily I’d take that as a challenge,” Loki says, not moving.

Amy’s cheeks flush. “Glad I can be here during your time of personal growth.”

“This isn’t growth,” says Loki, his voice flat.

He isn’t looking at her; he hasn’t even moved. And then she remembers him laughing about getting his lips sewn shut, and flirting with her in Alfheim. Where did the Loki that could laugh about his own torture go? She’s been enjoying his company these last few weeks; he’s been mellower. There have been no horrible pick-up lines; she feels so safe she falls asleep with him in her living room. But the reason he’s been so mellow, the reason she feels so comfortable — it’s because he’s depressed, isn’t it?

She swallows. And why shouldn’t he be? He’s lost everything.

The images on the screen stop. “I’m bored with this show,” says Loki. He flips back to the cute icon-y menu.

Suddenly anxious to draw him out, Amy says, “Did you hook my computer up to the DVD player somehow?” Talking about technology is about the only thing that seems to perk his interest lately.

Loki actually laughs. “Oh, your DVD player isn’t involved in the slightest. I’m utilizing a device called an Apple TV. It’s a little box that connects your TV to your computer and the internet. The hard part was getting a username and then a password to initialize it.” He shakes his head and sighs. “Actually, it wasn’t that hard. You know, if you humans used more pass phrases instead of passwords the internet would be so much more secure. And think of it — ‘the pink hadrosaur jumps over thirteen purple griffins in the icebox,’ you’d never forget it, and it would be nearly impossible to hack.”

He actually sounds happy, and that’s good, but he talks so fast it takes Amy a moment to decipher all of it. And then she flushes. “Did you steal an Apple TV?”

He waves a hand at her and puffs. “No, I borrowed an Apple TV. I have every intention of returning it.”

“You can’t do that!”

Loki looks at a point on the wall. “No, I really can. I make myself invisible, walk into the Apple Store and — ”

“That’s stealing!”

He glares at her. “I do not break my oaths!”

What follows is an argument that she thinks she technically wins, but he refuses to acknowledge her victory. In the end she extracts an oath that he will return the Apple TV the next day and that he won’t borrow again without a merchant’s express consent...as long as he resides on their property.

That night she goes to sleep in her own bed, leaving him taking the Apple TV box thingy out of the TV cabinet.

Later, she comes down the stairs to let Fenrir out. Loki is stretched out asleep on the couch. A box she supposes is the Apple TV is on the coffee table beside him.

His face is drawn, his fingers are blue and twitching, and he’s mumbling something in another language, sounding strained. Her change apron is still on the coffee table, too. She decides not to move it. It’s so close to his face, it will jingle and Loki obviously needs his sleep, pained as it may be.

She has his oath not to steal in her house; and she’s seen that the man takes his oaths very seriously.

It isn’t until she’s settled back in bed and closing her eyes that she realizes the true significance of her argument with Loki earlier in the evening.

Her eyes bolt open.

...forget borrowing things without asking. What’s really scary is that he’s been here two weeks and he’s already hacking into computers.

Stumbling out of the rain into Hoenir’s hut, Anganboða, Mimir, Loki and the nearly unconscious Hoenir find themselves in a sitting room. Panting, Loki drops Hoenir on the small sofa. Hoenir mumbles something in his sleep, and Loki crumples to the floor.

“That’s going to hurt in the morning,” says Mimir with a tsk, tsk.

“His head or my back?” Loki grumbles.

“Both,” says Mimir. His eyes slide over to Anganboða. “Would you please lean me against that wall?” He waggles his eyebrows in the direction of a wall just to the side of an unlit fireplace.

As Anganboða complies, Loki stares at the logs in the fireplace, concentrates just a moment and the logs leap into flame.

Anganboða gives a small gasp and she backs away from Mimir and the roaring fire. Loki just stares at her silently, his mind an uncomfortable jumble.

“Now, Miss,” says Mimir, “Loki did ask a very good question out there. Do you have a plan?”

Anganboða lets the blanket covering her shoulders fall away. Beneath it is a thick satchel. “I was thinking, I have heard some wealthy families will hire a young lady to educate their daughters and young children.” Opening the satchel, she pulls out a large and well worn tome. “I have no experience, but I am well read.”

Curiosity getting the better of him, Loki says, “That doesn’t look like a book for children.”

Anganboða sighs. “It isn’t, but it is one of my favorites. I couldn’t leave it.” She hands it to Loki. He opens the dust jacket and smiles. “Ah, it is Hellbendi’s, Magic: Mathematical, Scientific and Philosophical Inquiries Beyond Practical Applications.” Shaking his head he says almost to himself, “This is a very, very, good book.”

Although the Aesir can sense magic and bend it to their will, few have tried to understand it like Hellbendi, a sorcerer from ancient times. Loki has found that understanding the science of magic has greatly improved his practical abilities.

“You’ve read it?” says Anganboða. She sounds impressed, not bored or mildly disgusted.

He should reply with confidence; however, all that happens is that his jaw drops open.

Fortunately, Mimir comes to Loki’s aid. In his most courtly tones he says, “Loki has read that and more. When he isn’t causing mischief for his or Odin’s amusement, he is often ransacking Hoenir’s library.”

“Library?” says Anganboða, her face visibly brightening. She looks at Loki expectantly.

Pulling himself together, he says, “Yes, Hoenir’s rivals Odin’s.” Going to retrieve Mimir, he steps towards a wall lined with several doors. “Come, we’ll show you,” he says.

“Are you sure you know which door? Even I can’t keep them straight,” Mimir whispers.

Loki isn’t sure, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he smiles as confidently as he can at Anganboða, who smiles back wildly. Lifting his eyebrows at her, he opens the first door just slightly. The sound of claws on metal and a furious screeching fills his ears. Loki peeks in the opening. It is a room he has never seen before, lined with giant cages, inside of which are velociraptors as tall as him. Their heads swivel as one towards the doorway. For a moment they just stare, and then they jump against the bars of their cages, shaking and screeching with all their might.

Loki closes the door quickly.

“What were those?” says Anganboða, eyes wide.

“Errrr....” says Mimir.

“Nothing but harmless hadrosaurs, gentle herbivorous dragons,” says Loki.

“They didn’t look gentle,” says Anganboða.

“Let’s try the next door,” says Loki, quickly moving on. Fortunately, that door does lead to the library.

Perhaps an hour later, they are still there. Mimir is leaning against a wall, sound asleep. Loki and Anganboða are sitting at a table, two stacks of books in front of Anganboða. One stack for her to read, the other a stack of children’s books Loki is insisting that she borrow from Hoenir.

Leaning on his elbows, Loki says,“You are so well read, and yet you do not use magic yourself. I don’t understand.”

Anganboða looks down. “I would love to use magic. But I can’t. I see magic but am unable to bend it to my will.”

She frowns a little. Upset that his line of questioning has made her unhappy, Loki reaches forward and pulls an illusion of a flower from her nose.

Anganboða laughs, and Loki smirks and lifts an eyebrow. He waves his hand and the imaginary flower turns into butterflies — he’s more a fan of spiders, but they seldom go over well. The butterflies flap their wings, fly up towards the ceiling and disappear.

Still smiling, Anganboða looks to the books. “Do you really think Hoenir won’t mind if I borrow these?”

Loki waves a hand. “Of course he won’t mind.” He leans back in his chair and puts a hand to his chin. “What’s more of a worry is how Baldur reacts to your not coming to see him this evening. Falling out of favor of the crown prince is a sure way to find yourself unemployable.”

Unless of course, you are Loki. Odin insists Loki remain in Asgard, no matter how Baldur complains.

Tapping his chin, Loki says, “You were supposed to meet him somewhere in the palace, were you not?”

Anganboða’s face falls and she nods.

“Don’t worry,” says Loki. “We will tell the court I transformed myself into Baldur and nearly led you astray, but the fine Mimir saw what I was up to, put an end to my antics, and protected your honor. Eternally grateful, you helped him find his way back to Hoenir’s hut.” Loki straightens and smiles mischievously. “Your honor is preserved, and Baldur can’t possibly be mad at you because everyone knows what a horrible prankster I am.” He narrows his eyes. But somehow he has to find a way to keep Baldur away from her in the future.

“I don’t like that plan,” Anganboða says.

Loki raises an eyebrow. “Why ever not?”

“What of your honor, and how it will be damaged by such a lie?” Anganboða says.

Loki smirks. “Everyone knows I have no honor.”

Anganboða’s eyes narrow. “Yes, if it wasn’t for the eagle eyes of Mimir over there, I’d be ruined by now.”

Mimir chooses that moment to release a giant snore.

Loki flushes. His jaw tenses. Pretending that Mimir is protecting her is one of the little mental games he plays to keep his oath to her. “It is not for lack of desire, my Lady.” His words sound too cutting, and too cruel, even to him.

Anganboða’s gaze moves away. She looks at the books in front of her. “After I am employed, will I see you again?”

Her voice is soft...almost hopeful. Or perhaps he is imagining it. “That can be arranged,” he says cautiously.

She smiles, and he feels his lips threaten to pull up.

“But first,” he says, “we must make sure you can be employed. You must lie to the court.”

Shaking her head, she puts a hand on his. “I won’t tell them that story. It is unfair to you.”

It’s ridiculous how arousing her soft fingers are against his knuckles. He sighs and brings her hand to his lips. “My Lady,” he says. “At court you must lie. It is how you survive.”

“Loki, Loki, Loki!”

Loki’s eyes open to darkness. It takes him a moment to realize he is on Midgard curled up on Beatrice’s couch. He puts his hand to his temples, closes his eyes and sees Anganboða’s face.

“Aggie....” He sighs. Was there ever a time he was so hopelessly romantic? “I could not protect you...” Or even the much more formidable Sigyn.

“Loki, Loki, Loki!”

Loki feels a chill pass through him. Red mist creeps along the edges of his vision. “What do you want?” he whispers.

“I need your help,” the mist says, as usual in Russian.

Loki scowls. “And why would I do that?” The mist swirls around him and the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

“I know what I am,” the child’s voice says.

Loki says nothing, just narrows his eyes.

“Cera,” the child’s voice whispers.

Loki raises an eyebrow at the word. Cera means power.

“And I can be your Cera,” the red mist says. It is so dense around Loki that he has to blink his eyes to see. His whole body hums and his skin starts to turn blue. Scowling, he fights back the illusion concocted by his obviously slipping sanity and grief.

He blinks again. The thing, Cera, is right. Loki’s pulse starts to race. He’s been delving into mortal magics these past few weeks looking for some way to exact revenge. Humans are so close to being able to give him what he needs — yet still decades, maybe centuries away. But Cera...if whatever Cera is, is as powerful as Loki thinks, vengeance may be very close.

“What do you want?” Loki whispers.

“Be my Josef!” Cera wails. “Save me from the God people!”

Loki throws his legs over the edge of the couch. “Where are you?”

He feels an anxiety in the pit of his stomach and knows it isn’t his own. The thing is projecting emotions now. He scowls.

“I don’t know where I am,” Cera wails. “But I know where I’ve been...”

It is way too early in the morning after Loki and Amy’s Apple TV discussion, but Amy is dashing down the stairs. The vet clinic called. They are short handed for the day; they asked her if she can be there in half an hour for a ten hour shift. She tears into the kitchen in her scrubs and finds Loki staring out the window, a frown on his face. She runs to retrieve her change apron from the next room. When she gets back in the kitchen, apron in hand, she says, “What’s wrong?” She doesn’t really have time for the answer, but she remembers him murmuring in his sleep the night before, his fingers twitching, and it makes her physically ache for him.

“I need money,” he says, shooting her a look like a challenge. “And I am forbidden to steal while I am under your roof, so — ”

“You could ask to borrow some,” says Amy.

Loki’s frown vanishes. “Ask?”

“Of course,” says Amy. She heaves a breath. “Look, you lost your family, your friends...your world. Of course you’ll need some help getting back on your feet.” She takes two tens out of the change apron, slips them in the pocket of her scrubs and drops the apron on the table. The change rattles in the pockets. Loki follows it with his eyes.

“Take as much as you need; everything if you need it,” Amy says.

“I don’t think I could....” says Loki. His eyes have gone wide, and he has the expression of a surprised puppy on his face.

His earnestness surprises Amy, and makes warmth bubble in her stomach. “Look, you know where it all is. Take it. Everything. It’s okay. Really.”

Loki comes forward and drops to one knee in front of her. “Amy Lewis, I am in your debt. You have my oath that I will pay you back with interest.”

“Ummm...” she says. “Well, if you think that is necessary,” she says, looking at her change purse. What is it, forty six bucks and some change maybe?

Kissing her hand, he says, “I do think it is necessary.”

Amy swallows as warmth rushes through her limbs at his touch. “Okay...” Loki looks up at her, his face shining with something close to happiness. “I wondered why I heard you in the forest, I wondered how your voice came to be in my head, and how you intersected with my higher purpose. Now I know. My gratitude is eternal, and you have my oath, I will pay it back with interest!”

He kisses her hand again, and Amy’s mouth drops open. “Ummmm....” is all that comes out. She feels her face go red, and then Loki looks up at her like he might actually kiss her — really kiss her. That is appealing and scary. “I have to go,” she squeaks and runs out the kitchen door.

She nearly crashes into Beatrice on the back walk. Clutching a watering can to her chest, Beatrice says, “Did you talk to Loki this morning?”

Amy blinks. “Yes.”

Beatrice’s eyes narrow. “I heard him talking in Russian.” Beatrice learned Russian as a child in the Ukraine — under less than ideal circumstances.

Amy’s bites her lip. She has to run, but she doesn’t like to rush away from her grandmother. Not when she’s talking about her life before.

Shaking her head, Beatrice says, “Something about Cera and Tunguska.”

“What?” says Amy.

“Cera is power, dear,” says Beatrice. She purses her lips. “I think Tunguska is a place.” And then Beatrice starts walking towards the front yard. “Well, I better go. My impatiens are thirsty.”

Amy watches her go, her stomach tying in a knot. But then she shakes her head and makes a beeline for the bus stop, waving to the little Mexican man on a bicycle ice cream cart that always seems to be around their house as she goes.

Later that evening when she comes home, her change apron is lying on the table. She peeks in. Loki has left her with $20. A note is on top, written in an oddly near perfect hand.

Miss Lewis,

I must leave for a while and do not know when I shall return; but rest assured, I never forget my oaths. We never discussed terms of my loan, I hope 33% per annum will be sufficient.

Again my gratitude is eternal,

Loki

Amy’s heart falls at the “leave for a while” bit. She rubs her hand over the note and sighs.

After a few minutes she picks up the change apron and shakes her head. All that gratitude for what could have only been about $26 bucks?

About a week and a half later, Amy is walking up the sidewalk to her grandmother's house. It's dusk, and the windows are all dark. The day was hot and muggy, and the evening isn't much better, but she sees Beatrice out watering her flowers in the relatively cool air. Her grandmother nods without smiling, and goes around the back of the house, watering can in hand. Her grandmother's expression, the darkness of the house, she doesn't have to ask; Loki is still gone. She bites her lip, and the magic is gone with him. Bowing her head, she trudges up the steps.

Going in the door, she picks up the mail that's been thrust through the mail slot. She rifles through the envelopes, purposefully not looking at the couch where Loki slept.

Her eyebrows rise. There is a letter from her school. Opening it, she finds that the check she sent in to pay for her miscellaneous school fees has bounced. Shaking her head, she goes to her laptop to check her bank account. She's never bounced a check in her life; there must be a mistake.

A few minutes later, Amy's sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the computer screen, face in her hands. There is only $1 left in her checking. She feels cold, even though the room is warm. Realization hits hard and fast. Loki stole from her, after giving her his precious oath. And he hasn't come back, and she won't be able to go back to school.

She swallows and scoots back from the table feeling sick.

How will she get the money? Should she borrow it from Beatrice? Is it too late to apply for financial aid?

She looks up and her gaze goes to the kitchen window. She's vaguely aware of Beatrice standing up and lowering the the watering can in her hands. Amy closes her eyes, remembering Loki's words, “I will pay you back with interest.” Maybe it's all been a mistake? He'll come back, it will all be okay... But it won't be, because she needs the money now.

Outside, Beatrice must see Amy, and her face must look stricken, because Beatrice comes running. And then Beatrice just sort of isn’t there.

Amy bolts from her seat, the sickening feeling in her stomach instantly getting worse. She runs through the door and finds Beatrice on the ground at the bottom of the stoop, her leg at an odd angle. Her head is tilted back and her eyes are closed. Blood is on the sidewalk.

“Grandma!” Amy screams. Sinking to her knees, she pulls out her phone, and dials 911. As the phone rings, she takes her grandmothers hand in her own. She looks down at the delicate veins visible through her grandmother's aged skin. Beatrice does not stir. Amy swallows, her eyes hot. Now everything is gone.

A few hours later she is at the hospital, sitting in the waiting room in a daze. On the periphery of her vision she sees several men approaching.

“Miss Lewis?” Amy turns her head, and her brow furrows. There is the older man with the too-square jaw in the too conservative gray suit who she saw in her neighborhood eating ice cream. He’s still in a gray suit. Next to him are two other men. The first looks Mexican, and vaguely familiar. She blinks. It’s the ice cream vendor, but now he’s in a suit, too.

The last man is young. He’s wearing a suit too, but he looks a little more rumpled. Looking down at a little device of some kind, he says, “She’s clean.”

Holding up a badge, the older guy says, “Miss Lewis, I’m agent Merryl and these are agents Hernandez and Ericson. We’re from the FBI. We need to bring you in for questioning.”

“Am I in trouble?” Amy stammers.

The old guy just tilts his head.

Monsters, Part II of I Bring the Fire, is available at your favorite online retailer.

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Xoe: Vampires and Werewolves and Demons, Oh My! (Book One of the Xoe Meyers Young Adult Fantasy/Horror Series)

Sara C. Roethe

Xoe Meyers had a normal life. So she was stuck going to high school, and she only had a few friends to call her own. She liked her normal life. Things were about to change though, because there's a new guy in her small town, and he is anything but normal. Before Xoe can say, "Werewolf," her best friend's life is in peril, and Xoe's world is turned upside-down. Then, of course, there's Jason. Xoe doesn't trust him as far as she can throw him, and given that he's a vampire, she'd have to be able to catch him first.

Chapter 1

Another year at Shelby Heights High School in not-so-sunny Shelby, Oregon . . . oh joy. Shelby isn’t exactly small, but it’s definitely not a city. Since I’m not really a “people-person,” the size is one of the few things I like about Shelby. That, and the woods that surround it. Tall pine trees are never out of reach. I’ve always been outdoorsy. My dad took off shortly after I was conceived and my mom raised me on camping trips and hiking. My name’s Alexondra Meyers by the way. I know, it's pretty horrible. Mercifully, the few friends I have call me Xoe, but I digress.

Back to the matter at hand . . . junior year. I am not a fan of high school, or the teenage experience in general. I don’t consider myself antisocial, though most of my fellow students do. I just don’t like to waste my time with pretense. Why bother being nice to someone I secretly dislike? I’d rather have a few real friends than a bunch of fake ones.

I trudged towards the towering, gray brick monstrosity that was Shelby High. Where there wasn’t sidewalk or asphalt, the ground was covered with lush, green grass. Shelby is always green and moist, which is nice, except for the mold and mildew that tend to grow if you’re not careful. One time my mom got a new car windshield that wasn’t sealed properly. Within weeks the insides of her windows had grown algae.

I forced my sneakered feet to continue forward towards the school, focusing on the sound of my footfalls, one foot in front of the other. As I approached the dreaded double-doors, my best friend Lucy joined me. We usually walked to school together, but Lucy always got to school early on the first day. She liked to “prepare” her locker and map out all of her classes beforehand. She’s a bit of an over achiever, to put it mildly.

Lucy and I pushed through the double doors together. I held onto my door long enough for a girl with a mass of brown curls to grab it and keep it open for herself. See? Not antisocial. I glanced down at the top of Lucy’s dark-haired head as we made our way down the hall. Lucy and I are complete opposites when it comes to appearance. I’m a giant compared to her. Well, not really a giant, but her petite 5’1” frame makes my willowy 5’8” seem excessive. Her long, dark, glossy hair is in complete contrast to my shaggy, shoulder-length blonde mop. Lucy’s skin is deep olive all year round, whereas mine is pale, and at times, a little pasty, what my mom kindly refers to as porcelain. Did I say that I’m a little jealous of Lucy? Ah well, I love her anyhow.

Lucy had chosen dark wash jeans with a pale blue button-up blouse for her first day attire. The tips of conservative brown shoes peeked out from the bottom of her jeans. Lucy’s sense of style errs on the side of caution. Her pin-straight hair was parted down the middle to cascade nearly to her waist, framing her fine-boned, delicate face, void of make-up.

Lucy’s almond-shaped brown eyes peered up into my wide green ones, waiting for my whining to begin. She’d had to deal with my complaining on the first day of school every year since 2nd grade. We’d become friends when my mom and I first moved to Shelby, as Lucy’s family lives just down the street from us. Alone and friendless, I had gone exploring in the woods behind my house, against my mom’s strict commands, and Lucy was doing the same. We both had a stubborn independent streak that constantly ordered us to disobey our parents. How could we not be friends?

To add to my first-day misery, the sky above Shelby was an angry gray, promising rain. Black clouds rolled ominously in the distance. So what else was new? I hate the rain. I’m not like a girly-girl that’s afraid to get my hair wet or anything, but I’m at my happiest when I’m outdoors, and it’s not terribly pleasant to be outside when it’s raining. So, despite my pallid appearance, I much prefer the sun. I took a deep breath of ozone-scented air. Let the whining commence.

“It’s not that bad,” Lucy consoled, taking in my grimace. “We have three classes together and you have two more with Allison. That leaves only one class to trudge through without us.”

Allison was another on my short list of friends, though I'd only known her since freshman year. Lucy and I had met her during our first lunch at Shelby High. Allison's family was new to Shelby, so she didn't know anyone. Rather than taking a seat at one of the loner tables, she had marched right up to where Lucy and I sat, slammed her tray down, and began chatting away like she had known us for years. I was skeptical of Allison's blunt style of friendship at first, but she turned out to be pretty cool. Plus, she adds a little bit of girliness to our small group.

“A small consolation at best,” I replied sullenly as I searched for my new locker.

Lucy’s eternally sunny attitude could be quite vexing at times. Though if she were a pessimist like me, the complaining would never cease. Lucy’s glass half full philosophy made my glass look empty, dirty, and cracked.

Lucy frowned in response to my reply. “I’ll see you in French.”

I managed a small smile, despite my misery. “See you then.”

We parted ways as the first bell rang, and ran towards our respective classes to the sound of clanging lockers and hurried see you laters. I still hadn't found my locker, but it would have to wait.

I trailed my fingertips across the aged walls as I walked, in no real hurry to get to class. Shelby High is old, and I mean old. I could feel the bumps of countless layers of peeling paint beneath my fingers. The newest layer of paint was a pale yellow that was trying very hard to be cheery, but fell a little short. I went past a row of faded green lockers, then took a left into my classroom.

My first class of the day, which I had with Allison, was biology. I scowled as I entered the classroom. It was simply too early in the morning for science. The room boasted lab tables instead of desks, making the room feel even more small and cramped than normal classrooms. The buzzing of the fluorescent lights mixed with the din of murmured voices made me feel instantly claustrophobic. The tables were set up to seat two people, with a little sink and electrical outlets in the middle. I saw Allison waving me over. She had already saved me a seat at her table in the back of the class.

I liked the back of the class. I don’t enjoy the feeling of people’s eyes on the back of my head, and teachers usually tend to call on people in the front of the class, ignoring the back. It’s not that I don’t understand the questions, I just prefer not to answer them. Allison was more than willing to sit in the back of the class with me.

Lucy was a whole other story. I always tried to lure her to the back, the Dark Side as far as she was concerned, but we ended up front and center every time, where she could be sure to be called on when she raised her hand to answer every question. But hey, she diverts the teacher’s attention from me, so I can't really complain.

As I approached, Allison looked me up and down, ending with a look of distaste at my ratty old sneakers. “Xoe, we are going shopping this weekend, no arguments.”

Smirking, I looked down at my dark blue, vintage Doors tee and holey jeans, then at her blue sundress with strappy dark brown sandals, artfully applied makeup, and perfectly styled, long, honey blonde hair. Unlike me, Allison embraces the blonde; she is the master of the hair flip. I’ve never felt like a “blonde”, but I’m too pale to pull off much of anything else, so I just try to ignore it.

At 5’6” Allison almost reaches my height, though she has a few more curves than I do. She’s not pudgy, just not willowy like me. She was still staring at my outfit with a perfectly arched eyebrow raised. Maybe Allison had a point. Maybe.

“Sure Allison, whatever you say.” I was keeping the sneakers no matter what clothes she tried to put me in. They were my tried and true favorites, perfectly broken in and shaped to my feet. They had started life a solid black, but had faded to what I considered a rather pleasant gray. Allison took one last look at me, pity in her blue eyes, then turned toward the front of the class.

A throat cleared, bringing my attention to where our teacher, Mrs. Sanders, was waiting. Mrs. Sanders taught both biology and microbiology at Shelby Heights. She was a short, dare I say dumpy kind of woman with a horribly monotonous voice. She stared at me in mock exasperation until I slumped dejectedly into my hard plastic chair.

Mrs. Sanders went on to drone for an hour about her syllabus and all that other nonsense, with occasional pauses to straighten her lumpy pink cardigan. I drew on the cover of my notebook and tried to ignore her. By the time class was near its end, my notebook was covered with a mish-mash of nonsensical doodles. Impatient for the bell to ring, I shoved my books back into my old green backpack that I use every year, throwing my pencil in haphazardly on top. I watched the clock, counting away the final seconds of class.

Finally the bell rang and it was off to my next two hours of torture: French and World History. Even though I’d be with Lucy, I knew time would creep by at an alarmingly slow rate. I’m horrible at French; the pronunciation is simply beyond me, and World History is, well, World History. When I entered my French class, Lucy was already sitting front and center. Her new navy blue backpack was sitting in the seat next to her, waiting for me to take its place. After what seemed like days of words I didn’t understand, followed by a lengthy discussion on “the cradle of civilization”, it was finally time for lunch—my brief reprieve from the monotony.

The cafeteria is one of the few spacious areas in Shelby High. The brightly lit fluorescents are diffused by the copious amount of natural light that pours in from several large single-pane windows mounted in two of the walls. My little group always claimed the same table at the beginning of each year. It was in a corner, so we only had to deal with two other tables near us, rather than four. We were also stationed directly below one of the aforementioned windows. Said window looked out over the courtyard area of Shelby High, which is basically just a large square of grass with several picnic tables stationed in the center. On rare sunny days we would eat outside.

Occasionally other acquaintances would sit with us, but most of the time it was just us three, and that was the way we liked it. Well, I liked it at least. Allison and Lucy are slightly more social than I am.

Lucy and I waited at our usual table with our bagged lunches while Allison bought hers. Allison’s willingness to eat school lunches made me seriously question her sanity. Let’s just say they weren’t always identifiable as food products. Her justification was that she didn’t do lunchboxes.

Bored, I scanned the lunch line for Allison, but was interrupted by the rude stare of a guy near the end of the line. He stood watching me with an empty tray in his hands. His short, near-black hair was styled to perfection. His pale blue eyes, emphasized by a deep tan, stared intensely at me. His stood at around 6’3” with a hulking frame that strained against a plain gray tee-shirt, topped by a simple brown leather jacket. As I observed him he continued to stare, pursing his full lips that I imagined would be stuck in a perpetual pout. Besides the lips, the rest of his face was the epitome of masculinity: high, sculpted cheek bones, defined jaw-line, and a strong nose.

His heavy gaze sent a chill up my spine. What a creep. His husky-like eyes left me to land on Lucy, who he stared at just as intensely. I looked away with a scowl to finish scanning the lunch line for Allison. She had already paid and was walking towards our table.

“Oh come on,” Allison said as she approached and noticed my scowl, “your day could not have been that bad.”

Turning my scowl into a grin, I taunted, “Don’t worry Al, it’ll get better. We have gym next.”

Allison’s mocking smile faded. She whipped her hair over her shoulder and sat down next to me as she placed her lunch tray on the table. “Gee, Xoe, thanks for reminding me, and don’t call me Al,”

Gym was the bane of Allison’s existence, as was my habit of calling her Al. She wasn’t into sports of any kind, though she would probably be pretty good at them if she actually tried. Contrary to her tastes as a seemingly traditional girly girl, she was one of the toughest people I had ever met and would probably kick butt at some of the more aggressive sports. Don’t judge a book by its cover and all that.

Unlike Allison, I actually liked gym. With my height and a fair amount of coordination, I'm decent at sports, and gym doesn’t require hours of boring teaching. I have trouble sitting still for too long.

Allison turned to Lucy. “So Xoe and I are going shopping this weekend. You in?”

Lucy turned a speculative eye to me. “Xoe? Shopping? My how the times have changed.”

I pursed my lips into an exaggerated pout. “I need new socks.”

Lucy laughed. “Ah, the truth comes out.” Then turning back to Allison added, “I’ll come. I need a new toothbrush.”

Allison crossed her arms and glared back and forth between us. “You're both updating your wardrobes if it’s the last thing I do. I feel less fashionable just sitting near you.”

Lucy rolled her eyes at me as Allison changed the subject to how her day had been so far. As Allison prattled on, I looked over my shoulder to scan the cafeteria for the creepy staring guy. I spotted him almost immediately sitting with Max, a J.V. soccer player, and yep, still staring.

Noticing my distraction, Allison took a break from her monologue to turn and follow my gaze. “Who’s the hunk?”

“That creep has been staring over here since we sat down,” I grumbled.

Allison smirked. “He's hot, maybe you should go teach him some manners.”

I raised an eyebrow at her comment. “I will never understand your taste in men. He looks like an overly-primped jerk.”

Allison raised both of her eyebrows in surprise. “My Xoe, you sure are feeling judgy today. That's supposed to be my job.” She rose from her seat and looked over at Creepy Guy.

Realizing her intent, I reached for her arm and tried to pull her back down. “No way Al,” I chided. “Don't even think about it.”

Ignoring my comment, Allison pulled her arm away from me. With a mischievous smile, she hustled away from our table, then waltzed right up to Creepy Guy. She sat down on the other side of his table, facing him and Max companionably.

I shook my head and turned back to Lucy. We exchanged similar looks of resignation.

I sighed loudly. “And so it begins.”

Lucy began to reply, then quickly turned her gaze down to the tabletop. I turned partially around to see what had interrupted Lucy. Allison was walking towards us, leading Creepy Guy by the hand. They came to stand awkwardly at the head of our table.

Allison twined her arm through Creepy Guy’s, which remained limp. “Girls, this is Dan. He’s new here.” Allison nodded in Lucy’s direction. “That’s Lucy,” then nodded to me, “and that lovely example of radiant good cheer is Xoe.”

Allison released Dan’s arm and took a seat next to Lucy, leaving only one option for Dan. I had a moment to glare at Allison for her cruelty, then Dan sat next to me with a quizzical look, like he didn’t know what I was. I quickly turned away and found my gaze wandering back to Max, who was now sitting alone, looking confused. He stood and walked straight out of the cafeteria like a sleepwalker. I stared for a moment at the now empty doorway, wondering what had gotten into Max to make him act so strangely.

When I turned back to our table, I noticed that Dan's gaze had drifted to Lucy. The look he gave her was far different from the confused one he had given me. He looked at Lucy like she was a piece of meat, and he wasn't even trying to hide it. I expected Lucy to be squirming under the pressure of Dan’s gaze, but instead she looked back at him with a coy smile. My mouth fell open in surprise. I’d never seen Lucy flirt before, and I couldn't believe she'd chosen that moment to start. Dan didn’t really seem her type, though I didn’t actually know what her type was. Lucy, like me, didn’t date a lot.

Allison, on the other hand, I was used to. She flirted up dates on a regular basis, and had no problem talking to guys. She was born to flirt, and flirt she did.

Before I knew what had happened, Allison’s flirting magic had involved Dan in our shopping plans for the weekend, which had been altered to movie plans . . . gre-at. I would have rather gone shopping, and that was saying a lot. Dan had not made a good first impression on me.

My own thoughts began to tune out the conversation as Allison continued to quiz Dan on where he was from and any other inane fact she could think of. I felt uncomfortable sitting next to Dan. I could feel waves of creepiness emanating from him. Ok, so maybe “waves of creepiness” was a little dramatic, but there was something very strange about him. He made my skin crawl. He shifted so that his arm brushed mine, and struggled not to rub the goose bumps that instantly erupted on my arms.

I scooted away and watched him have a seemingly normal conversation with Lucy and Allison, while I tried to pinpoint just what had me on edge. Listening to him talk, he seemed perfectly normal, but his face shattered the illusion. His gaze never left Lucy, even when he was answering one of Allison’s questions. It was like he was trying to memorize every small detail of her face. It was downright unnerving.

The bell rang, startling me. I stood abruptly and gathered up my uneaten lunch, grateful for once that lunch was over. Ignoring Dan, I said by to Lucy, then grabbed onto Allison, who was entering Dan’s phone number into her cell. As soon as she finished, I hurried her away from our table, leaving Dan and Lucy behind. I could feel the electric pressure of Dan’s eyes on us the entire way.

“Isn’t he gorgeous?” Allison swooned once we were out in the hall and clear from Dan’s gaze.

“What?” I questioned, lost in thought.

“Dan! He's gorgeous, or weren’t you at the same lunch table as me?”

Allison liked Creepy Guy? Was she blind? The way he looked at Lucy had been pretty hard to miss. “Are you kidding? He’s a total weirdo. Did you see the way he watched Lucy? Why did you have to invite him this weekend?”

“Oh Xoe,” Allison responded, “ever the pessimist. Just give him a chance. It’ll be fun.” She paused for a moment and squinted her eyes. “And yes, I noticed the staring, but it doesn’t mean he likes Lucy. It could mean anything.”

“I didn’t mean it in that way,” I clarified. “It was eerie. He hardly blinked. He looked at her like his favorite possession.”

Allison frowned as a girl trying to get to her locker bumped into her. “Maybe he was just nervous.”

“That was so not nerves,” I argued. “That was stalker potential.”

“You’re being paranoid Xoe, he just didn’t know how to act. It’s his first day at a new school. I’m sure he’s fine,” Allison paused. “You don’t have to come on Saturday if you don’t want to.”

I set my jaw stubbornly. “No, I’ll be there.”

I was coming all right. I’d be damned if that creep was going to cause me to stay home on a Saturday, even if I had to sit through an entire chick-flick. Plus, how else was I supposed to keep an eye on him? Now if only the feeling of doom in my gut would agree with me.

We made our way to the gymnasium, then headed straight to the girl’s locker room to change. The gym somehow seemed even older than the rest of the school. You could feel the years of tears and sweat that had gone into the place, giving it an almost electric buzz. The walls had received the same lovely paint treatment as the rest of the building, and the gloss on the hardwood floors had been all but worn away by the thousands of feet that passed before us.

Our school was small enough that our gym classes were co-ed. It had been an issue with some of the parents, as apparently it was taboo for boys and girls to see each other in gym clothes, but common sense won out. I would never understand parents. The co-ed classes were fine by me. The more competition, the better.

I changed my clothes quickly, grateful that we were allowed to wear our own sweats. The uniforms the school supplied were reused each year and came in our school colors of yellow and green. Yuck. How yellow and green went with our school mascot, an eagle, was beyond me. I let my dingy gray tee shirt fall over my plain black sweats and tied my hair in as much of a ponytail as its length would allow. I turned to Allison as I sat to tye my Nike tennis shoes to see her dressed in pink shorts and a fitted white t-shirt, with a look of grim determination on her face. To Allison, preparing for gym class was akin to preparing for battle. We walked back into the gym as Mr. “Call me Mitch” Walters was announcing that today was volleyball day. Most excellent.

A boy named Brian Fletcher was chosen as one of the team captains. Brian and I go way back. He’s my next-door neighbor and has been since I moved to Shelby. I’ve been friends with him about as long as I have Lucy. Brian’s smiling brown eyes landed on me and he chose me for his first teammate. I jogged up to stand beside him and ruffled his curly brown hair with my hand. Brian didn’t simply choose me because I’m his friend, I also kick butt at volleyball, and he’s almost as competitive as I am. To say we like to win is a vast understatement.

Allison was usually chosen last for team sports. She tends to close her eyes and flinch any time a ball comes near her. When the choices were down to Allison and a small nerdy boy I didn’t know, Brian finally put Allison on our team. She shuffled up to stand by me as Brian ran to the ball rack to grab a few volleyballs.

Play began and I was up to serve first. I hit the ball overhand, aiming right at the small nerdy boy. He ducked out of the way, not even trying to hit the ball. Point one for us. So maybe I played a little dirty. So what? My teammates never complained.

After we started to play, time went by in a flash, and we totally crushed the opposition. Soon we only had 10 minutes of class left, not enough to play another game, so “Mitch” told us just to get changed and hang out until the bell rang.

No one takes showers after gym class. It may seem kind of gross, but if you could see the rusty, grime-infested showers in the Shelby High locker rooms, you would no doubt understand. The consensus was that you would come out dirtier than when you went in.

Having changed back out of our gym clothes, Al and I went to stand near the door to talk to Brian. We had barely reached Brian when Cindy Miller swayed up to us. As gym was the bane of Allison’s existence, so Cindy Miller was the bane of mine. Cindy was every guy’s dream and my worst nightmare, rolled up into a slim brunette package.

Completely ignoring Al and me, Cindy walked up to Brian. “Nice game,” she purred. “we should practice together sometime.” As she spoke, Cindy casually brushed imaginary lint off Brian’s shoulder.

Brian looked at me pleadingly, trapped. I tapped Cindy on the shoulder, turning her to me with a look of distaste in her large brown eyes.

“What?” She asked with as much snark as a single word could possibly possess, snarling her glossed lips.

“Oh, I thought you were asking Brian for some playing tips,” I replied sweetly. “I was going to tell you to keep your head down; it’s rather large and blocks your teammates’ view of the ball, though the same tip could apply to your butt as well.” I gave her my most innocent smile.

Catty, I know, but Cindy had it coming. Last year she spread a rumor that Allison was bulimic, and purposefully dumped a soda onto me during lunch. So me-ow. Cindy gave me a murderous look and walked away as Allison burst into laughter.

Brian put his arm around my shoulders companionably. “That’s why we love you Xoe.”

The bell rang and Brian gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, then practically skipped away to his locker like an excited puppy. He had English with me next. Now don’t get the wrong idea, Brian and I were strictly friends. We had more of a brother-sister relationship. People talk, as people tend to do, but we’d never crossed that friendship line. I said goodbye to Allison, then headed to class.

I got to my English class and snagged a seat near the back, though the very back row was already full, so I had to settle for the second to last row. I was patiently waiting for the “excitement” to begin when, lo and behold, Creepy Guy, I mean Dan, walked in. He walked right toward me, then took the open seat to my right. I froze, like a mouse trying not to draw the cat’s attention. He glanced at me, as if to say something. With my heart pounding in my ears, I ignored him, keeping my eyes toward the front of the class.

Brian came rushing in and took the seat on my other side, oblivious to my predicament. As class began, I noticed Dan sneaking more puzzled glances at me. Squinting his pale blue eyes, he would tilt his head slightly, almost like a dog. My wardrobe might have been a little out of style, but was it really that puzzling? Did I have something on my face? The weird looks were starting to get to me.

Brian passed me a note while the teacher’s back was turned. I opened it and it read, “What’s with that guy?”

I gave Brian an exasperated look and shrugged, relieved that it wasn’t just in my head. I turned my eyes to the front of class and prepared to wait out the rest of the torturous hour.

When the bell finally rang, Dan reached as if to grab my arm, with a strange look in his eyes. I quickly turned away from him to Brian and practically dragged Brian out of class. The look in Dan’s eyes as he reached for me had been completely alien, like he had dropped his already poor mask of normalcy. Whatever lurked behind those icy blue eyes wasn’t something I knew how to deal with.

Brian and I stopped in the hall, safely away from the classroom, to discuss the creepiness of Dan. With a nervous look over my shoulder, I dragged Brian a little farther away from the classroom just as Dan exited and walked past us. “Allison invited him to the movies with us this weekend,” I whispered, making it clear by my tone that the movie date a bad thing.

Brian frowned. “That does not seem like a good idea. I’ve got a bad feeling about him.”

At least someone agreed with me. “You know how Allison is . . . ”

Brian smiled ruefully. “Yeah, I guess you didn’t have much choice. I could come with you, just in case.”

“Really?” Maybe things were looking up. “We’re going Saturday evening.”

He cringed. “Oh. Sorry Xoe . . . football practice.” He shrugged and bit his lip. “I could cancel . . . ”

“No, no it’s okay,” I assured. “I’m sure we’re just being paranoid.”

Brian nodded slowly, still hesitating. He nodded, as if making up his mind. “C’mon, I’ll walk you to class.”

Brian and I walked in silence the short distance to my geometry class. He stopped me before I walked into the classroom. “If you change your mind and want me to come, just call.”

I had begun to say thanks just as Allison whipped by us, grabbing my arm and dragging me into the classroom. I waved to Brian as he turned to go to his next class.

Allison and I snagged seats in the back just as the bell rang. She turned to me and opened her mouth as if to speak, but the teacher began her lecture, sealing any chance Allison had to talk. Assuming she was probably going to talk about Dan, I didn’t really mind. Allison crossed her arms and slouched down in her chair, seeming more than a little sullen. I looked out the window to our green surroundings and daydreamed for the rest of class, glad that I was no longer in the same room as Dan.

After geometry, Allison had to rush to her yearbook committee meeting and I went to find Lucy. Lucy was already waiting outside the school entrance when I arrived, just like she always was. We started the short walk to our houses in silence, passing through the parking lot in front of the school, then veering away from the road to cut through the woods. We could get home following the road, but taking the trail through the woods cut about ten minutes off of our journey.

Before Allison got her car, she would insist on the longer route of paved road whenever she came home with us, as Allison isn’t big on the woods. They get her shoes dirty.

We walked along companionably, shaded by the pine trees that bordered either side of the partially grown-over trail. A narrow strip of deep brown soil was all that was left to show us the way, though we had walked it so many times we didn’t need the trail to lead us home. I looked up through the trees to find that the sky had actually cleared up some. The warm sunlight leaked down to hit my face as we walked. I smiled and took a deep breath of moist, mossy air, then looked back down at the ground just in time to notice and hop over a puddle of water on the trail.

I continued walking, paying more attention to where I was stepping, thinking that something felt slightly off. It then occurred to me that the woods were overly quiet. The usual ambiance of birdsong, and the scuffling of small creatures were completely absent. I stopped and scanned the area. Nothing moved. Lucy stopped a few feet ahead of me and looked back questioningly.

All of the tiny hairs on my body stood on end, as if my skin were charged with electricity. Lucy slowly turned to fully face me as her eyes widened with realization. She had noticed the eerie quiet as well. I nodded to the trail, signaling that we should continue walking. We started off again without a word, trying to step as lightly as possible. Instinct told me to stay as quiet as I could, like a rabbit trying to avoid a predator.

Suddenly a blue jay flew overhead, screeching out warning to all of the seemingly absent birds, then flew on away from us, leaving a weighted silence behind. My palms began to sweat. We walked for several minutes with only the sound of our footfalls and nervous breathing to let us know we hadn’t gone deaf.

Lucy began darting nervous glances at me. I stopped again and gave her my full attention. She mouthed, “Should we run?”

I began to shake my head in reply, when suddenly there was a loud crack to the left and behind us, as if someone had stepped on a branch. We both froze, neither of us so much as breathing. Lucy kept her eyes on me, at a loss on what to do. I scanned the woods around us, trying to spot the origin of the cracking sound, but the pine trees and other vegetation were too dense for us to see very far. All was still and silent again, but my instincts were screaming in my head for me to flee. I looked back to Lucy, nodded, and we broke into a full-blown run.

Chapter 2

We ran through the woods, the trees a blur in my peripheral vision. After a short time I had to slow my pace for Lucy’s shorter legs to catch up. Adrenaline pounded in my head like a second heartbeat. Lucy pushed harder and began to pick up speed, but then tripped and went flying to land in a heap on the moist soil. I skidded to a halt and crouched to grip her upper arms, dragging her to her feet. She brushed herself off and we continued running down the trail until the vegetation became less dense. We were almost safe. We slowed to a trot as we reached our street, then stopped in front of Lucy's house, both of us panting from the effort.

Lucy took a moment to catch her breath, then said, “Ok, that was weird, you felt it too right? Like someone watching us the whole way . . . the same someone who stepped on the branch.”

I nodded my head and looked behind us, searching for a sign of our anonymous stalker. “What do you think it was?”

Lucy started laughing.

I whipped my head back around to regard her. “What could you possibly be laughing about?” I asked, exasperated.

“Never mind, we’re being ridiculous, it was probably just a deer or something.” Despite her laughter, she didn’t sound very sure. She looked away from my skeptical glare and began examining her palm, which had been scraped when she fell.

I continued to stare at Lucy, until she finally raised her eyes back up to meet mine. She flinched slightly at my stubborn look. “C’mon Xoe, do you really think that we were being followed?”

I crossed my arms. “Yes, yes I do.”

Lucy sighed. “By what? No one’s seen any bears or mountain lions this close to town in years.”

It was my turn to look down. “Maybe it wasn’t a bear.”

Lucy laughed again. “Who would want to follow us, and for what reason?”

I shrugged and met Lucy’s eyes again, not able to brush the situation off as easily as she was. “I don’t know, but we were followed.”

Lucy put her hands on her hips. “Okay, say we were, what do we do about it now?”

I sighed. She had a point. “Nothing I guess.” I managed a weak smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow okay?”

With an uneasy smile and a wave goodbye, Lucy veered toward her house. I watched her go inside, and then continued farther down the street.

My house wasn't far, and soon came into view. As I reached my door, I sensed movement in the woods to my right, but my eyes couldn’t pick up anything out of the ordinary. That cracking sound in the woods had not been a deer. I waited, pretending to examine the purple flowers that cascaded over the edges of the planter that rested to the side of my front door. Everything was still.

I unlocked my front door and entered my house, still feeling a little shaky. As soon as the door was shut, the tension in the middle of my back eased. I walked through the kitchen to the large dining room window and looked outside for . . . what? Feeling silly, I shook my head and went upstairs to my room.

Shutting the door behind me, I moved to the back left corner of my room that my queen size bed dominates. I sat on my forest green comforter and leaned against my mismatched yellow and blue pillows, feeling exhausted. I looked around my messy room, feeling numb, but also embarrassed for being so paranoid.

Like my mismatched bedding, there is no rhyme or reason to the decoration of my room. Besides my bed, the rest of my room is taken up by my desk, my clothes dresser, and my bookshelf. The empty wall space above my desk and dresser is consumed by posters from old horror movies. I’m a bit of a horror movie aficionado. I don’t discriminate between old, new, hit movies, B movies, or anything in between.

My ancient, at least it seemed ancient to me, stereo system rested on the floor beside my desk. At any given time, my room is strewn with the cases of whatever CDs I’m obsessed with at the moment, plus a few books. On the other side of my desk is the door to my bathroom. That is one of the few positives about my room, my own private bathroom, plus the large picture window in the adjacent wall.

I reached down to where I had dropped my stuff and pulled my English book out of my backpack, then stood to set it on my desk. First day and we already had an assignment. It was just plain cruel. If I didn’t do the homework now, I would procrastinate until the day it was due. My goal was to do a little better in school this year. The classes weren’t really hard for me; it was more a lack of motivation that kept my grades down. There were just so many book that I wanted to read, and none of my school books made the cut.

I sat down at my desk, my mind still preoccupied, trying to come up with an explanation for the eerie experience in the woods. No matter how I tried to justify what had happened, I kept coming back to the same conclusion: someone or something had followed us, and he/she/it chased us when we ran. The thought briefly crossed my mind that predators will chase you if you run. It’s instinct. They simply can’t help themselves. I suppressed a shiver and stared at my English book for several minutes, then got up and went downstairs. Tomorrow, I’d do it tomorrow. Ri-ight.

My mom was getting home from work just as I reached the living room. She's a field biologist. I’m not sure exactly what she does, something to do with birds. I tried having her explain it to me once, but when she got to the part about collecting dead bird bodies to study, I decided I was okay with not really knowing what my mom does for work. Her job takes her out of town a lot, which can be good and bad. I miss her, but having free range of the house does not suck.

My mom noticed me and gave me a warm smile that reached her chocolate brown eyes. I get none of my looks from my mom. Her dark, wavy hair and tan skin are in sharp contrast to my blonde paleness. I probably look more like my dad, but I never knew him, so I have no proof.

My mom’s hands were full with what looked like plastic bags of Chinese take-out. My stomach growled as the smell of greasy food hit me. We don’t have the healthiest eating habits, not that I’m complaining. Our main dinners of choice are pizza and Chinese food. If we get bored we occasionally throw in some Indian or, gasp, have a home-cooked meal. On the rare occasion that we decided on home cooking, the task always fell to me. My mom and cooking apparatus of any kind just do not mix.

My mom took the bags to the rectangular, pale wood dining table, while I grabbed us each a glass of water. See, we’re not that unhealthy, water is good for you. Plus there are vegetables in the Chinese food. Don’t judge us.

My mom pulled out a matching pale wood chair, smoothing the skirt of her burgundy cotton dress as she sat. I followed suit, then dug in the bags for the included wooden chopsticks, handing a set to my mom. We took the little cartons of food out of the bags and placed them between us on two woven yellow placemats. My mom watched me with curiosity in her dark eyes.

“How was your first day?” she asked casually.

“Eh,” I replied, “same old, same old. I’ve got three classes with Allison, two with Lucy, and one with Brian, so that’s good.”

My mom smiled. “Any cute boys?”

Ugh. I sighed, “Must you always ask that question?”

My mom nodded enthusiastically. “Of course I do. It’s a mom’s duty.”

I ignored her question and focused on my food.

“Any interesting classes this year?” she asked, taking my silence for the dismissal that it was.

“C’mon mom, are there ever any interesting classes in high school?”

She laughed her usual, full-throated laugh. “It could happen.”

“When hell freezes over,” I replied with a smile. “How was your day?”

“Same old, same old,” she mimicked. “I may have to stay a few days in Washington next week.”

I nodded and turned my attention back to my food. My mom prodded me a few more times about boys as we ate, but I unfortunately had to leave her disappointed. Once we finished eating, I headed back upstairs to my room.

As I walked in I glanced at my English book sitting forlornly on my desk. I thought about trying to do my homework again for roughly two seconds, then grabbed the worn novel off the top of my dresser. I spent the rest of the evening re-reading Galapagos, by Kurt Vonnegut, until I was tired enough to go to sleep.

Chapter 3

There was fire all around me. Everywhere I looked was a solid wall of flame; bright blue at the bottom fading into orange, then pale yellow. I should have been scared, or at least passing out from lack of oxygen, but I was somehow calm. I looked back at the wall of flame. There were faces in the fire. Faces from my past and present, and some I didn’t know. I saw my mom, Allison, and Lucy amongst them. The faces were all watching me, waiting to see what I would do. A large wolf appeared in the flames, its shaggy gray-black fur immune to the fire. He watched me with his head cocked.

I woke up drenched in sweat. I wiped my brow with the back of my hand as I recalled my dream. I’d had dreams of fire a lot in the past few months, some involving friends and family, and some where I was all alone. The wolf was new though. All of the dreams involved fire. The fire never burned me; I couldn’t even feel the heat. I had no idea what they meant, or if they meant anything at all. The eerie part was that I always woke up with a fever that subsided after an hour or so.

I struggled out of the tangled mess I had made of my sheets and padded into my purple-themed bathroom, turning on the water in my marble tiled shower as soon as I entered so it would have time to heat up. Once the water began to steam, I added a little bit of cold to the mix, stripped off my still-damp t-shirt and boxers that I used as pajamas, and stepped in. As the hot water washed over my face, I thought more about my recent slew of dreams. I couldn’t understand being surrounded by fire, and not being afraid. I mean, I’ve never been particularly afraid of fire or anything, but I’m sure if I were surrounded by it in the waking world, I’d be more than a little scared.

My mom, who likes to interpret dreams, had quite a few theories, but none that really made sense to me. She told me that fire could symbolize change, life and death, re-growth, or a myriad of other things; it could be different for each person. I had no idea what fire was to me, but I knew there was more meaning to my dreams than simple interpretations could foretell. I’ve always had a strong sense of intuition. Something bad was coming. Hopefully our house wouldn't burn down.

My train of thought had led me to forget whether or not I’d shampooed my hair yet, so I did it again, just in case. I’d been doing that a lot lately.

When I was done, I turned off the water and slid open the glass shower door. Steam seeped out into my small, but beloved, bathroom. I grabbed a fluffy purple towel from the wall rack and wrapped it around me, then moved to look into the round mirror above my sink, clearing a circle in the condensation with my palm. I wiped my moist hand on my towel and peered at my reflection.

I looked like I’d seen a ghost. My face was even paler than usual and I had dark circles under my bright green eyes. The row of big, round light bulbs above my mirror made the dark circles look severe. The dreams were not only weirding me out, they were interfering with me getting a good night’s sleep . . . and causing me to run out of shampoo. Sighing, I ran a comb through my wet hair and left it as that. I dressed in jeans and a dark green t-shirt that emphasized my eyes, and went to school.

When I got to Biology, Allison didn’t even bother to tell me her thoughts on my outfit of choice. She simply straightened her satiny burgundy tank-top that went with her designer jeans and dark-brown suede boots. It seemed Allison was beginning to view me as a lost cause. Okay by me. Mrs. Sanders had decided that the second day of class was a perfect day for dissection. Earthworm guts in the morning. Yum. Ms. Sanders waddled from table to table, letting us choose our sickly gray earthworms with long tweezers from an industrial size jar. .

“Why Xoe? Why worms?” Allison whined.

“Look at it this way Al, it could be way, way worse. In Advanced Bio they have to dissect cats and baby pigs,” I said, turning Allison a lovely shade of green.

Allison was basically the worst lab partner in existence. She refused to touch anything slimy, stinky, or otherwise, even with gloves. I tried not to breathe in the odor as I pinned the poor departed earthworm to the blue foam inside the metal dissection tray. I then poised my scalpel to cut along his underside, following the diagram in our Biology books. Some sort of fluid squirted towards Allison as I punctured the worm, causing her to jump out of her chair and emit a girly scream. I practically fell over laughing, as did anyone seated near us. I hadn’t squirted her on purpose, total accident. Scout’s honor.

Few others were having success with their worms either. By the time class was reaching its end, most of the worms had been annihilated into unrecognizable bits of goo. The bell rang before anyone had cleaned his or her tray, so we all had to rush to do it before Ms. Sanders would let us leave. We were going be late for our next classes. Things were looking up.

By the time lunch rolled around, I was still in a fairly good mood. That was, until Lucy and I walked together to the cafeteria to find that Dan was already at our table waiting for us. Lucy sat down right beside him, pretending she was doing nothing out of the ordinary. I considered for a moment sitting somewhere else, but then grudgingly sat down across from Dan and Lucy. Dan scooted a little closer to Lucy as I sat, being horribly obvious. Lucy’s pale green lightweight sweater and khaki pants looked out of place against Dan’s charcoal colored t-shirt and dark-wash jeans. Dan met my observant gaze almost territorially. My pulse sped up just a bit. What was with him?

Allison arrived with her lunch and sat down next to me, frowning at Dan and Lucy’s closeness. I pulled my oh-so nutritious lunch, a granola bar, out of my backpack and started munching on it, maintaining eye contact with Dan defensively, trying to ignore the feeling of my hair standing on end. The granola felt like cardboard as it reached my stomach.

“Don’t you have a lunch?” Dan asked Lucy, turning away from my glare.

“Oh, um, I forgot,” Lucy answered.

Forgot? She never forgot. I had the sneaking suspicion that she simply did not want to eat in front of Dan. I would never understand the way girls act around guys. Missing lunch just so he wouldn’t see you eat? Sorry, but I wasn’t missing lunch for anything short of Johnny Depp.

“Do you want me to get you something?” Dan asked Lucy.

Lucy’s skin darkened with a blush and she looked down at the table. “Oh, no thanks, I’m good.” After a moment of silence, she quickly added, “Thank you for the offer though.”

“You’re really not hungry?” I prodded Lucy.

“No,” Lucy replied, her skin somehow going even darker.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw you skip lunch,” I went on. “It just seems kind of weird.” Ok, so I was being cruel, but Dan’s presence had me in a bad mood.

Brian came trotting up to our table wearing a football jersey and jeans to squeeze in between Allison and me, saving Lucy from further prodding. Brian set his lunch tray on the table and smiled mockingly when Allison looked down her nose at him.

Dan watched Brian like a hawk, scooting even closer to Lucy. Brian stared back at Dan, mouth screwed up in confusion, then his brow furrowed over his suddenly defensive glare. Uh oh, I could feel the testosterone rising. Dan and Brian continued to stare at each other. Dan was intimidating, and Brian, well, he tried. Something that sounded like a low growl trickled from Dan’s throat. Brian blinked, the defensive look on his face slipping back into a confused one.

“Did you just growl at me?” Brian asked Dan, almost laughing.

Dan just continued to stare. Brian frowned, but held his ground. What the heck was going on? I mean, it’s not like masculinity contests are uncommon amongst teenage boys, but this was just plain odd. Lucy was practically cowering. Allison was looking back and forth between the two boys like they had just sprouted second heads.

“What is with you?” I asked Dan, exasperated.

He turned his icy glare to me, making me wish I hadn’t spoken. Brian seemed relieved to have the attention off him.

Mustering up my courage, I raised my eyebrows. “Well?” I asked, a little more shakily than I would have liked.

Dan suddenly snapped out of it as a small smile crossed his face. Next he started laughing. “I totally had you guys going,” he said, laughter tinting his words.

Brian laughed hesitantly and soon Allison and Lucy joined him, brushing off the awkward moment. I didn’t get the joke.

The bell rang.

Brian slowly rose with his tray, eyes never leaving Dan. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Apparently Brian was unsure of the “joke” as well. I watched Brian walk to the trashcan and dump his mostly uneaten food. Dan stayed seated, practically pressed against Lucy, until Brian was out of sight. He then insisted on walking Lucy to class. She seemed to be deciding between being pleased or maybe just a little creeped out. They walked out, leaving Allison and me alone.

“What on earth was that about?” Allison asked.

I raised my eyebrows at her. “I told you he was a creep.”

“But he growled at Brian, like a dog or something. Was he seriously just kidding around?” she asked

“I don’t know, but I don’t get the joke. Maybe we should cancel on Saturday.”

Allison sighed, “I don’t know if Lucy will go for it, besides, he really could have just been joking.”

“He sure has a weird sense of humor,” I replied with a scowl.

Allison gave me a weak, humoring smile and we headed for gym. The rest of the day went by as usual, but Lucy and I had Allison give us a ride home, just in case.

The next few days of the school-week were uneventful. Dan sat with us at lunch, with no more shows of male dominance, joking or otherwise. He continued to stare at me during English, but never tried to speak to me alone again. When Friday finally came, the elation I usually felt at the weekend was tainted by the fact that Dan was still included in our Saturday plans.

Lucy and Allison had seemingly forgotten about his weird moment, or else they simply chose to ignore it. I, on the other hand, had not forgotten, and was dreading Saturday. In addition to the evidence I had suggesting that Dan was a weirdo, I also just had a bad gut feeling about him. My intuition was still screaming that something bad was coming . . . or maybe it was already here.

Chapter 4

Allison had decided that the shopping couldn’t wait until next weekend, so we were going Friday afternoon. Lucy and I waited outside my house for Allison to come pick us up. Not that we couldn’t drive, we both had our licenses, but sadly, no cars. Allison’s parents bought her car for her on her 16th birthday.

Lucy and I were sitting on the swinging redwood and wrought iron bench that dominates the left side of my front porch, when Allison’s dark blue Nissan Sentra pulled into my driveway. I matched Lucy’s resigned sigh with one of my own. Neither of us enjoys shopping, but Allison has a tendency to beat at your resistance until you finally just give in to whatever she wants.

“You ready for this?” I asked Lucy.

Lucy nodded her head with a look of determination. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

I stood and straightened my jeans and lightweight navy sweater, then turned to wave goodbye to my mom, who I could see through the kitchen window. Lucy and I strode towards Allison’s car to meet our fate. I stole the front seat, forcing Lucy to slide into the back as we were assaulted by some generic girly pop music blasting from Allison’s car speakers. I immediately grabbed the volume knob and turned the music down to a bearable (or at least as bearable as girly pop can be) volume.

“Remind me why we’re friends with you?” I asked Allison playfully.

“It’s because I have a car,” she replied with a smile. She glanced back still smiling to acknowledge Lucy, but her smile slipped a little as she noticed Lucy’s sweater, which was practically the twin of mine. Allison looked back at me, then at Lucy again. “What are you, the Bobbsey Twins?”

I sighed. “It wasn’t on purpose, don’t judge, you’re not exactly looking your usual self today.”

Allison looked down at her plain white t-shirt and torn, faded jeans. She shrugged. “Laundry day.”

I smiled and said jokingly, “I knew there must be some valid excuse.”

“Of course,” Allison replied as she mimicked a royal bow with the top half of her body. She put the car in gear and began to maneuver the car out of my driveway. She glanced at me as we reached the road. “Did your mom give you any shopping money?”

“Yeah,” I replied, “she was so shocked that I was actually going back-to-school shopping that I didn’t even have to ask her, she just excitedly ran for her wallet.” I held up my mom’s gray and gold credit card as evidence.

“Lucy?” Allison asked, keeping her eyes on the road.

“Yep.” Lucy’s hand appeared between Allison and me, holding a silver credit card.

Within a few minutes we were driving past the Shelby cemetery. Cemeteries give me the creeps, especially the one in Shelby. Lucy and I visited it when Lucy’s grandma had died. We had walked among the rows of graves, all the way to the back where the oldest tombstones loomed, some of them dating back to the early 1800’s. I could feel the age of the place, like the spirits of the long-dead corpses were surrounding me, trying to push me out. I know logically that ghosts don’t exist, but the sudden feeling of panic that scraped across my skin while I was among the dead begged to differ.

Once the cemetery was out of sight, I let out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding and turned my attention back to the road ahead of us. We soon approached what Shelby calls a “mall”. It was more of a hallway according to Allison. We parked in the partially full lot and stepped out of the car to be met by a cool breeze. We went straight inside the mall to its fluorescent-lit corridor. It was the stuff of nightmares. Salespeople called to us from little kiosks in the middle of the hallway, asking us what cell phone service we had or if we had ever heard of the Dead Sea. Groups of people from our high school were clustered together, laughing and ignoring the fact that they were totally clogging the sporadic flow of foot-traffic. Lucy and I followed Allison as she veered into one of the chaotic, brightly colored stores.

Allison got right to work, like a tiger on the prowl. Soon Lucy and I had piles of clothes draped over our arms. We trudged back to the fitting rooms before Allison could weigh us down with yet more clothing. The fitting room attendant was a petite woman, probably only about 5’1”, with bright red, curly hair. She showed me to my own little stall and hung all of my clothes on the little hooks inside.

Once I was away from Allison’s prying eyes, I picked through her selections for anything that I would actually wear. A miniskirt and a pale pink tank top went immediately into my discard pile. I found a dark red, long-sleeved shirt made out of an almost sheer cotton that wasn’t half bad and tried it on. It made me look even more pale than usual, but my green eyes were in sharp contrast, which I kind of liked. When I wore it to school, Allison would probably tell me that it was a bad color for me, then I could tell her that she had picked it out . . . totally worth it.

Along with the red shirt, I bought a new pair of jeans and a fitted, shiny dark brown leather jacket. The jacket was way more class than I was used to, but I figured my regular garb would help to dress it down. Lucy bought a red dress that I would never have guessed she would go for. Allison practically beamed.

We went to several more stores where Allison loaded Lucy and me up with more clothes, without losing an ounce of the same conviction she’d had in the first store. I was coerced into a few more clothing items, but ignored Allison’s attempt to replace my beloved sneakers.

When the clothes shopping was finally finished, Allison insisted that we visit the makeup counter at one of the two larger department stores in the mall. Allison was drawn to the perfume counter like a moth to a flame, so I followed Lucy to browse all of the little sticks and squares of makeup.

Lucy held up two different tubes of lip-gloss in front of my face. “Which one do you think?”

Was she serious? I had never seen Lucy buy makeup before. She never expressed any sort of interest in it. “Um . . . ” I replied, then quickly pointed to one of the tubes with my finger. “That one.”

“You just randomly chose one, didn’t you?”

“Umm . . . yes.” I replied.

Lucy smiled and shook her head at me, then called out, “Allison!”

Allison came trotting over with a little hot pink plastic bag that I assumed contained her new perfume. Upon observing Lucy’s gloss dilemma, Allison turned Lucy back in the direction of the counter and started holding different glosses up against her face. Allison handed a peachy-pink tube back to me without a word. I apparently was to buy it. It was only six dollars so I decided not to argue, I could always just give it to my mom.

By the time Allison had finished with her, Lucy had two hands full of makeup. She shuffled to the counter to buy it all. I was beginning to have a sneaking suspicion that Lucy’s new penchant for makeup had something to do with Dan. It worried me. I did not trust Dan to be with my best friend. I didn’t trust Dan period.

After Lucy purchased her makeup, Allison finally announced that we were done. We left the hallway of horrors behind us and piled back into Allison’s car to drive back to my house. Ten minutes later we came crashing through my front door, hands full of bags. Lucy and Allison headed straight up to my room so that Al could give Lucy a makeup tutorial. I paused to toss my new tube of lip-gloss to my mom, who was sitting on one of the couches in our living room watching TV.

“Thanks hon,” she called as I started up the stairs.

When I got to my room, Allison had already spread all of Lucy’s makeup out on the floor. There was a pile of plastic wrappers, which had once encased the little containers, lying discarded to the side. Lucy and Allison were sitting on the floor facing each other, so I sat down near them, forming an uneven triangle.

“What’s this?” I asked holding up a fat pencil with a light gold, shimmery tip.

“Highlighter,” Allison answered, keeping her attention on her job of applying eye shadow to Lucy’s eyelids.

“For what?”

Allison grabbed the pencil from my hand and crooked her finger at me. “Come here and I’ll show you.”

I raised my hands in surrender and scooted a little farther away. I watched as Allison continued to work on Lucy’s eyes. I found out what the highlighter stick was for . . . kind of. It didn’t seem to make much difference, at least to my untrained eye. Once Allison was finally finished, Lucy turned to face me.

“What do you think?” she asked me.

“It’s . . . different,” I answered hesitantly.

“It’s perfect,” Allison corrected. She held up a mirror in front of Lucy’s face.

Lucy’s eyes widened. “Wow, Al, I have to hand it to you, you know what you’re doing.”

Allison turned a wicked grin to me. “Your turn.”

I held my hand up to my ear, as if hearing something far away. “Oh, what’s that? I think I hear my mom calling me. Just a sec mom!” I stood and ran for the door before Allison could grab me.

Allison and Lucy left later that afternoon to eat dinner with their families. Spending time with my friends had temporarily distracted me from the fact that we would see Dan tomorrow.

Once they were gone, I sat by my phone, debating on whether or not I should try to wiggle my way out of our plans. I hated admitting it, but I was afraid of Dan. I couldn’t cancel though. Lucy and Allison seemed to trust him. If something happened and I wasn’t there . . . well, I’d never be able to forgive myself, and that’s just for starters. I was going. Everything would be all right . . . Yeah, and pigs can fly.

Chapter 5

By Saturday morning the feeling of dread was a hard knot in my stomach. I was sick with nerves that I didn’t really know how to explain. That’s a lie, about the lack of explanation I mean. I’d had an inexplicable bad feeling when I first met Dan, but I could explain it now. He was . . . different. Not that different was a bad thing, but Dan’s type of different definitely was.

I ran a brush through my hair and dressed mechanically; black tank top, more holey jeans, and my ever-present sneakers. Allison would loooove it. I grabbed my new shiny brown leather jacket, just in case. The nights were starting to grow colder, warning us of winter, even though September had barely begun.

As I was heading downstairs, I heard a knock at the front door. I trotted across the living room to answer it. Lucy was waiting in her new red dress and a pair of cute, funky brown boots that gave her a little more height. I hadn’t seen her buy the boots on Friday, but I had avoided the shoe section like the plague, so that wasn’t saying much. The outfit was a little dressy, well, okay, a lot dressy for Lucy’s normal taste.

As soon as I beheld her garb I exclaimed, “I knew it! You bought all that stuff to impress Dan!”

She was even wearing her new makeup. Her almond shaped eyes were delicately lined in black, and her lips were freshly glossed. And was that perfume I smelled? Color me horrified.

I gave her a disapproving look.

Lucy’s olive skin darkened with a blush. She turned and walked towards Allison’s Nissan, not saying a word.

Lucy wasn’t getting off that easy. I quickly caught up to her side. “How can you like him? All he does is stare! And what about the weirdness at lunch the other day? I know you haven’t forgotten about that. He’s totally whacked,” I hounded her.

“He’s cute,” she replied, “and he only stares at you, and that’s probably because you treat him like he’s some sort of freak. He’s pretty normal once you actually talk to him, and the lunch thing was just a joke.” With that, Lucy glanced at Allison, patiently waiting in the driver’s seat, then gave me a look that clearly stated don’t tell Allison, then slipped into the backseat.

Frowning, I opened the car door and took my usual place in the front. Allison took my grumpy look in stride and started the car. Allison was dressed up as well, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. She wore dark-wash jeans, a dark purple cami, and one of those fitted vest thingies that were apparently in style in a dark gray. Her suede booted foot pressed on the gas, and we were on our way. The theater wasn’t far from my house, well, nothing in Shelby is really far, but my anxiety at the whole Dan situation made the ten minute drive seem like hours.

Dan was already waiting when we pulled up into the parking lot of the old, dreary theater. The theater was originally built with only three screens, but had been expanded to fit seven. Dan stood with his arms crossed, dressed in casual gray slacks and a black v-neck t-shirt, topped with his brown leather jacket. His near-black hair was styled to perfection, as always. He looked expensive, and dangerous, or maybe I was just projecting. He watched us approach with his pale blue eyes, seemingly at ease. I was feeling anything but at ease.

We reached where he was standing and stopped a short distance in front of him. We then proceeded to stand there in awkward silence. I looked to Lucy and Allison, but Lucy stayed looking down and shuffling her feet, while Allison smiled goofily at Dan. I was surprised to see that Dan looked slightly nervous himself. He usually acted macho and self-possessed. An abashed grin began to creep across his face. Could he get any more confusing?

I sighed and gestured my arms towards the theater. “Shall we?”

Everyone nodded and we were finally able to vacate the parking lot. We continued across the sidewalk and into the theater, past posters of movies I would have loved to see, but knew we wouldn’t end up with. Allison and Lucy’s boots clicked on the pavement while I followed behind them in my quiet sneakers. We purchased tickets to a generic chick flick that was detailed on the least appealing poster, and went in.

Once in the theater, we walked to the middle row, the one that is the beginning of the back half of the theater. Lucy, Allison, and I always sit in that row so we can put our feet up on the bar that’s in front of it. It’s also nice to not have to worry about any tall people sitting in front of us to block the view.

Allison and Lucy sat smushed on either side of Dan, Lucy smiling a contented smile, and Allison looking less than happy. I guess Al had finally realized Lucy’s intent in wearing her new outfit, and was none too happy for the competition. I was pretty sure that Lucy had won the competition before it even started, but for Allison, it ain’t over ‘till it’s over.

We were early. The previews hadn’t even started yet. Sighing, I nudged Lucy with my elbow. “I’m going to get some popcorn,” I whispered. I climbed over the rail to go to the concession stand.

“I’ll come with you,” Dan announced, then hopped over the rail before I could protest.

I walked out of the theater and towards the concession stand with Dan trailing slightly behind me. I was trying my hardest to ignore Dan's presence, when he grabbed my arm from behind and spun me to face him. My heart skipped a beat. I looked at him, startled.

“What are you?” he hissed.

“What are you talking about? Let me go!” I replied angrily, trying to pry my arm loose from his iron grip.

His blue eyes were very close, looking feral. His fingers squeezed my arm, hard enough to bruise. His hand was large enough to enclose my bicep entirely.

“Don’t be stupid. I can smell you, just tell me,” he snapped.

Smell me?

Taking in my puzzled expression, he hesitated, cocking his head to the side like he usually did when observing me, then peering at me, continued, “You don’t know, do you?”

I kept the same stupid expression on my face, jaw slightly agape.

He laughed to himself and shook his head. “Um . . . nevermind, forget I said anything.”

I opened my mouth to argue and he simply turned around and walked back towards our section of the theater.

I stood, stunned, rubbing my arm where he had grabbed me. I stayed like that for several minutes, not sure what my reaction should be. I finally walked back into the movie without popcorn. I had lost my appetite. I climbed back over the bar and sat down, ignoring a puzzled look from Lucy. At least the previews had finally started.

I rubbed my arm again where Dan had grabbed me. Yep, there was definitely going to be a bruise. I gave Dan a dirty look that he didn’t notice, then settled in to watch the movie. Once the movie started I tried to get into it, but ended up letting my mind wander. The feeling of dread was back in my stomach and my thoughts were dark. I was no longer simply creeped out; I was scared. I replayed my unnerving experience with Dan in my head, trying to puzzle out exactly what had happened.

By the time the movie ended I was no closer to coming up with an explanation. The credits began to roll and we all stood to leave the theater. After waiting behind the few shuffling people who had managed to reach the aisle before us, we finally made our way through and walked outside. The chilly breeze made me glad that I had brought my jacket. I slipped it on while only half listening as Lucy and Allison talked about the movie on the way back to Allison’s car. I caught Lucy claiming that the movie was decent, once you got past the done-and-done-again plot . . . I hadn’t noticed.

I walked a little ahead of our group, huddled in my jacket. I stopped and waited at Allison’s car for everyone to catch up. I avoided Dan’s gaze as they reached me and looked to Lucy instead. She had Dan’s jacket draped over her shoulders.

Allison looked towards Dan, then glanced at Lucy and me. “Irvine’s?” she asked the group.

Dan looked confused.

“It’s a pizza parlor,” Allison explained.

Dan nodded. “Yeah, we’ll meet you there.”

We? Dan gave a slight wave and walked away with Lucy tagging a short distance behind him.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“I’m riding with Dan. I’ll see you guys there,” Lucy replied nonchalantly. Lucy paused at the worried look on my face, but quickly recovered and hurried after Dan.

I got in the passenger seat of Allison’s car with her already talking about Dan. “ . . . . I can’t believe Lucy snagged him. She has the best luck with guys . . . ”

As Allison prattled on, I became lost in my own thoughts. What was Dan’s deal? What was I? Why would he ask that? I shouldn’t have let Lucy go with him. My original perception of him seemed to be holding true . . . he was a creep.

After a few minutes Allison realized that I wasn’t listening to her. She turned to me with an annoyed expression. “Hello? Xoe? Are you listening?”

Snapping out of my thoughts I answered, “Sorry Al, I just have a lot on my mind right now.” I gave her my full attention.

“Like what?” she prompted, looking concerned.

“Um, Dan said something weird to me,” I replied after a moment of hesitation.

Allison waited a few seconds, and then seeing that I wasn’t going to elaborate questioned, “Well? What did he say?”

As a scowl formed on my face, I began to rant, “First, he stares at me all week in English, but never says a word. He talks to you guys like you’re perfectly normal. Then he manhandles me in the theater demanding to know what I am! What is that supposed to mean!”

Perplexed, Allison asked, “What are you? I should think it quite obvious . . . you’re crazy. And what do you mean, manhandled?”

“He grabbed my arm and got in my face!”

Allison glanced worriedly at me. “Did you provoke him or something?”

I gave her an outraged look.

Allison had the courtesy to look abashed as she turned her attention back to the road. “Sorry, stupid question. Shouldn’t we just talk to him about it? Give him a chance to explain himself?”

I shook my head, my anger fading into confusion. “No, I don't think that's a good idea. Let’s just keep an eye on him, okay?”

“I guess,” Allison conceded, “though it’s probably all just a misunderstanding.”

Realizing that I still hadn’t convinced her, I stared at Allison angrily.

Allison reached a red light and tried to stare me down.

I kept staring right back, jaw clenched stubbornly.

Allison sighed. “I’m sure he was just joking. As for the staring, I think it’s all in your head. He just has a weird sense of humor.” The light turned green and she hit the gas.

I tried a calmer approach. “I have a bad feeling Al, I’ve had it all week, I can’t explain it, but I’m worried.”

The concern returned to Allison’s face. “We’ll keep an eye on him Xoe, but I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

Hardly placated, I sat silently with my arms crossed the rest of the ride to Irvine’s.

We met Dan and Lucy in the parking lot and went inside Irvine’s to order our pizza. The pizza at Irvine’s isn’t particularly good or anything, but it’s where we always went. We didn’t really have that many choices. Plus, Irvine’s is relatively adult-free.

The pizza parlor was decorated kind of like a retro diner. Red vinyl stools surrounded the counter and an old-style jukebox with neon lights dominated the back corner of the restaurant. We grabbed a booth that kept to the red vinyl theme and waited, Lucy sat next to Dan, still wearing his coat, with her shoulder pressed against his arm. She looked tiny next to him, especially with the jacket engulfing her narrow shoulders. Everyone dutifully ignored the menacing glares I periodically aimed at Dan.

“Xoe?” Lucy asked. I had spaced out from the conversation, as I tend to do.

“Huh?” I replied.

“I asked what your plans are for tomorrow,” Lucy continued. “I was thinking about hiking; we haven’t gone up the trail behind your house in a while.”

Dan looked back and forth between the two of us, as if taking in every detail.

“Oh, yeah, sounds good,” I mumbled as the waitress arrived with our pizza.

She leaned much farther over the table than was necessary, drawing attention to her low-cut red blouse, and making eyes at Dan. Had all of the girls in town gone crazy? It was the only explanation. The smell of sausage and mushrooms wafted up from the pizza and my mood brightened a little. Food was always a sure-fire way to draw me out of my doldrums.

I looked up from the pizza to see that Lucy, Al, and ironically Dan (who was too rude to be polite) were all hesitating, not wanting to be the first one to grab a piece. Etiquette be damned, I dug right in, signaling to everyone else that the awkward moment could end. I chewed the mediocre pizza. Like I said, Irvine’s isn’t the best pizza around, but I don’t refuse pizza, average or otherwise.

I devoured two pieces while Lucy and Allison daintily nibbled on their first slices. Dan had taken one bite of his and left the rest abandoned on his plate. Creepier and creepier. After we were all apparently done eating, we sat for another excruciating hour where I was forced to witness Al and Lucy fawning over Dan the entire time. By the time we finally decided to call it a night I'd bitten my fingernails down to little nubs. Lucy rode with Dan again with a promise to call me tomorrow.

As soon as Allison dropped me off, I rushed inside to call Lucy, then realized that she might not be home yet, considering that maybe Dan didn’t speed like a maniac as Allison did, and decided to give her an extra fifteen minutes. I sat on the loveseat in my living room, drumming my fingers on a throw pillow in my lap, then after precisely 13.5 minutes I dialed Lucy’s number, letting it ring until the machine picked up. I hung up and waited another five minutes and called again.

“Hello?” Lucy’s voice buzzed back at me.

I let out a breath of relief. “Lucy? Are you okay? I shouldn’t have let you go alone with Dan. There’s something wrong with him. He said the weirdest thing to me . . . ”

“Xoe,” she buzzed back, interrupting me, “something weird happened.”

I paused, waiting for her to continue. The dread was back full swing. I switched the phone to my other hand so I could wipe the sweat off my palm onto my jeans.

Lucy continued, “He walked me to the front door. Then he leaned toward me. I thought he was going to kiss me, you know? Then I felt a sharp pain in my arm and realized . . . he scratched me.”

Shocked, I questioned, “What? Like took his nails and raked you?”

I heard Lucy sigh on the other end of the line. “Xoe, it’s going to sound crazy, but, well, his hand looked different . . . kind of like he had claws.”

A moment of stunned silence passed.

“Claws?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Or maybe it was just the dim lighting. I keep second guessing what I saw, but the proof is on my arm.”

“Is this some kind of joke?” I was getting angry. I hated jokes like this. I’m the most skeptical person I know, so they never worked. All anyone ever succeeded in doing was making me mad. Though that didn’t explain why my heart was caught in my throat.

“It’s not a joke Xoe,” Lucy replied, tears straining her voice.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Stay right there Lucy, I’m coming over,” I ordered.

“No, you-ou can’t, it’s fa-family dinner night, my parents will be home with food any minute.” Lucy replied, hiccupping on her words. “I d-don’t know what to do,” she continued. “I’m scared Xoe. W-what if he comes back?”

I considered storming into her house anyway, but knew her parents would just send me back home. “Maybe you should call the cops and report the attack.”

“And tell them what?” Lucy asked. “That m-my date scratched me, then politely went home?” She was getting louder as she spoke, edging on hysteria.

I asked numbly, “He just . . . left?”

“Yeah.” She had suddenly roped in her sobs, regaining some of her composure. The fact that she had broken down at all was unnerving. Lucy never broke down. “I just stood there like a moron and watched him go.”

“What should we do?” I asked.

“What can we do?” she replied. “I can’t call the cops, I can’t do anything. I don’t understand what’s going on.” Lucy paused and I heard voices in the background. “Ugh, my parents just got home, they want me to get off the phone . . . I have to go. Keep the phone near you okay? Just in case. I’ll come over in the morning.”

“Have your mom drive you,” I ordered.

“Okay.”

I heard the phone click as she returned it to its cradle. I sat unmoving, except for drumming my fingers on the table . . . yeah, I could already tell that sleep would not come easy tonight.

I paced back and forth across the living room. My thoughts were racing a million miles per minute. Lucy’s story should have been hard to believe, but for some reason I didn’t think she was imagining things. It explained the bad feeling I had about Dan, and all of his weird behavior . . . kind of.

I went upstairs and tried to go to bed, but it was no use. I got up and sat at my desk, turning on my computer. Once it was on I stared at it, not really knowing what I had intended to do with it. Look up cases of people scratching other people? Somehow I didn’t think I would get much useful information from a search like that. I turned the computer back off and started pacing across my room. I hated inaction. I needed something proactive to do about the Dan situation, but I couldn’t think of a thing.

I went back downstairs to the living room and turned on the TV. The volume blared and I hurried to turn it down before it woke up my mom; she had gone to bed early since she had to wake up at 6:00 am for an early hike with one of her friends. I started flipping through the channels and stopped on what looked like a relatively high-budget black-and-white horror movie on AMC.

A woman was running terrified through the woods. She kept looking back at whatever was chasing her, like they always do in horror movies. The camera panned back to a man in tattered clothing, presumably the woman’s pursuer. He paused on a hilltop framed by the full moon and turned into a . . .

My heart caught in my throat. It made sense, if I was willing to overlook the plausibility of it. All of Dan’s behavior: growling at Brian, cocking his head like a dog all of the time, saying he smelled me . . . scratching Lucy. Dan was a werewolf.

I sat for a moment, stunned, then laughed at myself. A werewolf? Werewolves weren’t real. They were the stuff of myth and legend. I ruefully shook my head and switched off the TV. Sleep. Sleep was what I needed. I got up from the sofa in deep consternation, and made my way back upstairs. I plopped down on my bed and stared at the ceiling. Maybe Dan just thought he was a werewolf. While I couldn't quite believe that he was a supernatural being, I could easily believe that he was mentally unstable.

What seemed like an eternity later, I finally dozed off. I dreamed that I was on fire, but not burning. Everything around me burned, my room, my house, and distantly I knew that my mom and my friends were burning too. I could hear their screams, but I just stood there watching the flames. A wolf howled.

Chapter 6

I woke to knocking on my bedroom door. My t-shirt and boxers that substituted for pajamas were once again damp with sweat from my vivid dreams.

“Xoe? It’s me, Lucy . . . your mom let me in,” a timid voice called from the other side of the door.

I sprung from my bed and rushed to the door, stumbling over a book on the floor, still only half-awake. Did I mention I’m not a morning person? I opened the door to find Lucy waiting on the other side. She was dressed down in a dark brown t-shirt, even darker suede jacket, worn jeans, and hiking boots. I faced her and tried to remain calm—that is until Lucy shrugged off her jacket to bare her upper arm.

“He mutilated you!” I exclaimed, examining the scratches on her arm.

“It’s not that bad,” she replied calmly, “but look at them, do they look like the work of human fingernails to you?”

As a matter of fact, they didn’t. Four long, thin gashes marred her arm, deep enough to make me feel a little queasy at the sight. No, definitely not normal fingernails. I gingerly touched the area around the scratches. Her skin was burning hot.

I frowned. “Do you think you need stitches?”

Lucy shook her head. “I thought about it, but what would I tell the doctor?”

Good point. Lucy was trying to be calm, but her wide eyes gave her away. She was freaked. The dark circles under her eyes alluded to a sleepless night, and I didn’t blame her. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep either. I nodded and stood aside for Lucy to come into my room.

At the sound of footsteps, Lucy quickly shrugged back into her jacket. A few seconds later, my mom came around the corner from the stairway, dressed in a casual gauzy green dress and flip-flops.

At the sight of Lucy my mom’s face erupted into a smile that reached her warm brown eyes. “Have you had breakfast yet, Lucy?” she asked. “Our weekend breakfasts usually occur around noon, but we could make it a little earlier. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”

“No thanks,” Lucy mumbled.

Taking in our expressions, a look of concern flashed across my mom’s face. She pressed the back of her hand against Lucy’s forehead. “Are you feeling okay, Lucy?” she asked. “You feel a little warm.”

Lucy looked down at the floor, muttering that she was fine.

My mom looked back and forth between us, a frown creasing her brow. She reached up and felt my forehead. “You feel warm too honey, another dream?”

“Um, yeah, we’ll talk about it lather ‘kay?” I looked pleadingly at my mom. I hadn’t told Lucy or Allison about my dreams.

She hesitated, but decided to let it go and headed back downstairs.

As soon as my mom was gone, we went into my bedroom and I shut the door. I continued into the adjoining bathroom and quickly brushed my teeth and washed my face, pulled on some jeans and a purple tank top, and went back into my bedroom barefoot to question Lucy.

“What dreams?” Lucy asked.

Sigh. Thanks a lot mom. “Um, I’ve just been having some weird dreams lately, nothing major.”

“Please Xoe, I could use the distraction,”

I let out a loud breath. “For the past few months I’ve been having these dreams. I’m always surrounded by fire in some way, but I’m never scared. It’s the weirdest feeling, almost peaceful.”

Lucy studied my face, not understanding the significance. “What makes them different than any other dreams? I know you’re not one to get freaked out by nightmares.”

I looked down. “I dunno. They’re just . . . different, and when I wake up I always have a fever.”

“A fever? I guess that is kind of weird,” Lucy conceded. “Why didn't you tell me sooner?”

“I don't know,” I replied. “I’m weirded out by them enough. I don’t need to weird everyone else out too.” I was feeling embarrassed and went for a subject change. “But now back to you, I think you have the more pressing matter.”

“Yeah, yeah I guess I do,” she mumbled.

“So what are our theories?” I asked her.

“Theories?” she replied, confused.

“Yeah,” I answered, “those scratches are anything but normal, which means Dan probably isn’t so normal either. Yesterday he told me he smelled me, and I don’t stink. Now he's gone and scratched you, so I think there really is only one plausible theory. It’s a little far-fetched I admit, but I’ve been thinking about it all night and it was all I could come up with.”

Lucy just stared at me, a little green in the face.

“He’s thinks he's a werewolf,” I stated matter-of-factly. I decided to leave out the fact that my idea came from a movie. I didn’t want to make my theory less plausible . . . if that was even possible.

Lucy laughed in a less than convincing manner, but didn't reply.

“Do you have any better ideas?” I asked, feeling slightly offended.

Lucy shook her head. “It's not that Xoe, it's just . . . I think he actually is a werewolf.”

I blinked slowly at her as I tried to figure out whether or not she was joking. “Come again?”

Lucy continued unperturbed, “Just think about it Xoe, what else makes sense? What has superhuman smell and claws? I'm not imagining it. His hand was not a human hand.”

“I don’t know what makes sense!” I practically shouted. “But Dan being a werewolf sure doesn’t! You have been watching too many horror movies. Werewolves don’t exist.”

“Look,” replied as she began to cry, “it's just an idea. I know it’s pretty far out there, but it’s all I could come up with. I know what I saw.”

I thought about what Lucy had said. I knew she wouldn't make something like that up, but people's eyes play tricks on them all of the time. “He does act kind of . . . dog-like,” I offered.

Lucy sat on my bed, defeated. She sat that way for several minutes.

I waited while we both processed what Lucy was implying.

Lucy shook her head. “I don’t know Xoe. I understand why you don't believe me. I can hardly believe myself, but I know what I saw.”

I grabbed Lucy’s arm and gently pulled her to her feet. “Let's take a walk. We’ll try to come up with some alternative theories.”

The only problem was, that having considered the alternatives, I knew there weren’t any. I mean, the best I could come up with was that Dan thought he was a werewolf, could I fault Lucy for thinking that he really was one? Who was I to say that such things didn't exist? The legends had to come from somewhere.

The problem was that the only information I had came from movies, and the werewolves, according to the films, were always different. Some could only be killed by silver bullets, and others would die if you just whacked ‘em with a big stick enough times. Some just changed once a month, on the night of the full moon, others changed the whole week of the full moon, and others could change at will. We needed answers, and answers we did not have. I guess we’d find out if Lucy's crazy theory was not so crazy after all once the full moon rolled around.

I moved my hand from Lucy’s arm and took her trembling hand to lead her downstairs. The truth was what it was, even if big and growly.

Chapter 7

I stopped by my backdoor to slip on my hiking boots and a jean jacket on our way outside. We journeyed out across my backyard, and headed into the woods where Lucy and I had met so many years ago. We reached a damp, narrow trail that led through the tall pine trees to the wider, more used trail that connected to a different road. Running water sounded from a stream in the distance. It sounded close, but in reality, it was about two miles away. A cool breeze was blowing, scented with the autumn leaves.

Lucy fell in step behind me, seemingly lost in thought. Usually walking out in the woods was peaceful, but I could almost taste the tension emanating from Lucy. I glanced back at her a couple of times, but waited for her to talk first. She needed time to process things. She was so quiet that if not for the sound of her footfalls, I wouldn’t have known that she was there. We walked for a good ten minutes that way, her trailing behind me, neither of us saying a word.

Lucy’s voice finally cracked the silence. “Do you think I’m going to be a werewolf now? I mean, if that’s what Dan is . . .”

So we were going with the werewolf theory then. That she took it so seriously made it seem more real to me, which I wasn’t exactly grateful for. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly over my shoulder, “but whatever happens, we’ll get through it, even if I have to lock you in a cage once a month.”

Lucy quickened her stride to walk beside me. “A cage?” she asked.

I glanced at her. “Well, maybe not a cage,” I replied, “though I don’t know what else to use. We could just lock you in a room, but seeing as neither of us knows anything about werewolves, or whether or not Dan is one, I’d say better safe than sorry.”

Lucy thought for a moment, then responded, “A cage it is then.”

“We’ll get online and do some research tonight. We of course won’t find any solid answers, but knowing all of the legends can’t hurt.”

“Xoe,” Lucy began slowly. “When I first thought of the werewolf thing, I freaked out and looked up the date of the full moon. It's tomorrow.”

My mouth went dry. “I guess we'll need to find a cage sooner rather than later?” I asked half-heartedly.

We stopped walking and sat on a felled tree on the side of the trail.

“Do you think we should tell Allison?” Lucy asked, changing the subject.

I smiled. “She might not believe us.” At Lucy expression I corrected, “Okay, she definitely won’t believe us. Though, I guess she’d have to at least consider it if you showed her the scratches.”

“I don’t know,” Lucy countered. “She may not believe it even then. I’m still not sure I do.”

I went on, “Even if we tried to keep it quiet, she can always tell when we’re trying to hide something from her. Remember the incident of the ruined shoes?”

Lucy gave a small smile. “How could I forget?”

I smiled back. “If she asks, we’ll tell her, and she can decide for herself whether to believe us or not.”

Lucy nodded as the smile slipped from her face.

I felt my smile slip too as I looked down at the ground. There wasn’t much more to say, so we sat in melancholy silence. I could feel the moisture from the tree trunk seeping through my jeans, making me cold. I focused on scratching a patch of lichen off of a nearby rock, rather than thinking too hard on our problem. Little green flakes fell to the damp earth as I picked away.

I needed to put on a brave face for Lucy. I had a feeling that my calmness was the last thing holding her together. If I were her, I’d be falling apart right about now. I was near to falling apart as it was.

Finally, we got up and continued walking farther into the woods. Usually I would have brought my backpack with water, first aid kit, and pepper spray if we were going any sort of distance, but I guess my mind had been too occupied to remember when we left my house. It was stupid of me. You never know what might happen.

We had both been watching the ground in front of us for several minutes when Lucy turned her attention to the trail ahead. She paused with instant fear at what she saw.

Chapter 8

I looked up to see what had stopped her. Dan was waiting expectantly farther up the trail. He was dressed in a green t-shirt, jeans, and his brown leather jacket, his hair styled to its usual perfection. He didn’t make a move toward us. He just stood there and stared.

My heart sped as I wiped sweaty palms on my jeans. “W-what do you want?” I stammered loudly, backing up.

He just stood there watching us, then began to come forward.

I shouted, “Don’t come any closer or I’ll—” I blinked and he was only a few feet away. How had he moved so fast?

“Or you’ll what?” he interrupted.

The next thing I knew I was on the ground, looking at the branches above me, blue sky shining through. My vision swam, then darkness swallowed the branches whole.

I woke to deep blue eyes worriedly looking into my groggy green ones, and realized someone was shaking me. I scuttled backwards out of my assailant’s grasp like a demented crab to take in the stranger who had been shaking me.

Tousled deep brown hair, and a scruffy yet handsome male face went with the dark blue eyes that had been above me. He had a narrow, sweeping nose and his eyes were lined by a dark splash of lashes. Only his strong, sharp jaw line saved his face from femininity. He was about 6’1” with a, might I say, rather nice physique; lean, yet muscled. He wore a dark green sweater, worn jeans, and dark brown hiking boots that had definitely seen better days.

He tried to hide a laugh at my frenzied scuttle, and I was too freaked to get mad. There was still the question of why I had been on the ground, unconscious in the woods with only this handsome stranger to blame. It was only when I saw Lucy standing behind the stranger unharmed, that I was able to stuff my heart back down my throat.

They both watched and waited for me to talk.

Something tickled at the edge of my memory. “Dan! Where’d he go?” I shrieked. I remembered Dan attacking us now, well, I remembered him attacking me, before I lost consciousness.

Lucy shuffled forward, pale and wide-eyed. Her jeans were dirty and her soiled jacket was torn at the elbow. “Dan pushed you down. I tried to run toward you, but suddenly he had me on the ground too. He was so fast Xoe. I tried to struggle, but he pressed me down until I couldn’t move. He said I had to come with him. He said I would be . . . dangerous.” Lucy paused as she glanced at Jason, then quickly went on, “The next thing I knew, Jason was there, tearing him off me.” Tears began to well in Lucy’s already puffy eyes.

I dizzily stumbled to my feet and grabbed Lucy in a hug, feeling pine needles in her hair. “Where did he go?”

“I-I don’t know,” Lucy said.

I turned to this so-called Jason character. “Where did he go?” I asked more confidently. “I can’t believe he just gave up that easily.”

Jason studied me for a moment, as if considering which answer would upset me the least, then shrugged, apparently deciding on no answer at all.

“You were the only one vertical at the time. You had to see him leave,” I pressed.

He shrugged again. “My attention was on making sure that the two of you were unharmed. I did not see where he went.”

“So you were completely unconcerned with the stranger that you found in the woods attacking two people?”

Shrugging again, he smirked and walked up to grab my arm. “I will walk you girls home.”

I ripped my arm away from him and got in his face. “We need the truth. Something weird is going on and it is just way too convenient that you were there at just the right time. No offense, but Dan is bigger than you, and I don’t think he would exactly run screaming at the sight of you. Your story don’t wash pal.”

He brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen into my eyes. I jerked away, startled.

He chuckled at my reaction.

I pointed my finger a few inches away from his face. “Now, is so not the time to mess with me.”

He smiled. “I can see that, but we do need to get you both home. It's not safe out here.”

I grabbed Lucy and stormed back down the trail, with Jason following a short way behind us. Though Lucy had stopped crying, she was leaning heavily on me as if she’d fall without my support. We stumbled on as Jason caught up to walk on my other side. I focused on the trail, trying to hide the fact that my heart was thundering in my ears.

“I spoke the truth,” he said. “I do not know why he fled. Do you know him?”

Sighing, I answered a bit more breathily than I would have liked, “Yeah, we know him . . . unfortunately.”

I walked a little faster, trying to end the conversation.

Jason simply matched my stride and pressed on. “Have you spent much time with him?”

I frowned at him, almost tripping on a stone. I had to pause for a moment and get a better grip on Lucy. “I thought you were just the ‘innocent bystander', not involved in the situation, so why do you care?”

Jason thought for a moment, then shrugged again. “Just making conversation,” he said, effectively ending the conversation.

By the time we arrived at my house, Lucy had somewhat regained her composure, though her normally self-assured eyes still had haunted shadows chasing across them.

I put my hand on her back in a comforting gesture. She was trembling ever so slightly; a frightened mouse came to mind. I pushed Lucy in through the backdoor and turned to Jason. “There’s something weird about your story, well okay, a whole lotta somethings. You know more about Dan than you’re letting on. I trust you as much as I trust him. Stay away from Lucy.”

That carefree smirk returned to his face, but within a moment wiped clean to leave his face all stony-serious. His deep blue eyes looked angry. “Stay out of the woods, and stay away from Dan. He is dangerous,” he warned, holding my gaze to make sure I understood.

“Thanks, but tell me something I don't know,” I replied, then slammed the door in his face. So maybe he didn’t deserve my temper, but then again, maybe he did.

I walked up to my room to find Lucy already sitting on my bed, staring blankly at a framed picture of her, Allison, and me in my backyard. We’d taken it over the summer by Allison’s pool. Last summer seemed very far away.

Realizing my presence, she looked up and asked, “Can I stay over tonight Xoe?” Her eyes pleaded with me.

I knew my mom wouldn’t mind Lucy staying over on a Sunday, but Lucy’s strict parents were a whole other story. “You’re welcome to, if you can convince your parents.”

Lucy gave me a small smile. “They left for Portland to visit my uncle this morning, remember? They would actually prefer it if I stayed here.”

Well that settled that.

My mom ordered us a pizza. The three of us sat in the gathered in the living room with the pizza box on the coffee table. I grabbed my first slice and began to wolf (no pun intended) it down. Lucy’s first piece sat forlornly on her paper plate.

My mom watched Lucy carefully. “Not hungry?”

Lucy looked up from her plate, startled. “Oh, um, no, not really hungry.”

My mom patiently waited for Lucy to elaborate.

I tried to distract her. “When are you leaving for Washington mom?”

My mom glanced at me for a moment. “Probably Wednesday.” She turned her attention back to Lucy. “Besides your hike, you’ve been here all day. I haven’t seen you eat.”

Lucy pushed her plate a little farther away from her. “My stomach has been upset lately.”

My mom nodded and seemed to settle for Lucy’s answer, but I caught her glancing at Lucy skeptically out of the corner of her eye for the rest of dinner.

When all that was left was a cheese-soaked box, we headed back to my room. Lucy borrowed one of my t-shirts and some plaid pajama pants to sleep in. While she got ready for bed in my bathroom (she stayed over enough to warrant her own toiletries kit), I toured around the house and made sure the doors and all of the windows were locked. Paranoid, who me?

I paused as I passed the hall mirror. I looked at my reflection numbly. Things hadn’t really set in yet. I felt as if I were walking in a dream. I lightly touched the carved wood frame of the mirror, half expecting it to disappear, just a fragment of this horrible dream. Firm, solid wood pressed beneath my fingertips.

When I got back upstairs Lucy was done in the bathroom and was staring blankly from her perch on my bed. I spared her a final worried glance then took my turn in the bathroom. By the time I was finished brushing my teeth and picking stray pine needles out of my hair that I hadn’t noticed until then, Lucy was curled up into a ball on my bed, fast asleep.

I crawled into bed next to her and stared at the ceiling. In my head I reviewed all of the events of the weekend. Reason told me to assume that Jason was in league with Dan, but my gut was inexplicably arguing against that possibility. I instantly wanted to trust him, just like I instantly wanted to distrust Dan.

I finally fell asleep to visions of werewolves dancing in my head.

Chapter 9

Lucy seemed to be feeling a little more steady in the morning. We each took our turns in the shower and I let her borrow some of my clothes. She had to cuff the jeans a few times, but the long-sleeved, navy cotton shirt fit her pretty well. Hoorah for the bustily-challenged. I dressed in my usual theme: jeans, dark blue v-neck t-shirt, and my ubiquitous sneakers.

We ran downstairs and grabbed Granola bars for breakfast. I filled my travel mug with coffee from the pot my mom, saint that she is, had made. I added a small amount of creamer and pushed the lid onto my mug, making that moist suction noise that travel mugs tend to make. I glanced at the clock to see that it was already 7:15. We rushed out the door to fast-walk to school.

Our silence was weighted with fear and worry. Neither of us wanted to be the one to break it. I think we both were all too aware that the full moon was fast approaching. Tonight we would have answers, or at least one answer. So much was still unexplained.

Lucy’s timid voice cracked the silence. “So, um, if we’re right about Dan, what are we going to do? I mean, if I’m to believe that werewolves exist, then it would also stand to reason that some of the legends about them exist . . . ” She stared at the ground, refusing to meet my eyes.

“We’ll think of something. I won’t let you go through this alone, even if my theory is right, and I’m starting to think it is. Why else would Dan say that you would be dangerous?” I asked.

“I know,” Lucy said. “I’ve been thinking about that too.”

I hesitated on my next question, not sure if I would make things worse by asking. “Are you scared?”

Lucy stopped walking and met my eyes. “Terrified.”

I kept my gaze locked on hers until she looked back down and began walking again. I followed shortly behind her. The ensuing silence was no less strained. We arrived at school just as the first bell rang, and we parted to go to our respective classes. I reached biology and slid into my seat next to Allison just as the second bell rang. I was unable to concentrate on the lecture, which was nothing new, but this time it was more than my short attention span standing in my way.

I met with Lucy before second period. We sat in our usual seats in the front, but Lucy was so obviously not her usual self. She kept her eyes on her desk and did not raise her hand to answer one single question. I guess I couldn’t blame her. The teacher darted a few concerned glances at Lucy, but apparently decided to leave her alone. Lucy didn’t seem to notice.

At lunch Lucy and I waited at our table, both of us deep in thought. Neither of us had remembered to grab lunch as we rushed out the door that morning.

“What’s with you two today?” Allison questioned as she sat down in her slim-fit jeans and pink button-up blouse with her purchased lunch. “You both look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I looked up and forced myself to smile. “There’s nothing wrong, we’re fine.”

Lucy shook her head in agreement. “Nope, nothing.”

Our denials did nothing to placate her. Allison pressed on, “Out with it. The two of you are hiding something and you are going to tell me what it is right this instant.”

Well, when she put it that way . . . I started from the beginning.

By the time I had finished filling Allison in on the events she had missed over the weekend, she was staring at me in stunned silence. “You’re kidding,” she sputtered. “I don’t get the joke guys, what’s the punch line?” She looked back and forth between the two of us, eyebrows raised.

“No punch line.” I replied as Lucy lifted her sleeve to expose her scratches as evidence.

Allison grabbed Lucy’s arm and thoroughly examined the scratches. Lips pursed, Allison took a moment to consider the unlikely situation. “This is so not funny,” Allison said finally.

I gave her a blank look.

Allison looked back and forth between Lucy and me. “C’mon guys,” Allison pleaded, “joke’s over.”

I sighed, “No joke, no punch line. We’re not entirely sure about our conclusion yet, but . . . ”

Allison snorted loudly. “I simply cannot believe that Lucy is going to,” then she lowered her voice, “turn into a werewolf tonight, but I suppose I can afford to humor you two. If this turns out to be some elaborate prank, I will not be pleased.”

“Humor us all you want Al. I’d love it if this were a joke. We’ll all find out tonight,” I said tiredly.

“So what then? We’ll just tie Lucy up and wait out the full moon?” Allison asked.

Now it was Lucy’s and my turn for stunned silence.

“Well?” Allison questioned raising her eyebrows, “Do either of you have a better idea?”

Lucy looked at me.

Shrugging I turned to Allison. “My place or yours?”

Now that that was all settled, we just had to wait out three more classes. Then we would set our sorta-plan into action. We would all go together to the local hardware store to try and find some sort of restraints, then we would wait at my house until the sun started to go down. We discussed just waiting for the full moon at my house, but I wasn’t about to put my mom in danger of being eaten or whatever it is that werewolves do. In the end, we decided that we would tell my mom we were going to Allison’s, but instead we would drive out into the woods to tie Lucy up and see what happened.

Our plan was awful at best, and I was anxious to get it over with. Considering Lucy’s possible fate, and what might happen to Allison and me should our restraints fail, wasting our time in class seemed all too pointless. At least, I thought it did. Lucy refused to miss class, even under the extreme circumstances.

For the first time in my life, gym went by painstakingly slow. Not even dodge ball could distract me from the ever-ticking clock. I walked into English, ready to count the minutes, and my heart skipped a beat. Dan was in class.

“You have some nerve!” I stormed up to him. “I can’t believe you’re showing your face around here! I’m going to . . . ”

“Xoe!” Ms. Masterson thundered. “Sit down right this minute! What’s wrong with you?”

I plunked down into my chair, sparing a mutinous glare for Ms. Masterson’s turned back. Dan chuckled. Chuckled! I could barely contain my fury. Brian gave me a concerned glance from his spot on the other side of me. I sat and fumed, clenching the sides of my desk, white-knuckled. My face felt afire. My anger was a palpable thing.

Dismissing my outburst, Ms. Masterson had barely begun her lecture, when the classroom door opened and interrupted her. And who should walk in but Jason, our supposedly valiant rescuer, dressed in a red flannel shirt and faded jeans. This had to be a dream. I mean c’mon. He took the empty seat behind me while Ms. Masterson glared at him. Jason’s appearance had cooled my anger by a few degrees, replacing it with confusion.

I stared at Dan. He ignored me, a small, infuriating smile on his face. I could feel Jason’s eyes on us. After what seemed like a lifetime of me staring at Dan, Brian glancing worriedly at me, and Jason watching all three of us—the bell finally rang. Dan stood quickly and rushed out the door. I was blocked from him by the other students shuffling out of the classroom. By the time I pushed past everyone and reached the hall he was nowhere to be found. I felt stupid for not having predicted his escape. I really hadn’t thought he’d run. I whirled on Jason, who was walking out of the classroom behind me.

Hands on hips, I stared up into his dark blue eyes, just now noticing his clean-shaven face and less scruffy appearance, though his hair was still a tousled mess. Hmm, he did have a nice smile . . . wait. I mentally slapped myself for getting distracted,

I crossed my arms, put on a stern face, and took on a bad Cuban accent. “Jaaason, you got some ‘splainin to do.” I still wasn’t buying the story he’d given us yesterday, now more than ever. He knew more about Dan than he had let on and he was going to tell me what that was.

“Skip sixth period,” he replied with a smile. “Let’s take a walk.”

I nodded, ignoring the risks. What was the worst that could happen?

Don’t answer that.

Avoiding the not-so-watchful security guards, we slipped outside and began our walk. A surprise gust of chilly air blew my hair back from my face as we went. I glanced up at the sky as we walked off school grounds to see ominous clouds promising yet more rain. The smell of ozone was thick in the air. Joy.

“I think that Lucy may be in trouble,” Jason began.

“Tell me about it,” I replied. “Dan scratched her. We have some theories, but the most prominent one means that Lucy’s ‘trouble’ will start tonight, and I think you know something about it.” I looked at him expectantly.

A bitter smile crept across his face, doing nothing to mar his handsomeness . . . not that I noticed or anything. “You are correct,” Jason confirmed. “Dan is indeed a werewolf, and Lucy will likely become one too. Now the question is, what are we going to do about it?”

“Yep,” I replied weakly, shocked that he had actually backed up my wild accusations. “That’s the $10,000 question. So far we’ve come up with tying her to a tree in the woods.”

Jason stumbled at my words, shock plain on his face. He recovered quickly, running his hands through his messy, dark brown hair. “Um, only if you are going to tie her up with silver chains.”

“Oh,” I continued. “You wouldn’t happen to have any of those lying around?” I smiled sweetly and sarcastically fluttered my eyelashes at him.

“I’ll see what I can do,” He answered nonchalantly.

Oh. I hadn’t been serious about him having silver chains. I stopped and looked up at him curiously, wondering if he was just messing with me. When he showed no signs of pointing at me and saying gotcha, I decided to push things a little further. “So it’s true that silver affects werewolves?”

“Only the newly turned. Silver loses its potency after the first few shifts.”

I nodded, feeling incredibly silly for quizzing a stranger about werewolves. “Now the question is, how do you know about all of this, and how can you expect me to believe it?”

Jason ignored my question and began walking again.

“Hey!” I shouted. “What gives? I was honest with you wasn’t I? I think I deserve an answer.”

He stopped and turned to consider me, concern plain on his face. We had neared the city park. He jerked his head slightly, gesturing for me to follow him. We trod a short distance more through the grass, then stepped onto the slightly damp sand of the currently empty playground. Jason sat down on the black rubber seat of a chain-link swing and motioned for me to take the swing next to him.

“To answer one of your questions, I expect you to believe everything about Dan being a werewolf, because you already do. You wouldn't have walked out here with me if you hadn't already caught on. In answer to the question of how I know about these things, I will make you a deal,” Jason smiled. “Let us handle this situation with Lucy, as we're running out of time, then I will tell you anything you wish to know.”

“Anything?” I questioned.

“Anything.”

I glared at him skeptically, but then conceded, I didn’t really have much choice but to trust him, for Lucy’s sake. We sat on the swings discussing Lucy’s “problem”. Well, mostly I sat scraping the toes of my shoes in the damp sand as my swing drifted back and forth while Jason tried to explain to me exactly what was going to happen to Lucy that night.

I was relieved to have someone that at least knew something of what was going on. I knew I should have a million questions for him, but besides the question of how he knew about werewolves, I was at a loss. I gripped the chains of the swing, squeezing hard enough to make oval indents in my palms, trying to remain steady. I just had to hold on until the night was through. After that I could fall apart.

Our conversation had ebbed, then Jason asked suddenly, “If you were so suspicious about Dan, why did you go out with him on Saturday?”

I gave him an ‘isn’t it obvious’ look. “Lucy and Al were set on going. I couldn’t let them go alone.”

“But what good did you hope to accomplish by going with? How did you intend to protect them?”

I paused in consternation. How did I intend to protect them? Truthfully, I hadn’t though about it. I just knew that I had to go with them. At least that way, I’d know that I had tried. I answered, frustrated with my inability to explain, “I just had to go, even if I couldn’t do any good, I couldn’t let them go alone.”

“You’re a good friend,” he stated simply.

“Exactly.” I smiled at him, happy with his ability to sum up my situation.

With that, he rose from his swing and I followed suit. We started walking back towards the school. I amused myself by watching my sneakers as they squashed down the blades of moist green grass. We’d run out of werewolf conversation, so we walked in silence. Surprisingly, the silence wasn’t awkward.

I stumbled on a loose rock at one point and slipped backwards on the grass. I had closed my eyes, waiting for my butt to hit the ground, when I realized that Jason had caught me with his hands under my upper arms, right before I hit. One moment he had been beside me, and the next he was in position to catch me, too fast for me to follow. My heart fluttered; please don’t let him be another werewolf. He hoisted me back up and smiled at my mumbled thank you. I walked a little ahead of him after that, trying to hide my bright red embarrassed face as well as my cautious eyes.

We walked up to the school parking lot just as Lucy and Allison arrived. Jason nodded to Lucy and left, saying he would meet us at my house. I watched him walk to what was apparently his car. Now I don’t know cars, but this one looked expensive . . . and fast. The paint was a glossy charcoal gray that would be mistaken for black in the night. Nice.

Allison broke me out of my daydream of getting into that car with Jason. “So that’s where you were.”

I gave her a quizzical look.

“During geometry. Not that I condone ditching, but he looks like a pretty good reason.”

“That was Jason, the guy we met in the woods. I’ll explain on the way to my house,” I answered.

We piled into Allison’s car for the short ride to my house. Lucy in front and me in the back for a change.

As soon as we pulled out of the parking lot, Lucy turned to look at me in the backseat. “I thought we didn’t trust him,” she said, referring to Jason.

I met her eyes. “I’m not sure that we do, but he admitted to knowing more about Dan than he let on. Dan is in fact a werewolf, or so I’m told, and Jason seems to know quite a bit about werewolves, so we need his help, trust or no trust.”

Lucy looked down for a moment, then met my eyes steadily. “Did he say how likely it is that I’m . . . infected?”

I patted her shoulder, trying to be comforting and failing. I answered honestly, “He said it’s a good possibility.”

Lucy turned back around to stare out her window.

I went on, speaking to the back of Lucy’s head, “Let’s just try and not worry too much until we actually know what’s going on. Jason and Dan could both just be crazy. We're only going along with any of this to err on the side of caution.”

Lucy gave the barest of nods, but stayed staring out at the passing trees.

“So . . . same plan still?” Allison asked hesitantly.

“We’re going to tweak it just a little,” I replied, then went on to detail my conversation with Jason.

By the time we arrived at my house we had agreed on the rough plan. Jason would obtain restraints for Lucy, we would restrain her, and then we would wait. So, not the most elaborate plan, but better than nothing.

We went inside and Lucy and I journeyed to the kitchen to scrounge for food, our stomachs growling for having missed lunch. My bright, sunny kitchen, with walls painted a yellow so light it’s almost white seemed out of place with our current moods. Maple cabinets, white tile countertops, and plenty of plants in multicolored ceramic pots complete the cozy, cottage-like feel. I could tell that Lucy felt anything but cozy.

We found my mom standing by the coffee pot, drinking a freshly made cup. My mom and I are different in a lot of ways, but we both run on the same fuel—coffee. We had actually recently agreed to try and cut back. It wasn’t going too well.

All we could find to eat was a box of macaroni and cheese of indeterminate age and some rice cakes. Mac and cheese it was. I set about making it while my mom quizzed us about our day at school, receiving only vague and generic answers. Once the mac and cheese was done I divided it into blue ceramic bowls. I grabbed a cup of coffee, standing by my conviction that coffee goes with everything, and Lucy and I went into the dining room to sit and eat at the pale wood table.

I watched Lucy out of the corner of my eye as we ate. She rubbed her arm, with a nervous strain to her face. Allison had stayed in the kitchen to talk to my mom. I eavesdropped until Allison mentioned a sale at a local boutique, then quickly tuned them out. I focused on making myself swallow the macaroni. Yeah, I was beginning to get an idea of its age.

As we finished eating, my mom came into the dining room and grabbed our bowls to stack in the dishwasher. Lucy and I headed upstairs to my room. Allison said a quick goodbye to my mom, then followed us up. We sat on my plush beige carpeting pow-wow style.

“So tell me more about Jason,” Allison began.

Rolling my eyes, I answered, “We don’t know much, just what we told you about what happened in the woods.”

Allison pouted at the lack of details on the new cute boy.

“So he knows about werewolves?” Lucy interjected.

“Um, apparently so,” I replied. “I asked him how he knew, but he said he’d explain it later.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about him being involved,” Lucy said. “We know even less about him than we do about Dan. Why wouldn’t he tell you how he knew about all of this werewolf stuff? For all we know he could be working with Dan.”

I shrugged. I didn’t want to tell her that I was simply acting on my gut instinct in trusting him. “What choice do we have?”

Lucy’s face screwed up in consternation. “Good point.”

“Plus,” Allison added. “You must admit, the boy is not bad to look at.” I rolled my eyes at her and she went on, “C’mon Xoe, don’t act like you didn’t notice, I saw you making moon-eyes at him as he went to his car, and don’t get me started on the car.” She smiled with a sigh and looked away, as if imaging the car in her mind.

“Okay,” I conceded. “I admit that he is not bad to look at, but there are much more pressing issues at hand.”

Allison dismissed me with a wave of her hand. “When is he supposed to come?”

“I don't know . . . ” I began to reply when I was interrupted by a knock on my bedroom door.

My mom waited for me to open the door, then gave me her best scrutinizing look.

“What?” I asked, confused.

She placed her hands on her hips. “Did you forget to tell me something?”

I gave her a blank stare.

She continued, “Care to explain why two young men are waiting downstairs?”

Two? “Oh, er, um, just friends coming over to study mom, geez,” I replied as nonchalantly as possible.

She walked away with a look of motherly knowing and I followed her downstairs.

The second boy in question was Max. The very Max that had been sitting with Dan the dreadful day that Allison dragged him to our lunch table. Max was short for a guy, about 5’4”. He had shaggy, sandy blond hair and the kind of complexion that would freckle like crazy if Shelby ever got any measure of sun. His pale green eyes were staring intently at the floor while his hands nervously straightened his striped polo shirt and khaki cargo pants.

I raised an eyebrow at Jason, wanting an explanation for Max’s presence. He was still dressed in his flannel and jeans. He glanced toward the ceiling and gave his head a slight nod, signaling that we should go upstairs. I was instantly suspicious of how he knew my bedroom was upstairs, but soon felt silly when I realized he had seen me come down as he waited at the door. Sighing, I invited Max and Jason to my room where Lucy and Allison waited. They followed me upstairs without a word. We entered my room and I shut the door so that the questioning could begin.

The second the latch clicked, I whirled on Jason. “What is he doing here?” I spat, pointing my finger at Max. “He’s in league with Dan, I saw them sitting together.”

“Hey!” Max interrupted. “I’m not in league with him. I could tell he was a wolf, so I tried to talk to the guy, then I realized that he’s completely nuts.” He crossed his arms, looking like a grumpy elf.

Wait, a wolf? “Don’t tell me you’re one too,” I groaned.

“Well yeah,” Max answered, holding his head high, “but I’m not a bad one, I’m here to help.” He head remained high, proud to not be a “bad one”.

I turned back to Jason as he started pulling things out of a dark blue backpack to show to us: a length of shiny silver chain, two sets of handcuffs, and a medical case. Lucy looked ready to pass out.

“What’s in the case?” I asked.

“Tranquilizers,” Jason answered, shifting his focus from his “supplies” to acknowledge me. Taking in my shocked expression, he elaborated. “First we’ll chain her up; the chains and cuffs are solid silver. Then if she starts to change, we tranquilize her. It won’t stop the change, but it will slow it down and stop her from hurting herself.” He opened the medical case and showed us several syringes and vials of clear liquid.

Lucy had now gone from pale to green. Allison noticed and sat Lucy down on my bed. Jason looked questioningly at Lucy, deep blue eyes pinched with concern.

I didn’t feel too hot myself. I do not like needles. Even thinking about getting a shot makes me queasy, and getting blood drawn, forget about it. I can’t even watch people get shots on TV. There is a very justified reason why my ears aren’t pierced.

“Well it’s only 5:00 right now,” Allison announced, taking everyone's attention off the tranquilizers. “What time is she supposed to change at?”

“Full dark,” Max responded. “Around 8:00. We shouldn’t do it here though. Jason found a place.”

We all looked at Jason still squatting on the floor beside his backpack. He stared back.

“Lead on,” I said in a booming voice, dramatically thrusting my arm towards the door.

Jason chuckled. He was the only one. At least someone found me amusing.

Jason gathered the supplies and shoved them back into his backpack, then we all trooped out of my room and downstairs single file. I told my mom we were staying at Lucy’s; luckily I hadn’t mentioned to my mom that Lucy’s parents weren’t in town, and of course the boys were going home by nine, and out we went into the crisp evening air.

Jason’s nifty car was waiting out front for us. Apparently my wish for a ride was about to be fulfilled, if not in the same fashion I had imagined. Jason opened the car door and lowered himself into the driver’s seat, unlocking the other doors as he did so. I snagged the front passenger seat, leaving everyone else to pile into the back. Lucy ended up squished in the middle between Allison and Max. Jason started the ignition and the David Bowie CD that was in his player started to play. A man after my own heart. Away we went, into the unknown.

Chapter 10

We drove away from town to the mostly abandoned industrial district, passing by empty lots and dilapidated buildings as we went. The slowly eroding buildings were all a depressing gray that caused them to blend in with the murky sky. The district has the feel of a ghost town; only transients and other seedy characters dwell there these days.

I glanced at the door to make sure it was locked, then looked at Lucy’s face in the rearview mirror. She had her eyes pinched shut like she was trying to pretend that nothing was happening. I couldn’t imagine how she felt. I was scared enough just being involved in the situation. Lucy had to face the fact that she might become a werewolf in a world where we would have never imagined that such things existed.

The crunch of gravel on asphalt along with the slowing of the car brought my attention back to our surroundings. Jason had pulled into the back lot of an empty, cavernous warehouse and was driving into an already opened bay. Once inside, he parked and we all got out to survey our surroundings. Jason walked back to shut the bay door behind us while Max took several electric camping lanterns out of the trunk of Jason’s car.

Max turned on each lantern as he placed them around the expansive, creepy, dusty room. I looked up and everything was black, there was no telling how high the ceiling was. I felt the darkness pressing down on me, inciting panic, like reverse claustrophobia. I took slow breaths, in and out, hoping no one noticed. I drew my hand over the beads of cold sweat that had formed on my brow.

As Max’s lanterns filled the warehouse with a dull glow, I took more of a look around. Trash and what appeared to be old clothes littered the floor, giving off an unpleasant mildewy smell. The area where Max was setting up the lanterns had been swept clean of debris. I tried to distract myself by attempting to make out some of the graffiti that covered the walls. Max walked back toward us.

“You ready?” Max asked Lucy, who was huddling next to me looking terrified.

“B-but, it’s only 6:00,” Lucy stammered.

Max shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”

I put my arm around Lucy’s shoulders, acting calmer than I felt, and walked her to a metal-framed folding chair that Max had placed in the center of the lanterns. Jason approached with the chains and cuffs.

Jason faced Lucy. “Go ahead and sit down,” he told her.

Lucy slowly sat on the black canvas seat of the rickety metal chair, then looked up at Jason with huge, terrified eyes. “What next?”

“Hold out your hands.” Jason set the chains and cuffs on the cement floor and demonstrated by holding his hands in front of him, wrists side by side. Lucy slowly complied, but was trembling so badly that she could barely hold her wrists together. Jason picked up one set of cuffs and knelt by Lucy. He gingerly cuffed her hands together, running the cuff on her right hand through a link of the chain before locking the cuff down. He then put the second pair of cuffs around her ankles and attached the other end of the chain, kind of hog-tying her. Then, using a big padlock, he attached the loose ends of chain to a metal loop coming out of the concrete ground. I hadn't noticed the loop before, and wondered what its original purpose was. Finished, Jason backed away to survey his handiwork.

“Is that it?” I asked. “It doesn’t seem very . . . restraining.”

Jason turned his attention to me. “It will be when she’s in wolf form. She’ll be a lot bigger than she is now. We don’t want the chains to hurt her when she changes.”

Oh, well that made sense . . . I guess.

Lucy watched us with big, terrified eyes. I went and sat on the bare concrete beside her, taking her hand in mine. The cold from the ground seeped into my body. Everybody else sat in a semicircle in front of us.

“How did you know Dan was crazy?” I asked, turning to Max.

He gave me a confused look.

I elaborated, “In my room, you said you tried to get to know Dan and you realized he was crazy. How’d you know?”

Max hesitated. “Um, you know, just by the kind of things he talked about . . . ”

I fixed him with a stubborn stare, crossed my arms, and raised my eyebrows, urging him on.

“He told me to stay away from Lucy, because she was his. He told me I could have Allison if I wanted.” Max paused at an ‘as if’ noise from Allison.

“What about me?” I interjected.

That confused look crossed Max’s face again.

“What?” I asked snarkily. “You said that Dan claimed Lucy and you could have Allison, what am I, chopped liver?”

Jason chimed in with a smirk on his face, “You are mad that no one claimed you as property?”

I gave him a petulant look. “It’s the principle of the thing.” I turned back towards Max. “Well?”

“He didn’t include you because you can’t be turned,” Max replied.

Now it was my turn for the confused expression.

Max went on, “Only humans can be turned.”

Jason gave Max a sharp look. I looked back and forth between Max and Jason, trying to understand the warning look on Jason’s face and the confused one on Max’s.

“She doesn’t know,” Jason said softly.

“Oh,” Max murmured. “Sorry.”

“Ok, someone needs to tell me what’s going on here,” I interrupted.

“I don't think you want to know,” Jason said softly.

“Try me.”

Jason turned to me, looking resigned, he explained, “Supernatural beings are usually equipped with a way to tell their own. To a werewolf, humans have a certain smell, and anything not human will smell different. They may not be able to decipher what type of being you are, but they can tell if you aren't human. You don't smell human.”

I gave him a smug look, despite my sudden loss of breath. I managed to suck in enough air to reply, “Of course I’m human, my mom’s human, and as far as I know I’ve never been bitten by any sort of supernatural beastie.”

“You never knew your dad,” Allison countered. “Your mom’s human, but you have no idea what your dad could’ve been.”

“For someone who was still skeptical about the werewolf thing, you seem all too ready to believe that my dad was some sort of . . . non-human,” I shot back.

Allison frowned. “Just think about it Xoe.”

The superior look faded from my face. “But . . . I’m sure my mom would have known if my dad had been less than human, and if she knew, she would have told me.” It sounded a weak defense, even to me.

“Would you have ever guessed that Max wasn’t human?” Allison asked quietly.

A stab of fear entered my heart. “No, but I don’t really know Max. My mom knew my dad. He had to have been human,” I said in a last ditch effort to prove them wrong.

Jason wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I am sorry Xoe, but . . . your smell begs to differ.”

“Well, then . . . what am I?” I asked no one in particular.

Max shrugged. “Not sure, it’s not a smell I know.”

We all sat in silence. If my mind wasn’t already spinning, it sure was now. I had just begun to accept the idea that supernatural beings existed. Now I was supposed to believe that I was one?

“So that’s it?” I asked, frustrated. “You tell me that I’m not human and have no explanation other than that I smell funny?”

Jason shifted to sit in a more comfortable position. “Has anything strange ever happened to you, or have you ever been able to do something you should not have been able to do?”

“Not that I know of,” I answered hesitantly.

“Then there is no way to tell,” Jason stated. “You may simply go on like a regular human.”

“Is there any reason why I wouldn’t?” I asked. “I mean, if I was going to exhibit any non-human traits, wouldn’t I have done so by now?”

“Not necessarily,” Jason answered. “Mixing human bloodlines with supernatural is a roll-of-the-dice process. There is no way of telling what might happen. Humans have dominant and recessive traits; the supernatural traits are no different from the others. They may be recessive to the human ones . . . or the supernatural traits may only reveal themselves with time.”

“Oh,” I answered. What else could I say?

“What time is it now?” Lucy asked the room anxiously. I wanted Jason to continue his explanation, but I couldn't blame Lucy for changing the subject. I'd just have to ask him later.

Max glanced at his watch. “6:25.”

Lucy cringed. “When did you say it was going to happen again . . . the change?”

Max watched Lucy worriedly. “Around full dark, it’s not exactly precise. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

Lucy was silent for a moment, then asked hesitantly, “Will it hurt?”

Max smiled sadly. “Do you want the truth?”

Lucy seemed to think about it, then nodded her head slowly, as if she might regret learning the answer.

“Yes,” Max replied, “it hurts.”

Lucy nodded her head somberly. I squeezed her hand, and we settled in to wait.

Only a few minutes had gone by when a horrible thought dawned on me, and my mouth went dry with fear. I turned toward Max. “Um, aren’t you supposed to be turning into a werewolf tonight too?”

Max smiled. “I can control it. I have to turn each month, but I can do it any of the three days that the moon is at its fullest.”

Allison looked green. “Are you sure?” she asked.

Max nodded, perfectly at ease. We had no choice but to take him for his word and hope that it held true. Well, that, or kick him out the bay door, but that would be just plain rude.

The next hour went by incredibly slow. My mind was completely preoccupied with the idea that I might not be human. Conversation was kept to a minimum, not by choice, but what do you say when you just found out you might not be human, all while waiting for your friend to turn into a wolf? It was almost 8:00. There was no light left outside to shine through the bottom of the bay door where it met the ground.

Suddenly Lucy started to whimper. “Something’s happening,” she spat through gritted teeth.

I let go of Lucy’s hand and stood. Jason ran to his medical kit and started filling a syringe. Lucy’s knuckles were white as her hands curled into tight fists. Sweat began to bead on her brow. Jason came running with the syringe and unceremoniously stuck her in the arm.

Lucy panted heavily, her eyes half closed. Then the screaming started.

Jason came up behind Lucy and quickly tied a thick piece of cloth around her mouth to dull the noise of her screams. It didn’t help much. We just had to hope that no one was in hearing range of us. Loud popping noises emanated from her limbs and there was a sickening tearing sound coming from somewhere in her body. Her skin began to ripple like something alive swam underneath. Her bones pulled apart at the joints under her skin. Her body twisted and reshaped as her form started to look more wolf than human.

Harsh reality set in. It was real. It was all real. Werewolves and who knew what else . . . existed. I was frozen with terror as I watched Lucy change. Fur erupted all over her mostly wolf body. It was like freeze frame animation, every time I blinked, the picture changed.

A few heart-pounding minutes later, Lucy’s screams were cut off into a guttural howl. My limbs unlocked and I ran to a corner and threw up. Hot tears stung my eyes as I crouched in the corner, not wanting to look back to the thing that was formerly Lucy.

When I had regained enough composure to turn back to the scene, a giant wolf had taken Lucy’s place. It was growling and thrashing around trying to free itself from its bonds. The warped chair was lying several feet away from the wolf. Large gleaming teeth snapped at empty air as the wolf strained against the chains. The gag had fallen to the floor. The wolf’s fur was the same black as Lucy’s hair.

Chapter 11

The wolf continued to thrash and snap at the air. Jason herded us away, back towards his car. “She’ll be like this the rest of the night. I’ll stay with her. Max can take you guys home,” Jason stated, annoyingly calm.

“Will she be like this every month?” Allison asked breathlessly. Her eyes were too wide and I half expected her to bolt out of the building at any second.

“No,” Max answered, his hand on Allison’s arm, offering comfort. “She’ll slowly gain control of herself in wolf form, once she’s a little less dangerous, I’ll take her to shift in the woods. Eventually she’ll be able to go out on her own and not risk eating any humans.”

“How long?” I asked.

“I don’t really know,” Max replied. “The only experience I have to go on is my own. It took me about five months, five shifts. Those first few months . . . I don’t really remember much of what happened . . . ”

Max’s far-away gaze made him look like a lost little boy. I realized that I knew barely anything about Max. I had always just kind of . . . overlooked him. He had gone through everything that Lucy had, but he had been completely by himself. Until now, he had lived in a world where no one was like him—alone. I felt a wash of love and gratitude for my friends. With them I would never feel that lonely. I needed to stop taking that for granted.

I shifted my attention to Allison as she nodded, numbly accepting Max’s answer, then slid into the backseat of Jason’s car.

“I’m staying,” I stated matter-of-factly. “My mom thinks I’m at Lucy’s and I’m not leaving her. She’ll be scared when she turns back.”

Jason looked unsure, but finally nodded his assent. Allison stayed staring blankly in the backseat, looking pale. I put Allison’s seatbelt on her without her really noticing, then grabbed a piece of gum from her purse while I was at it to get rid of the taste of vomit in my mouth. I gave Allison one final worried look then shut the car door.

After Max and Allison drove away, Jason and I sat cross-legged on the floor, a safe distance from Lucy. Jason had taken a brown leather aviator jacket out of his car before Max drove away. I had assumed it was for him, but as we sat down he draped it over my shoulders. I was freezing, so I didn’t argue. I put my arms through the sleeves and wrapped the jacket close around me. His jacket smelled like him, the scent smelled like a pleasant mixture of trees and vanilla. The cold didn’t seem to faze him.

I was the first to break the silence. “Tell me more about werewolves.”

He looked up at me, his face half in shadow. “Max would really be the one to ask. I have already told you most of what I know: they must turn once a month, but once they gain control they are able to change at will; they have superhuman strength, even in human form; they are not much stronger than humans in the beginning, but the strength grows as time goes on; and they are very hard to kill, depending on how powerful they are. Like I said, silver only works on newer werewolves.”

The strength thing was new information to me. I cocked my head, thinking. “So how do you kill an experienced werewolf?”

“It is no easy task,” he replied. “Brute force is the best method. The older the wolf, the more quickly it will regenerate. You literally have to tear them limb from limb.”

I suddenly felt queasy again. “So a human wouldn’t be able to kill one?”

Jason shook his head. “It has been done before, though it is usually a group of humans. One human would stand no chance, unless they are very lucky.”

I nodded, my fear of Dan now increased ten-fold. I still had one more question that had been eating at me all day. “How did you just happen to show up in town shortly after Dan did, and how did you know to be on the trail when he attacked me and Lucy, and how do you know about werewolves?” I kept my eyes focused steadily on Jason, trying to keep myself distracted from the all too real wolf salivating across the room.

Jason ran his hand through his hair, then returned it to his knee. I was beginning to understand that that was his nervous gesture; the ‘tell’ that gave him away. He took in a deep breath. “I’ve been following Dan.”

“Why?” I prodded. I realized that I had scooted a little too close to Jason in anticipation of his answer. His face was very close. I felt a blush heat my face, but held my ground.

Jason either was comfortable with the closeness, or else he didn’t notice. “Most werewolves are able to fit into society. They form packs for protection and do their best to play human. Dan was a member of a pack, but then he attacked and killed a human. Pack law states that if any wolf kills a human, that wolf will be executed. Dan fled. His pack hired me to follow him. Once he entered an area with a local pack, I was to report to them and they would handle the execution. Dan has been very careful so far. Shelby does not have a local pack, so I was keeping an eye on him until he moved on.”

I thought about what he’d said for a moment. “Why can’t you just, you know, take care of it?”

He laughed and drew a little closer to me. “Trust me, I have considered it. First of all, it would be a close fight, Dan is very strong. Secondly, the wolves tend to keep these things within their society. I was only hired to follow him.”

I asked, “So you’re like a bounty hunter?”

The side of his mouth raised in a crooked smile. “Something like that.”

Hmm, a real live bounty hunter. I tried to hide my morbid excitement. “So, if werewolves stay in packs, then why is Max in Shelby, where there is no pack?”

Jason answered, “I have not asked him his story. He apparently changed on his own, so I would guess that he was attacked by a rogue wolf. It is rare for someone like that to not only survive the attack and the change, but to also not massacre his loved ones, but it happens. Any more questions?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Who . . . or what, are you, and how did you become involved in all of this?”

He pursed his lips. “That I will explain when this night is over, and you are not trapped alone in a dark room with me and a bloodthirsty wolf.”

Ominous . . . very ominous. “Tomorrow?”

He sighed, then looked down and nodded his head. “Tomorrow.”

Jason looked over at Lucy and my eyes followed his. She had calmed down, and had now resorted to staring at us hungrily. It was hard to think of the wolf as my best friend . . . usually best friends didn’t want to eat you. She kept her eyes on us, ears forward and alert.

“Max is back,” Jason stated.

The bay door lifted and Max called in that it was him, confirming what Jason had said, then drove Jason’s car through, casting bouncing shapes across the rubble against the walls of the warehouse with the headlights.

“Is Allison okay?” I called as Max stepped out of the car.

“She’s adjusting, I think. It’s a lot to take in.” Max said as he went to close the bay door. After an echoing clang, Max walked to where we were sitting and plunked down beside Jason. He turned to me. “There’re some blankets in the back seat if you want to get some rest Xoe.”

Come to think of it, I was exhausted. Max looked as annoyingly wide-awake as ever. I nodded and got up.

Crawling into the backseat of the car I found several blankets and a pillow waiting for me. Bonus points for Max, or Jason, depending on who had supplied me with the bedding. I considered giving Jason back his jacket, which was still wrapped around me, but greedily snuggled up with it. I awkwardly curled my legs up on the seat; believe it or not, there are some downsides to being tall. I fell asleep about 30 seconds after my head hit the pillow.

I had nightmares of werewolves, vampires, and my dad, who I somehow just knew was my dad, even though I’ve never seen him, turning into a gargantuan monster and telling me I’d grow up to be just like him.

I woke to Jason gently shaking my shoulders. “Lucy’s starting to change back,” he informed me. He looked at me worriedly and placed his hand against my neck. “You have a fever,” he said.

I blinked at him, momentarily confused, and mumbled, “I’m fine, it’s nothing. I need to see Lucy.”

I scooted out of the car in a hurry, but was instantly stopped by Max. He grabbed my arm to keep me from rushing to Lucy and pulled one of the blankets out of the car. He blushed, handing me the dark gray blanket, and said “She’s not going to, um, have any clothes when she changes back.”

“Oh,” I replied, clutching the blanket in both hands, “er, thanks.”

I gathered up the blanket so it wouldn’t drag on the floor and started walking to Lucy. I spared a glance back to Jason and Max, who were standing dutifully by the car with their backs turned to Lucy and me. I wished I could wait with them. I wondered if Lucy was going to be different, more like Dan. I hoped not.

Lucy was almost back to human form by the time I reached her. She was lying on her side on the concrete, still in chains. Her body was back to normal, but her face was still . . . wrong. It was hard to tell what was wrong about it, it just was. She was panting and whimpering softly. I watched her worriedly, feeling sick again. I couldn’t make sense of the change, but her face slowly shifted back to normal. I wrapped the blanket around her, snuggling it up around her neck. Tears streamed down her delicate face as I called Jason over to unlock her chains. After letting the chains fall to the floor, Jason gently lifted Lucy in his arms. She was mostly covered by the blanket, only her bare feet and a few locks of her long black hair were visible. He carried her to the car, placing her in the back seat.

I followed them and slid into the backseat beside Lucy, comforting her while Jason and Max loaded everything back into the trunk. She laid her head in my lap and I stroked her hair while she cried silent, tired tears. With a slam of the trunk, Jason and Max walked to the front of the car. I looked down at Lucy and realized that she’d fallen asleep in my lap.

Jason slid into the driver’s seat as Max took the front seat next to him. Neither looked back at Lucy and me. Jason started the car, lighting up the clock on the dash. I spared a glance at it, 6:27 am. We were so not making school today. I put my seatbelt on and awkwardly wrapped the middle seatbelt around Lucy’s waist, snapping it in place.

I directed Jason as he drove us to Lucy’s empty house. The warmth of the sun from the window pulsed against my skin. I propped Lucy up so I could take off Jason’s jacket. Lucy was still unconscious, her limbs limp like those of a corpse. Jason pulled into the circular gravel driveway and shut off the car. He got out and opened the door to the backseat while Max took Lucy’s keys to unlock the front door. Jason gently lifted Lucy out of the car and carried her inside with me tagging along behind him.

I flipped on the lights as I walked through the doorway, then led everyone into the living room so that Jason could place the still unconscious Lucy gently on the pale beige couch. Everything about Lucy’s house is very . . . beige. It was a stark contrast to the colorful chaos that I was used to.

We stood in the silence of the dark, nondescript living room until Max said, “She’ll be out for a while, TV?”

I grabbed the remote from the plain oak coffee table, turning the TV on as I sat down next to Max on the loveseat. Jason had sat down by Lucy’s feet on the couch. I flipped through the channels, finally settling on Teen Wolf the movie. Seemed fitting.

As we watched, I quizzed Max on the similarities between the movie and real werewolves. He seemed more than happy to talk about it. He chattered away while I half-listened to him. Jason appeared to be deep in thought, not watching the movie or listening to Max. I settled back on the loveseat and prepared to wait. Eventually Max ran out of material, after all, everything he knew about werewolves was what he had learned from personal experience, and I turned my focus back to the movie.

When the movie ended, I pushed the guide button on the remote. Apparently there exists a second Teen Wolf movie, titled Teen Wolf Too, which was playing after the first one. Lucy was still out cold, so we decided to watch that one too. Eventually I curled up against the arm of the loveseat and let my eyes drift closed. My sleep was never restful when I had my fever-inducing dreams, so I still felt exhausted.

I woke up to Max reaching across me to retrieve the remote. The credits were rolling on Teen Wolf Too, and Max quickly changed the channel to a soccer game. I looked at Jason to find him watching me, worry creasing his brow. Jason caught my eyes with his, then nodded to the backdoor. Interpreting his signal, I followed him out, leaving Max to watch Lucy.

“I guess I can tell you what you want to know now,” Jason said with a sigh as I shut the backdoor behind us. “Dan is still in town, so the situation is far from over, but at least now you have a choice of whether or not you want to be around me.” He walked farther into the backyard to sit on a small iron bench near the white fence that surrounded her yard. A large oak tree shaded the bench, its branches reaching hungrily toward the sun. He gestured for me to sit beside him. Sitting down, I watched him expectantly.

“I’m . . . a vampire,” he said.

I blinked slowly at him. “Come again?”

Instead of repeating himself, he looked down at his lap while I processed his answer.

“Well I guess that makes sense.” I said after a few moments of silence.

He looked up as a stunned expression crossed his face. “You’re not shocked? Horrified?”

I smirked. “You’re talking to someone who found out that werewolves exist, had her best friend turned into a werewolf, not to mention finding out that I’m apparently not human, all in the last few days. Forgive me if I do not display the proper amount of awe. As for the horrified part, that all depends on my next few questions.” On the inside I was shaking, but it wasn't time to break down. Not yet.

He looked at me, slightly confused, as if he could see right through to my soul. It was all too reminiscent of Dan’s looks during English. “Go on,” he prompted me, anxiety creeping into his normally controlled voice.

“Do you drink blood?” I asked.

He nodded. “I only drink animal blood now.”

I hesitated on the now. “But you at one time drank human blood?”

He nodded again.

I continued. “So . . . you’ve killed people?”

He looked at the ground, then answered me while focusing on the grass at our feet. “That was a long time ago. My bloodlust used to be much more difficult to control. I felt remorse for those I killed, but I could not stop.”

My pulse sped, and I had to resist the overwhelming urge to scoot away from him. “So what changed?” I asked softly.

Jason answered, very carefully avoiding my eyes, “One night, a child became my prey. He was alone, walking to his home at night. He must have only been seven or eight years old. I followed him, at war with myself . . . a war I always lost. It became too much, I approached him and knocked him to the ground. I was poised to go for his throat. Then I saw the look on his face. He seemed so shocked that someone would hurt him. He looked at me, not understanding what I intended, and I was somehow able to stop. That had never happened before. Until then, once I had spotted my prey, I would try to resist, but then my conscience would turn off, my mind would become entirely consumed by the hunt. After that night, I was able to stop it, I do not know why. Once I had a choice, I began to feed only on animals.” He paused, staring at the ground. “Does that change things for you?” At my puzzled look he added, “Does it cause you think less of me?”

Ooh, tricky. I thought for a moment, staring off into space while trying to ignore the sick feeling in my gut, then turned to find him staring at me intently, blue eyes unblinking. “I don’t know,” I answered. “I’ll need some time to think about it.”

He looked back down and nodded, resigned.

“Okay, next question, how are you out in the sun?” I asked.

He laughed a slightly bitter laugh. “It is a myth that we burn in the sun. The sun hurts my eyes, and my vision is slightly less during the day. I suppose it is because of my increased night-vision.”

I nodded. “How old are you?” I asked.

“I was born in 1883,” He smiled. “Anything else?”

I gulped. That made him . . . old. I took a deep breath and let it out. “I thought you talked kind of funny.”

He smiled and tentatively took my hand. He was being honest with me, so I let him. He gripped a little harder. “Your hand is trembling.”

Damn, and here I though I was acting all cool and collected. “So maybe I am a little shocked by the vampire thing,” I mumbled.

He said nothing, but kept his hand in mine.

I was reminded of a question I had meant to ask him last night. “Where are you staying while you’re here?”

“I’m currently residing at the Holiday Inn in town.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it.

“What?” he asked.

“The Holiday Inn, it just seems so . . . normal.”

“Would you rather I was staying at the local crypt perhaps? Or possibly you know of a cozy bat infested cave nearby?”

Grinning, I answered, “At the very least you could have chosen a creepy abandoned building or something.”

“I may be a creature of the night,” he wiggled the fingers of his free hand in the air in mock spookiness, “but I happen to enjoy running water and electricity.”

I snapped my fingers in an aw shucks gesture and said mournfully, “You’ve shattered all of my illusions.”

Jason laughed, but quickly took on a more somber tone. “I can track Dan on my own, leave you alone, but it would be safer if I stayed with you and Lucy.”

I took me a moment to realize that he expected an answer. “Oh, stay, of course you should stay with us.”

I sensed relief in his smile. I wasn’t sure why that surprised me.

“Lucy’s up!” a call came from the house.

I leapt up and went running inside with Jason following shortly behind me. Lucy was sitting up on the couch with her blanket wrapped tightly around her.

“How are you feeling?” I asked her.

She looked up to me. “Ok, I guess, my throat is killing me, from the screaming Max tells me. Other than that, I’m just tired.”

I sat beside her and put my arm around her shoulders. “Do you remember anything?” I asked.

“Not really.” Lucy replied. “I remember arriving at the warehouse, then I remember this morning, changing back. I didn’t hurt anyone, did I? Where’s Al?” She looked from me to Max.

“No, you didn’t hurt anyone,” I assured her. “Max took Allison home after you changed. She was a little shaken up.” I didn’t feel the need to mention that I had been rather shaken myself.

“So, what now?” Lucy asked.

“We still have Dan to worry about,” Jason answered. “He’s going to come for you at some point, and we need to be ready when he does.”

Jason carefully avoided my eyes. Lucy looked back and forth between us, picking up on the awkwardness. Our banter seemed to have only temporarily softened the fact that I was unsure if I could deal with his past.

“My parents are coming home tonight. They won’t let us all stay here.” Lucy stated. She looked up at me expectantly.

“My mom will let you stay at my place, but we’ll have to sneak the boys in. Has anyone talked to Al yet?” I asked.

Everyone shook their heads.

“We’ll call her from my place. I gotta get there and delete the message I’m sure the school has left because of my absence before my mom gets home.”

Lucy’s eyes widened and Max added, “They already called here, message successfully erased.”

Lucy let out a relieved breath. “Thanks.” She unwrapped herself from her blanket and went upstairs to pack her stuff, walking a little unsteadily. As she left she said, “I’ll tell my parents we have to stay up late to finish a school project, so I need to stay at your place. It’ll work at least for tonight . . . I hope.”

“Fingers crossed,” I said.

Lucy paused on the stairs with a sour expression on her face. “Do you guys mind waiting while I take a quick shower?”

“No, I was going to recommend that,” I answered with a smile.

“Gee Xoe, you have such a way with words,” Lucy said as she turned to continue up the stairs.

While we waited for Lucy to shower, I worried over Lucy’s new affliction. I also worried about the vampire sitting next to me on the sofa and the werewolf lounging on the love seat. Not to mention that tonight I had to sneak said vampire and werewolf into my house while we waited to be attacked by another werewolf.

Since when was being a teenager so complicated?

Don’t answer that.

Chapter 12

As soon as we arrived at my house, I got out of the car and unlocked the front door. Jason and Max went in first to make sure nothing was amiss around the house. I checked the messages and erased the one from the school. The other message was from Allison, saying to call her as soon as I got home. I picked up the phone and dialed her number.

Allison answered after the first ring. “What took you so long!” she exclaimed. “I have been waiting here for hours for you to tell me what’s going on!”

I laughed. “Calm down Al. Everyone’s okay. We’re back at my house now.”

“I’ll see you in ten,” she said, then hung up.

I placed the phone back in its cradle just as Max and Jason returned to the living room. Lucy was curled up on the couch staring at nothing.

“I’m in desperate need of a shower,” I announced to the room. I looked toward Max and Jason, “You guys are free to use the guest bathroom if you want. There should be plenty of hot water.”

Max shrugged, “I don’t have any extra clothes. I’ll probably just run home and shower.” He turned to Jason. “Mind if I use your car?”

“It is all yours,” Jason answered. “I have clothes in the trunk that I must retrieve, then you can take it.”

“It’s settled then,” I concluded. I informed Jason where the guest bathroom was, then ran upstairs and hopped in the shower.

Finally alone, I took a moment to process the events of the previous night and that morning. It was a lot to take in: werewolves, vampires, and whatever I was. That last part was by far the most troubling to me, not that the others were unimportant, far from it. My world was completely and utterly upside-down.

I thought about Jason being a vampire. I wasn’t even really sure about what a vampire was. I mean, I had the movies and legends to go on, but how many of them were actually based on reality? All I knew for sure was that he drank blood, and despite popular belief, could go out in the sun.

Vampires, as a general consensus, were reanimated corpses. Jason had said when he was born, but not when or if he died. Maybe you were just born a vampire, not changed into one.

Then there was Jason’s profession. Bounty hunter? I guess that was actually my choice of words, but still. His contract against Dan seemed valiant enough, but what if his other jobs weren’t quite as innocent? I wished I had thought of all of these questions earlier.

I finished showering and dried off. Then I went rummaging through my closet and pulled on a clean pair of jeans. I considered a turtleneck and vetoed the idea; I wasn’t sure if Jason would think it was because of him and be offended. I decided on a plain black, v-neck short-sleeved shirt then headed back to the group. As I neared the end of the stairs, Jason turned his head to watch me for the rest of my descent.

His observant blue eyes had a hint of some emotion that I didn’t understand, except that it made my heart hurt in a funny way. It seemed an admiring gaze, but there was some sadness underneath. He was freshly showered and wearing a blue cotton t-shirt that matched his eyes on top of jeans and his usual hiking boots.

Walking into the room I saw that Lucy was pretending to watch the soccer game with Max, who had apparently already gone home and showered, since he was now wearing a yellow button up shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, and some more khaki cargo pants. I knew I had taken a long time in the shower, but I hadn't realized just how long. Noticing my presence, Max and Lucy both turned to add their gazes to Jason’s.

I cut the silence by asking, “Anyone hungry?”

The atmosphere eased as everyone admitted that they were starved. We all trooped to the kitchen. I searched my usually empty pantry as everyone else went to sit in the adjoining dining room. Like I said, we’re big on take-out in my house, so I was surprised to find we had all of the ingredients for pancakes; Mom must have gone shopping. I had retrieved a big blue ceramic mixing bowl and had begun mixing the batter when the doorbell rang.

“That’ll be Allison,” I called. “I’ll get it.” I went into the living room and opened the door. I was surprised to find not Allison, but Brian waiting outside. He was dressed in a red t-shirt and jeans, topped by his Letterman’s jacket.

“So you are alive!” he exclaimed. I stared blankly at him and he went on, “Well what was I supposed to think? There was that scene in English yesterday with that weirdo Dan. And you, him, and the other new guy that sat behind you obviously had some tension going on, then today none of you are there, and I didn’t see Allison in gym either.”

Jason chose that moment to walk up and stand behind me, almost touching. I could feel the line of his chest a hair’s-breadth away from my back. The look Brian gave him was not a friendly one. Ignoring Brian’s glare, Jason stepped closer. Now he actually was pressed against my back. I shivered, sensing the tension in Jason’s body.

Brian tried to stare down Jason, but then seemed to think better of it, and gave his usual grin, if not an entirely happy one. He turned his gaze back to me. “Do I smell pancakes?” he asked mischievously. He didn’t wait for an answer. I stood there dumbly as he pushed his way through the door with a very deliberate look at Jason. As Brian walked past us, I turned to Jason for help, but was only rewarded with a sarcastic ‘nice going’ look. He'd been trying to intimidate Brian in to leaving, and I'd totally blown it.

I crossed my arms with an angry pout, then headed back into the kitchen. Jason shut and locked the door, then followed me.

Max had started cooking the pancakes while I was gone on my rarely used electric griddle. I made a mental note to start using it more; it really was a genius invention. No stove required and clean up consisted of wiping it down with a paper towel. Max was placed the first of the pancakes onto a platter he had to have found shoved in the back of one of our barren cupboards. Leaving Max to his work, I peeked into the dining room to see Lucy and Brian sitting at opposite ends of my pale wood table.

Shaking my head, I started the coffee while Jason hovered over me. I ground the beans, fresh ground is the only way to go, and put them in the paper filter. Jason remained standing in the kitchen, watching me as I grabbed some paper plates, coffee mugs, and juice for the non-coffee drinkers. So it was well past lunchtime, I simply could not have pancakes without coffee.

Jason darted occasional glances at the table where Brian was sitting, while he continued to hover over me almost possessively. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Jason was jealous. Well, considering I’d only known him a few days, I really didn’t know any better. Not knowing whether to be flattered, or annoyed, I settled on a little bit of both, and tried to ignore Jason as much as possible.

I finished setting the table as Max set the heaping platter of pancakes in the center. I brought out the coffee pot and sat down. Jason and I were the only ones to fill our cups. Point for the vampire. I added cream, no sugar. Jason took his black.

Another knock on the door signaled Allison’s arrival. Max got up to let her in. The rest of us sat eating out pancakes, Jason and I on one side of the table, Brian on the other, and Lucy at the head of the table. Allison waltzed in ahead of Max, wearing a lavender tunic-style tank top over skinny jeans and black ballet flats. She tossed her black and silver overnight bag on the floor in a corner of the dining room, then sat down next to Brian as Max sat on the other side of Jason.

Jason heaped more pancakes onto his plate. I didn’t think vampires could eat people food, or drink coffee for that matter; another myth I guess, I’d have to ask later. He drizzled maple syrup over his pile of pancakes and dug in. Allison gave me a questioning look at the sight of Brian and I mouthed, “Later.”

“So, this is quite a gathering,” Brian observed innocently, albeit a little sarcastically. “What have you all got planned this evening?”

We each darted nervous glances at our co-conspirators.

“School project,” Lucy answered.

Brian smiled. “School project? What class do you all have together?”

In an attempt to save our ruse Allison answered, “They’re helping me with a project for the yearbook committee.”

Brian’s look remained suspicious, but the questioning ended . . . for now.

Allison took the opportunity to change the subject. “Who made the pancakes?”

Max raised his hand with a grin.

Allison laughed and ran her hand through her loose blond hair. “Surprise, surprise, Xoe passes the cooking off on someone else.”

“Hey!” I shouted playfully. “I mixed. That’s cooking.”

Allison jested, “Oooooh, she uses a spoon.”

I pouted, glaring at Al, as everyone laughed. I wasn’t actually upset; my cooking skills were often mocked. Plus, I kind of had it coming. I gave Al a hard time about one thing or another most every day.

After we finished eating, I hustled Brian out of the house, saying we had to get started on our “project.” I walked him to the door, but before walking out he turned to me. “I don’t trust Jason. If you need anything, call.”

Ah, the testosterone was suffocating. I said goodbye and shut the door to find Jason watching me from across the room.

He walked up to me, hands in his pockets, acting perfectly at ease. “Boyfriend?” he questioned.

“No, not that it’s any of your business,” I sniffed, then walked to the dining room where everyone else was still sitting. I sat down as Jason came into the room, a small, satisfied smile on his face.

Jason took the chair beside me and put his arm across my chair back casually, then started detailing the battle plan for that night. I leaned forward slightly so that I wouldn't be touching Jason's arm. What was with all of the hovering? I decided to write it off as Jason just being a touchy-feely kind of person. So why did my heart speed every time such touching occurred? He caught my gaze with his midnight blue eyes. “If Dan shows up, Xoe, you, Lucy, and Allison need to get to Allison’s car, lock yourselves inside and start driving. Don’t stop until I call you on Allison’s cell to let you know it’s safe to come back.”

I felt an instant flush of anger at the fact that he wanted us to run. I managed to keep my cool, and leaned my back against his arm. Rather than voicing that I refused to run, I pointed out the other flaw in the plan. “What about my mom?”

Jason grimaced. “Sorry Xoe, forgot about that.” He paused to think for a moment. “Okay, you can tell your mom that Dan is a burglar, then you can all get out of the house together. We just can’t let your mom call the cops.”

I nodded. “That will probably work. My mom is so not good in emergency situations, so she’ll likely do whatever we tell her.” I blew out a sigh. We’d have to worry about her inevitable questions later. Okay, so it was a flawed plan . . . better than nothing.

Jason smiled and removed his arm from my chair. “It’s settled then.”

I’m sure that Jason meant that we should still run, but all he had said was to “get out of the house.” Now that, I could do. I nodded my final assent to the plan.

Shortly after we had settled what we would do, my mom came home, dressed in a navy business suit and heels; must have been an office day. Taking in the group of us, she looked at me with a smile and hands on her hips, waiting for an explanation.

“School project,” I told her.

“Pizza!” she exclaimed, disappearing into the living room to order.

Max looked at me, bewildered. “Your mom is so cool.”

I smiled. “Yeah, I’d say she’s a keeper.”

We all headed up to my room, telling my mom we were going to work on our project. Al and Max sat side by side on my bed, while the rest of us settled into a semi-circle on my plush beige carpeting.

Now that we had nothing to do but wait, we got a conversation going about school, of all things. While we talked, Jason got up and walked around my room, looking at pictures and any trinkets I had on my dresser.

I watched him as he picked up a picture my mom had taken of me on a camping trip. I was nine, and even more gangly looking than I am now. I was posing with a marshmallow on a stick, my mouth way more open than it needed to be. He smiled, not noticing my gaze. I quickly turned my attention back to the conversation, but of course, my mind wandered. I couldn’t imagine Jason as a savage killer, but he was, at least at one time. I wasn’t sure how much that bothered me.

After a while my mom knocked on the door. Not waiting for an answer, she came in carrying several pizza boxes. She handed me a stack of paper plates to pass out as Max and Al came to join us on the floor. My mom set the boxes on the carpet in between us all. Being a mom, and having an obligation to embarrass me, she sat down next to Jason and folded her short, now jean-clad legs underneath her, then she began quizzing Max and Jason. I sat back down on Jason’s other side with a sigh. Jason watched the embarrassment grow on my face, smiling, and answered all of my mom’s inane questions politely. I kept my eyes on my pizza, trying not to frown.

At one point my mom pulled her pale blue tank top straight, going into business mode, and asked to see our school project. We told her we were still in the “brainstorming stage” and she let it go. Forty-five excruciating minutes later, she decided that her embarrassing mom requirement for the week had been achieved. She grabbed the empty pizza boxes and left us to “get back to work.”

When conversation began to run out, the topic came to me and the whole “non-human” thing. Sigh.

“So what are the possibilities?” Allison asked Jason.

Jason glanced at me, then answered, “There are many supernatural creatures that can produce offspring with humans, some more rare than others. Many people have elven blood without even knowing it. Full blooded elves are extremely rare these days, mainly because their bloodlines have become almost completely entwined with humans.”

“Could that be what I am?” I interrupted hopefully. Elves didn’t sound too bad.

Jason shook his head, dashing my hopes. “You may have some elven blood, but Max and I would not be able to smell the difference. Your non-human blood is something much more rare.”

I sighed, getting crabby. “Spit it out already.”

Jason went on, “One option is Ogres, but I doubt that’s what you are, you would likely be much larger. Another one is Merpeople.”

“Merpeople?” Allison asked incredulously.

Jason regarded her. “Merpeople have two forms. When under water, they are in their natural form, very similar to the common depiction of mermaids. On land, they look much like humans, except for the second eyelids. For some reason, those remain even in human form.”

Okay, Merpeople were slightly more unsettling than elves, but again, not horrible. “What are my chances of that?”

“Pretty good,” Jason replied. “Merpeople are a great deal more common than one would think.”

I nodded, taking it all in. “Any other options?”

Jason hesitated. He ran his hand through his hair. Not a good sign. Finally, he spoke. “The last option that I came up with was . . . demons.”

My heart skipped a beat. I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Seriously?”

He nodded and answered, “It’s not as uncommon as you would think. Demons often mate with humans, producing half-demons. Demons can look like humans, as can merpeople and ogres. Your mom probably thought your dad was just a normal guy.”

“What about werewolves?” Lucy chimed in.

Jason shook his head, “We can rule out werewolves, vampires, or any conditions resulting from being cursed. All can produce offspring with humans, but none can pass on their afflictions.”

I held my breath at Jason’s mention of vampires, waiting for Lucy or Allison to question him further on the subject. Surprisingly, they both seemed to take the mention of vampires in stride.

Lucy nodded in response to Jason’s answer. “Well that’s something at least.”

So, I could be an ogre (unlikely), a mermaid (not so bad), or . . . a demon (gulp). That seemingly ever-present feeling of dread had returned to the pit of my stomach ten-fold. Like Lucy said, at least we could rule out werewolf and vampire, which also meant that I had my answer about how Jason became a vampire. Small consolation, that.

As we were finishing that lovely subject, I glanced at the clock. 9:00 pm, time for the boys to “leave.” They were going to leave out the front door and drive Jason’s car to hide it. Then they would walk back to my house, do a perimeter check, and sneak back in through my window. When I asked how they were going to climb in through my second-story window, they both smiled mischievously and walked out of my room. I guess we’d find out.

The boy’s departure was Allison’s queue for girl talk. “So Xoe,” she started, “pray tell, what is going on between you and Jason?” Allison smiled wickedly at me.

I gave her my best dumbfounded look. “What? Nothing, why do you ask?”

Allison sighed, “Oh, come on. Don’t play dumb, you two are so obvious.”

With a sigh of my own, I answered, “Nothing Allison, just friends.”

“And why is that?” she went on. “Is it the whole vampire thing?”

My jaw dropped. How did Allison know?

She smiled. “Max told us.”

That little rat . . . I mean wolf. Well, at least I wasn’t the last to know. “So what if it is the vampire thing?” I replied.

Allison crossed her arms and looked at me as if I were being childish. “Who cares? It’s not like he kills people anymore. He’s one of the good guys now.”

I sighed loudly. “Emphasis on the now. The fact still remains that he killed people at one time, and who even said I was interested in him to begin with?”

“Pah-lease, I see the way you watch him,” Allison countered. “And there is definitely no mistaking the way he watches you.”

At that we all turned to a knock at the window. Apparently the boys had finished their perimeter check. Thankfully, the girl talk could end. I stood and opened the window for them to climb in.

“The way who watches who?” Max asked as he pulled himself in.

How much had they heard? The three of us girls crossed our arms and stared Max down with our best stern faces. He shrugged off our glares and plopped down on my bed.

Turning my attention away from Max, I asked Jason, “Anything to report?”

He shook his head. “Not much, we caught Dan’s scent in a few places around the yard, so he’s been here recently, but nothing looked out of place.”

I nodded. There was a knock at the door. I quickly hustled the boys into the closet, then yelled, “Come in!”

My mom peeked her head in to see that we were all accounted for and told us goodnight. She closed the door softly, oblivious to our nervous smiles and murmured goodnights.

Since most of us were going on little to no sleep, we decided to sleep in shifts. Allison, Lucy, and I all changed into pajamas, while the boys chose to remain in the clothes they had worn during the day. I chose to wear a dark purple cami with matching purple plaid pajama pants, as opposed to my usual t-shirt and boxers. I refused to admit to myself that I did it because Jason was there.

Allison and Jason had first watch. Lucy and I took the bed, snuggling under my fluffy green comforter. Max was left with an orange sleeping bag on the floor. Jason turned on my desk lamp, then turned off the overhead light. I shut my eyes with a silent wish for normal dreams void of fire, and I was out.

Chapter 13

I woke up to loud ringing. My alarm clock. That meant it was 6:00 am. When blindly smacking it didn’t seem to quell the alarm’s desire to annoy me, I ripped the cord out of the wall. I sat up, rubbing my eyes and looked blearily around my room. What were all of these people doing in here? My eyes landed on Jason, who had his hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh at me. Oh yeah, Jason, Max, werewolves, vampires . . . I remembered now. Jason managed to cover his smile, but his eyes still shone with humor.

“Glad to be amusing,” I mumbled at him.

I looked around to the other people in my room. Lucy and Allison had managed to ignore my alarm, and were still snuggled in bed with me. Max wasn’t so lucky. He struggled out of his sleeping bag and stumbled into the bathroom, shutting the door noisily. I looked back to Jason.

“I’ll drive you all to school today,” he said.

I nodded sleepily, and got out of bed to find something to wear. Jason watched me as I shuffled through the shirts hanging in my closet, finally settling on a plain, dark gray tee shirt with a faded Star Wars logo on the front. I was searching for a clean pair of jeans when Max came back out of the bathroom. He walked towards the window, unlatched it, pushed it open, then hopped, and I mean hopped, out of my second-story window. Yeah, I wasn’t getting used to this supernatural stuff anytime soon.

Jason spared me a final smile then followed Max’s lead. I walked to the window and looked out at the ground. Max and Jason were already out of sight. Too weird.

I returned to the bed and shook Allison and Lucy awake, much to their chagrin. We all took speed-showers and got dressed. A cold gust of wind from the still open window reminded me to throw on my forest-green hoodie, then I watched Allison while she was putting on her make-up. She was dressed in a sea foam green blouse that was kind of draped in the front, I’ve never known what those types of blouses are called, and a beige mini-skirt with knee high dark brown leather boots. I asked her if Jason had been the one to keep watch all night.

“Vampires don’t sleep,” was her reply. Ask a silly question.

We went downstairs into the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee maker. My mom had left me half of a pot. I filled my travel mug with as much as it would hold, then went to the pantry to find something for us to eat on the way to school. Looked like it was granola bars for breakfast again. I handed one each to Lucy and Allison and stuffed my own into the front pocket of my hoodie.

We went out the front door to find Jason’s car waiting to take us to school. I snagged the front seat without protest from Lucy and Allison. I could feel them watching and waiting to see how I would interact with Jason. I wanted to stare ga-ga-eyed at him, but wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. Girlfriends . . . can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em. At the moment I was leaning towards without. I contented myself with watching him out of the corner of my eye. He was still in his clothes from the day before, but the t-shirt looked so good on him, that I didn’t really mind. I placed my travel mug into one of the cup-holders and slowly began to unwrap my granola bar, refusing to be the first one to make conversation. Jason put the car in drive and away we went.

The short drive was spent mostly in silence. I fiddled with the radio, just for something to do, scanning through the few radio stations that come in clearly in Shelby. As soon as we pulled up to the school Allison and Lucy practically leapt from the car, leaving me alone with Jason. It seemed a planned move, and probably was. Sigh.

“What’s the plan for today?” I asked him.

He turned his attention to me. “I am going to wait around the school and make sure Dan does not get to Lucy without me or Max there. I will pick you all up when you get out.”

“You aren’t coming to class?”

Jason smiled and shook his head. “I am not exactly a student.”

That reminded me of another question I had for him. “How did you manage to register and get into my English class anyways?”

“I mustn’t reveal all my secrets,” he answered, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

I gave him a good-natured smirk and got out of the car with a smile that I simply could not help.

I went to my first class, and the day went by slowly from there. By lunchtime there was still no sign of Dan. I met up with Allison and Lucy and we sat at our usual table. “Anything to report?” I asked them.

They both gave me mischievous smiles. “We were going to ask you the same question,” said Allison.

I gave them wide eyes.

“What did you and Jason talk about?” Lucy interjected, smiling from ear to ear.

“We simply discussed the matter at hand, nothing more,” I answered with my nose up. My denial did nothing to dampen their knowing smiles. Time for a subject change.

I looked at Lucy. “How are you feeling today? Do you feel any . . . different?”

Lucy thought in silence for a moment, unconsciously straightening her pale purple sweater, then answered, “I don’t know. I keep looking for changes, but I feel pretty much the same. Max said that my senses would increase, but I haven’t noticed. I guess it just takes time. What about you? Have you come up with any ideas about your ‘mysterious origin’?”

I sighed. “Let’s not even go there, I haven’t had any time to think about it. Even if I did, I don’t see how I’d be able to figure anything out on my own.”

Allison and Lucy both looked down at the table.

Allison turned her eyes back up to me. “You could always ask your mom. Maybe tell her you want to track down you dad, just to meet him. All you need is his name. We can track him down and ask him ourselves.”

I sighed again. “I guess we can try, I doubt my mom will give me his name. She likes to pretend that he never existed. If I would believe it, she’d probably try and tell me that I was a test-tube baby or something. Plus, I’m not really sure I’d want to meet him, even if it was just to get answers.”

It was my turn to look down at the off-white table. I tried to distract myself by reading the various things that people had carved into the tabletop over the years. I traced my finger over a star that was carved deeply into the wood. Our school was either too cheap to buy new tables, or else they were smart enough to know that the new ones would be carved up within weeks. Curse that teenage angst.

“So what’s the plan after school today? Another slumber party?” Allison asked, regaining my attention.

Allison can stay over whenever she feels like it. Her parents don’t really place many rules and restrictions on her. She pretty much does whatever she wants.

Glad to have the subject off of me again, I answered, “All I know is that Jason is picking us up after school. He said that he was going to try to find out what Dan is up to, so I guess that will govern what our plan will be.”

Lucy looked worried. “I don’t think my parents will let me stay away another night, and it’s doubtful they will let anyone stay over either.”

Hmm, quandary. “I don't know,” I said. “We’ll figure something out.”

The bell rang. It was time for gym, the one bright spot, besides lunchtime, in my day. Allison and I said goodbye to Lucy then headed to the gymnasium.

According to Mitch the plan for gym today was a free day. Free day? What the heck was a free day? Mitch’s gym teacher license should have been revoked long ago. Allison was all smiles after Mitch announced that we could do whatever we wanted with our gym period, as long as it was P.E. related of course. Allison and I went into the locker room and changed into our gym clothes.

As we left the locker room we were joined by a suspicious looking Brian. He looked down at me with squinted eyes, “You care to elaborate Ma’m?” he asked me as he crossed his arms, looking very detective-like.

I answered snarkily, “What are you talking about Brian.”

He continued, “You know what I mean. What were those guys doing at your house yesterday? Did you suddenly decide to expand your circle of friends?”

I nodded, smiling sweetly.

He continued, “No, doubtful, very doubtful. Hmmm, let me guess again. You’re involved in a random conspiracy concerning aliens, and that Jason character is a rogue FBI agent out to reveal the truth to the public. Yep, that sounds a lot more likely than Alexondra Meyers trying to make new friends.”

Ok, so he obviously was not going to let it go. With a resigned sigh, I explained, “We’ve been having some trouble with that new guy, Dan, and Jason and Max have been hanging around to make sure that he doesn’t bother us, that’s all.”

Brian looked hurt. “Why didn’t you ask me? I do live right next door, and I should hope that you trust me more than some guy you’ve hardly ever spoken to and some guy you just met.”

I hadn’t considered that when I fabricated my lie. In an effort to soothe his hurt feelings, I lied some more. “Lucy’s dating Max, so Max volunteered to watch out for us. Max brought Jason along to help out.”

Allison gave me an ‘are you crazy?’ look. Yeah, so I’m not the greatest liar around. Shouldn’t that be a good thing? I just had to hope that Lucy wouldn’t find out, or I’d be in for a major lecture.

Brian was not so easily sated, he continued, “Jason seemed awful possessive of you to be just a random friend that Max brought with him. He was practically guarding your heels the whole time I was there.”

I was out of lies, so I feigned ignorance instead, “Oh, um, I hadn’t noticed.”

Brian didn’t look like he believed me, but he let it go. I had a feeling that the subject had only been dropped temporarily. Brian grabbed a basketball and looked at me, then nodded towards the unoccupied hoop. Brian and I went to play one-on-one while Allison watched.

The rest of the day went by too quickly for my taste. I never thought I’d see the day when I would be reluctant to go home from school. The end of the school day meant that our focus had to go back to werewolf matters.

Allison and I left our last class and headed towards the school entrance to find Lucy waiting just inside the doors, rather than outside like she usually did. I was glad to see that she was being cautious. I linked my arm with hers and the three of us headed to the parking lot to meet our fate.

Chapter 14

Jason was waiting in the lot for us, sitting casually on the hood of his fancy-schmancy car. He was dressed in black pants, a charcoal colored wool coat, and a dark blue, button up shirt that brought out the deep blue of his eyes. His hair was in tousled disarray, as usual, contrasting with his clean-cut clothes.

Jason smiled a crooked smile as we approached. He hopped to his feet to unlock the driver’s side door . . . or so I thought. Instead he walked around to the front passenger side and held the door open, looking at me expectantly.

Huh? “What, am I driving or something?” I asked.

“No, I am.” He just stood there smiling.

I stared at him dumbly. Jason sighed and gestured with his hand to still empty passenger seat. I walked slowly towards the car and stood to face him, still not understanding . . . okay, so maybe I’m a little slow at times. He stepped back from the door and continued to smile at me, though there was a hint of nervous impatience in it now. I turned my back to him and slid into the car tentatively. He gently shut the door behind me and went back around to the driver’s side.

Lucy and Allison had both slid into the back seat during the exchange. I looked at them to find wicked grins plastered across their faces. I would never hear the end of this. Never.

Jason slid into the driver’s seat and shut his door behind him. He looked quite pleased with himself, the nerves gone. I wasn’t sure if the act of chivalry was sincere or if it was a joke. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

Jason started the car and pulled out. We drove in silence in the direction of my house. Playing my usual role of awkward silence-breaker, I asked Jason, “Did you find anything out today?”

He spared a quick glance away from the road for me, then turning back, answered, “I could not detect any sign of Dan. His scent is all over town, but it does not lead anywhere away from Shelby. My guess is that he either drove out of town, or is hiding somewhere. I am leaning towards the latter. He does not intend to leave without Lucy.”

Allison leaned her head between Jason and me, honey blond hair hanging forward over her shoulders. “So what? We just have to wait for him to come get us?”

Jason kept his eyes on the road while he answered, “Max is out trying to pinpoint Dan’s hiding place. I will be staying with the three of you in case he tries to come for Lucy.”

I crossed my arms and pouted. “Why do you get to be the one to stay with us, while Max has to traipse all over town?” So maybe I was a little grumpy about the stunt Jason had pulled with the door. Can you blame me? I still wasn’t sure whether or not he was playing a joke on me.

He gave me a slightly offended look. “Max has a much better sense of smell than I do, and I have a much better chance of protecting you against Dan than Max does.”

Couldn’t argue with that logic, though I wanted to.

We pulled into my driveway and got out of the car.

“Where’s your mom?” Lucy asked me.

“I forgot that she’s off doing some study on birds in Washington today, luckily, so we don’t have to worry about coming up with another excuse to have everybody over.”

I walked to unlock the door and Jason came to stand next to me, first in line to go inside. He insisted on going in ahead of us in case Dan was waiting in ambush. He walked in and started checking all of the rooms for any sign of foul play.

I walked into the kitchen, leaving Allison and Lucy in the living room to watch TV. My mom had left money for pizza on the kitchen counter with a note that said as much. The note also specifically stated that I was not to have boys over while she was gone. Too late on that one. Ah well, as the cliché goes, what she doesn’t know, can’t hurt her. The list of things that I had to hide from my mom seemed to be growing exponentially of late. I felt a little sad about that. I was used to sharing almost everything with her.

I grabbed the portable phone out of its cradle on the wall and called Irvine’s to order two extra large pizzas: one pepperoni, and one mushroom. Jason walked into the kitchen behind me as I was hanging up the phone. I looked away from him and noticed that the potted African violet plant in the window looked a little dry. I grabbed it off of the sill and put it under the faucet to give it some water, ignoring Jason’s presence.

“All clear?” I asked, not looking up. I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye, watching me with his arms crossed. “What?” I asked grumpily, setting down the plant and looking directly at him.

“Did I do something wrong? You seem . . . hostile.”

Sighing, I asked, “What was that stunt with the door about? Did you do it just to embarrass me?”

Jason looked taken aback. He stared at me wide-eyed for a moment before answering, “Isn’t that what a guy’s supposed to do, when, you know, he’s trying to woo a girl?”

Woo? He was trying to woo me? I was too amused to remain angry. I tried to contain my laughter and failed. “Um, not that I’ve ever been wooed, but I’m perfectly capable of opening my own doors. Who gave you permission to woo me anyhow?”

He looked at me with a stubborn set to his jaw. “Well I am sorry that you have never been wooed, but it has been a very long time since I have done the wooing. I cannot be expected to get it right on my first try.”

I started laughing again, there was just no holding it in. Jason crossed his arms and tried to stare me down with a petulant look on his face. I kept laughing. When he began to realize the ridiculousness of the situation, he let that crooked smile of his slowly appear on his face, then he began to laugh along with me. Soon we were both laughing so hard we couldn’t breathe.

“What is going on here?” Allison interrupted. She had walked into the kitchen to stand in front of Jason and me with her arms crossed, tapping her foot on the tile floor like an angry parent.

“Woo!” I exclaimed, tears streaming down my face, doubling Jason’s and my laughter. Allison made a noise of exasperation and walked back into the living room with her hands in the air. Our laughter began to slowly die down and we were left grinning at each other.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It was a very nice attempt at wooing.”

“Oh, no,” Jason replied sarcastically, “there is no salvaging it now.” He turned and walked out of the kitchen towards the living room, still grinning.

I stayed in the kitchen a minute longer, trying to control the smile on my face. Mustn’t get feelings for the vampire. Yeah Xoe, keep telling yourself that.

I looked out the window and caught sight of Brian, clothed in gray sweats, getting home from football practice. He had to walk home just like us other unfortunates without cars. He paused in his driveway, noticing Jason’s car parked in front of my house. He gave the car a less than friendly look and went into his house.

Frowning, I went to join the others in the living room.

Allison had pulled out several board games and laid them out on the coffee table. “Pick your poison,” she told Lucy and Jason. Before they could answer, Allison turned to acknowledge me. “What’s wrong?” she asked, taking in my lugubrious expression.

I shook my head ruefully. “Nothing. I vote for Scrabble.”

Allison grabbed the scrabble box and started setting up the board on the coffee table. Lucy began turning all of the little letter tiles upside-down in the box since we'd long ago lost the bag they were supposed to go in.

“Max is here,” Jason said an instant before Max knocked on the door.

I walked to the door and let him inside. “Did you find anything?” I asked.

Max shook his head. “Dan’s been everywhere. He’s crisscrossed his scent all over the place. I can’t find a definite trail.”

Jason chimed in, “That is what I expected. Hes hiding out, waiting for an opportunity to strike.”

“Um,” Max began, “I found something else.”

We all looked to Max expectantly.

“Other scents. There are other wolves in town.”

“Could it be Dan’s old pack, trying to find him?” I asked.

“I don't think so,” Jason answered. “Packs do not travel much. They don't want to risk crossing into another pack’s territory. That's why they hired me.” He paused to think for a moment. “Could you tell how many?”

“Two, besides Dan,” Max answered. “At least, that’s how many I caught scent of.”

“What do we do?” I asked.

“We do all we can do,” Jason replied. “Wait.”

So it looked like we would have to wait for Dan, and maybe others, to come to us. Gotta love a stake-out . . . or not.

I started to shut the door behind Max, but noticed Brian coming our way. I swear, he was worse than a puppy. I went outside and shut the door behind me. I had a feeling that a confrontation was in my near future. Brian stomped towards me looking angry. He’d changed into a plain white t-shirt and jeans.

He stopped right in front of me, arms crossed. “I’ve been thinking about your story Xoe, and I have to say, I don’t believe a word of it. We’ve been friends a long time, and if you’re in some sort of trouble, I deserve to know. I can help.” He gave me a slightly pleading look that was overtaken by his anger within seconds.

I didn’t know why he was so angry. I mean, I could understand him being a little jealous about being left out, but this amount of anger was uncalled for. Men are always saying how difficult women are to understand, but they hadn’t met the men in my life, they could give any woman a run for her money.

I stared at him blankly, considering my answer, then words tumbled out of my mouth. “Trouble’s over. Dan left town, Jason and Max just came over to hang out.”

Brian did not look convinced, but I hadn’t really expected him to be. He roughly ran his hand through his hair in a frustrated gesture, making his short curls puff up. He said coldly, “You’ve always been a terrible liar Xoe.”

Matching him stare for stare, I answered just as coldly, “What do you want me to say?”

Brian shook his head and swept past me, going for the door. My guilt turned quickly into anger. I didn’t owe him any explanation! How dare he! I ran after him and caught up as he was reaching for the doorknob.

I reached out and grabbed his wrist before he could turn the knob. Things seemed to go in slow motion. He jerked away from me with a yelp of pain. I looked at him dumbly, confused by his reaction. Then I saw his arm. A blistery burn, roughly the size of my hand, circled his wrist. I stared at him confused. My vision began to go dark. The last thing I saw was the terrified look on Brian’s face. Terrified of me. Then the ground came up to meet me.

I woke to dark blue eyes above me. Wait, hadn’t this happened before? The eyes disappeared for a moment, then I felt Jason pulling me into his lap. He leaned me against his chest so I could sit upright. My limbs ached with flu-like weakness. I couldn’t move. My vision faded in and out. Jason ran his hands up and down my arms, like you do when you’re trying to warm someone up.

We were outside my front door. Lucy, Allison, and Max had all come outside as well. Brian was standing a safe distance away, cradling his wrist.

“We had to fill him in on some stuff,” Allison said, nodding in Brian’s direction. Allison looked uneasy. She seemed afraid to get too close to the situation. I looked at Brian’s face. His face was set in angry lines, but his eyes held unmistakable fear.

Brian stared back at me, unable to make his face completely impassive, though I could tell that’s what he was trying to go for. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay before I left. I don’t want any part of—this. Whatever this is. I get the point. I’ll leave you alone from now on. You didn’t have to burn me.”

My mouth fell open. I tried to speak and my voice cracked. I tried again with a little more success, “I-I didn’t mean to. I don’t know what happened.”

Brian didn’t answer. He just turned and walked away towards his house.

Jason stood, lifting me up in his arms, and carried me inside. He laid me down gently on the couch.

Allison and Lucy came inside and hovered beside me. I heard someone, Max, by process of elimination, shut and lock the door. Max walked up to stand beside Jason.

Allison looked in their direction. “Could we have a little privacy?”

Nodding and mumbling uncomfortably, the boys unlocked the door again and went back outside. The noises that came from their exit: the hushed tones of their voices, their footsteps, the click of the door shutting, all seemed like a distant dream to me. Allison lifted me up partially so that she could sit down and lay my head in her lap. She started stroking my hair, trying to be comforting.

“What happened Xoe?” she asked.

Lucy sat on the floor and grabbed my hand. Hot tears stung my eyes. I tried to stop them, but they flowed faster and faster. What had happened?

“I hurt Brian. I don’t know how, but I did.” My tears were a mixture of confusion and fear. “He’s one of my oldest friends and . . . and . . .” My words caught in my throat. “He’s afraid of me!” The tears turned into raking sobs. I hiccupped on my breaths, trying to draw in enough air and failing.

It was just too much. I had managed to keep my cool through everything that had happened, but this was just too much. My friends held me, Allison with my head in her lap and Lucy clinging to my hand, as I cried out my frustration and fear. Underneath the frustration and fear was an immense sadness. A sadness in knowing that life as I knew it had changed—forever. I had always had a solid sense of who I was . . . what I was. Now everything felt like quicksand. I was being sucked under into a new world, a new me.

When my tears had quieted, Jason and Max came back inside. They had probably heard the whole thing with their supernatural ears, but I was still grateful for the illusion of privacy they had given me. I looked at them, eyes red and puffy, and asked, “What’s happening to me?”

Jason knelt beside Lucy. “I think you are coming into your powers. Nothing like this has ever happened before?”

I shook my head.

He continued, “If this is just starting now, we can expect more powers to manifest, or for this one to grow in strength.” Jason averted his eyes.

I stared at him until he gave in and met my gaze. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Jason’s eyes held mine steadily. “This type of power is usually related to . . . demons.”

My eyes widened. Even if I could make sense of my friends being werewolves and vampires, I could not comprehend being a demon. Jason had told me that it was a possibility, but I hadn’t allowed myself to think too hard on it.

“Elaborate,” I said shakily.

“Well,” he began, “out of our three options, demons are the only ones that possess this type of destructive power. Merpeople are capable of a mild amount of enchantment, and Ogres are simply strong. The powers of demons tend to be more . . . obvious.”

I had an awful idea. “So . . . am I like, bad?” I asked, not sure I really wanted to know. I noticed Lucy dart a worried look up at Allison.

Jason answered, “No, as far as I know, the manifestation of your genetics is often dependent on your upbringing. Demons have an inborn tendency towards violence and rage, but they do not have to act on their impulses. You were raised like a human, and therefore think like one . . . You simply need to watch your temper.”

I looked a question at him.

He went on, “Demons are marked by their anger. I believe that is what your powers are linked to. You burned Brian because you were angry.”

The room was spinning. I had to focus. I held perfectly still, breathing deeply, trying to not let things sink in until I had gotten all of the facts. “What other ‘powers’” I gulped, “can I expect?”

“I am not certain. There are different types of demons. Their powers vary. Given that the first power you exerted was to burn someone, your abilities will likely be linked to fire.”

Fire? That could explain the dreams. I reached my hand up to pinch the bridge of my nose. I had a major headache building behind my eyes. “How do you know all this?”

He looked down briefly, then met my eyes. “I have suspected that you were most likely a half-demon since the beginning. I did some research, called some friends who are a little more knowledgeable on this type of thing. Half-demons are the most common human hybrid, more so than Merpeople and Ogres. Any other races that can breed with humans are either very rare or gone altogether.”

The room was still spinning. I closed my eyes to keep from getting dizzy. “Did your knowledgeable friends give you any other information?”

Jason lightly placed his hand on the shoulder that I wasn’t laying on. “I am sorry Xoe, I have told you all that I know.”

I was overwhelmed, even with this scant amount of information. “What do we do now?” I asked, clinging to my last thread of hope. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a big deal. Maybe the “powers” would stop here. Maybe they would just go away. And maybe the moon is made of cheese to feed the little green men.

Jason replied, “There's not much that we can do. As your powers come, if your powers come, you will learn to control them.”

That sounded like a lot of trial and error to me. I’d already hurt one friend. I shuddered at the thought of the damage I might do before I got things under control, if I got things under control. It was a very big if.

“Is there anything else I should know?” I asked, not really knowing what I was asking for, as Jason had already said all that he knew. The panic was coming back. I closed my eyes and tried to slow my breathing, afraid I was going to hyperventilate and pass out again.

Jason answered, “Probably, but like I said, I have told you all that I know.”

Angry and frustrated I replied, “Well, then I guess we should just focus on Dan and the matter at hand.”

No one argued with the sharpness of my words. Each person nodded his or her assent. I knew there was no way I was going to be able to focus on anything except my recent horrifying news, but I needed the subject off of me. I had a lot of processing to do and no time to do it in. A girl’s troubles never end.

Chapter 15

We spent the rest of the afternoon playing scrabble, eating pizza, and trying to ignore what we had discovered about me. I’m usually pretty good at scrabble, but today I was filling up the board with three-letter words. The pizza guy had been really late, which I guess was good, considering what he could have walked in on. Plus, we got the order for free. My first slice was still sitting abandoned on a paper plate next to me. When we got bored of scrabble, we resorted to watching a movie.

I couldn’t focus on the TV screen. I looked around at my living room and the people that currently inhabited it. Jason, Max, and Allison were sharing the larger dark blue couch that I had been laying on when I’d had my breakdown. Jason and Allison each clung to their respective corners while Max lounged in the center. I greedily hogged the mismatched purple loveseat. I needed distance, mentally and physically, to absorb all that had happened. Lucy lay on her stomach on the purple, blue, and green patchwork rug that covered the living room floor, using a throw pillow to prop herself up. My mom had gotten the rug to try and tie in the colors of our two couches, emphasis on the word try.

I hugged a green throw pillow, clutching it against my stomach. For the past few hours my body had been debating whether I was going to pass out, throw up, or scream. Maybe a little bit of each, hopefully not simultaneously. My worry had been building a solid knot in my gut. What had started life as a golf ball of fear and worry had grown to bowling ball proportions. The more I thought about everything, the less sense it all made.

For lack of any better distractions, I grabbed my mom’s most recent National Geographic and went into the dining room. I pulled out a chair, sat down, and started leafing through the pages of the magazine, not really looking at them.

Lucy came into the dining room shortly after me and sat down in one of the high-backed maple chairs that matched the table. She nervously fiddled with a yellow woven placemat.

She smiled weakly at me. “No offense Xoe, but . . . I’m kind of glad you’re a half-demon.”

I gave her a ‘you’re kidding,’ look. She was . . . glad?

She went on, “Not that you’re a demon specifically, it’s just nice that I’m not the only newly non-human one. I was feeling pretty alone.”

“Well I guess when you put it that way, I’m pretty glad you’re a werewolf,” I replied.

Lucy smiled, a little more strongly this time. “Thanks for everything Xoe. I mean it. If it weren’t for you I’d be curled up in a ball crying right now . . . or maybe worse.”

You would think that at a moment like this Lucy would give me a hug, grab my hand, or even just pat my shoulder, just . . . something. However, Lucy kept her distance, hands neatly folded on the table. I had a feeling she wasn’t as comfortable with things as she was trying to put off. It wasn’t every day you found out that your best friend came from demonic origins.

I gave her a forced smile. “Glad to be of service.” My own best friend was afraid of me. She was a werewolf, and she was afraid of me.

We were weakly smiling at each other when Allison walked into the dining room to join us. She whined, “Do you both realize that now I’m the only measly human left? It’s so unfair. You get all these cool superpowers and I’m still just the same old me.”

Lucy and I burst into laughter, releasing some of the tension. Allison crossed her arms and pouted, plopping down in the chair next to Lucy. She’d get over it. I wasn’t sure I would.

I glanced out the wide dining room window. The sun was making its descent, giving way to darkness. Clouds obscured most of what light was left.

Lucy stood. “I guess I should call my parents.”

“You think they’ll let you stay over?” Allison asked.

Lucy shook her head lugubriously and trudged into the kitchen to retrieve the phone. Allison and I waited in silence in order to listen to Lucy’s end of the conversation, short as it was. Lucy hung up the phone and came back to face us.

“No?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

Lucy nodded.

“Jason!” I called.

Jason came trotting into the dining room, leaving Max alone in the living room. “Yes?”

I sighed. “Lucy can’t stay. What do we do?”

Jason sat down across from me in Lucy’s vacated chair. “In all likelihood, Dan will expect us to stick together. He will check here first, since we have spent most of our time here. I will wait here for Dan. Xoe, you and Allison are going to leave now and hide at my hotel. Lucy will go back to her house long enough for her parents to go to sleep, then Max will help her sneak out so that they can go to my hotel as well. Once you are all together, you will drive. I want you to stay on the move until I call you on Max’s cell phone.”

I rolled my eyes at Jason. “That’s the dumbest plan I ever heard.”

Jason looked at me, stunned.

I went on, “We’re not leaving you here alone to fight Dan. We’ve already established that he might have other wolves with him. You’ll get yourself killed and then we’ll be back to square one, only with one less person to help keep us all alive.”

Jason glared at me. “I can take care of myself, I won’t risk you . . . any of you.”

I smiled haughtily. “Well seeing as this is my house, you can’t very well kick me out. I’m staying and you have no choice in the matter.”

Max chimed in, “I’m not human. I can help.”

Jason turned to Allison. “And how do you feel about all of this?”

Allison raised her nose in the air, signaling that there were to be no arguments. “I’m staying with either Xoe or Lucy, preferably both. I’m not going to hide out.”

We all looked at Lucy. I asked, “Do you think you’ll be able to sneak out?”

Lucy looked down and shook her head, then forced her gaze to meet mine. “You know how my parents are. They check on me throughout the night. I don’t know what they would do if I were missing, probably call the cops.”

Jason stood, a little angrily. “So you all refuse to hide.”

“You got it,” Allison answered.

Jason crossed his arms and glared at me. I smiled back sweetly, sure of myself. Finally, Jason gave one quick nod in agreement. “Fine, new plan. Dan will still likely check here first, so I will still wait here. We have already established that Lucy has to stay at her house, so Max will sneak in and wait with her.” He turned to once again regard Allison and me. “As for you two, since you insist on putting yourselves in more danger, you can place yourselves at either house, but I would prefer it if you stayed with me. Max needs to concentrate on keeping Lucy safe and I will have a better chance of protecting you.”

I had to point out the obvious flaw. “What if Dan goes to Lucy’s first?”

“If Max catches scent of Dan, he will call us here from his cell phone.” Jason looked to Max as Max nodded his agreement.

It was a plan I could live with, and hopefully I would. I slapped my hands together and said dramatically, “It’s a plan then, C’mon folks we’re burnin’ daylight!”

We all went together in Jason’s car to take Lucy and Max down the street to Lucy’s house. I watched Lucy go in through her front door and couldn’t help thinking that it might be the last time I ever saw her. Who could really say what would happen? I felt tears stinging my eyes for the second time that day. On the drive back to my place, I began to have some serious doubts, well, more serious than the thousands I already had.

“Are you sure you can take on Dan?” I asked Jason, “I mean, maybe we should have the same plan as Lucy and Max; if you smell him coming, call Max over to help.”

“We cannot risk leaving Lucy alone,” Jason replied. “Dan is stronger than Max, but having Max there is still better than the alternatives.”

There was something else that had been chewing at the back of my mind all night. Jason had managed to skim over it when I had brought it up earlier. “What about the other wolves that Max smelled? What if they’re with Dan?”

Jason did not look happy. “There is nothing we can do about that. We just have to hope for the best.”

Comforting, very comforting. “I think this is a really bad idea.”

Jason sighed and kept his eyes on the road. “So do I.”

What could I say?

Once we returned to my house, the three of us went inside and inspected the premises to make sure all of the doors and windows were locked. Then we sat down in the living room to wait. Allison and I squished onto the love seat while Jason sat on the end of the couch closest to us. Our plan really wasn’t a plan at all. We were leaving things completely up to chance, and the chance of success was slim.

“Should we have weapons?” I asked Jason.

“I am more efficient without weapons,” Jason replied, “but I suppose it could not hurt for you and Allison to be armed.”

Allison leaned over the coffee table to rifle through her purse. She pulled out a canister of pepper spray, holding it up for Jason’s approval.

He shrugged. “It is better than nothing.”

I got up and grabbed the poker from our set of fireplace tools and sat back down with it across my lap. Jason and Allison both raised an eyebrow at me and I shrugged. Better than nothing.

After about thirty minutes of Al and me jumping at every sound, Jason voiced that we should get some sleep. After all, we weren’t even sure that Dan would come. The three of us went up to my room. Allison and I snuggled up in my bed, while Jason sat at my desk chair and kept watch. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, fireplace poker gripped tightly in my hands. Call it paranoia. I called it survival.

Chapter 16

It felt like I had just fallen asleep when I was awakened by a loud crash downstairs. We all sprung up and thundered downstairs into the living room with our “weapons” to find Dan waiting . . . and he brought a friend. A willowy, tall woman with long dark glossy hair stood to Dan’s right. Her features and deep olive skin were exotic, though I couldn’t quite place them to a specific nationality. She wore tight black jeans and a matching shirt. Dan’s pale blue eyes held malice. The woman looked uneasy. Dan matched the woman in dress: black jeans and t-shirt; the monochromatic duo come to call.

Glass shards littered the ground where Dan had broken the window next to my front door. Large spears of glass still remained in the pane; he had only needed a hole big enough for him to reach through and unlock the door. I was surprised that he had chosen to break into the front. He was either very bold or very stupid, or maybe he just didn’t care. I was betting on the latter.

If the woman was a wolf, which I was guessing she was, we were over-matched, at least I thought we were. To tell the truth, I had no idea how two werewolves, one of unknown power and the other apparently pretty powerful, matched up with a vampire, a human, and a half-demon just come into her powers. We were about to find out.

Jason dove for Dan, not waiting for him to make the first move. They tumbled behind the blue couch, partially out of sight, leaving Allison and me to deal with the woman.

She rushed us, long hair streaming behind her. Allison whipped her hand up holding the pepper spray. She sprayed the woman in the face, but other than pinching her eyes shut in pain, it didn’t seem to faze her. It didn’t even slow her charge. She rushed on, grabbing Allison and throwing her against the wall behind us, next to the stairs. Allison hit the wall with a thud, then slid to the floor like a rag doll, going frighteningly still. I stood, jaw gaping, staring at Allison’s still form. My pulse thundered in my ears, blocking out all other sound. I turned back to our assailant.

The skin around the woman’s eyes was red and swollen. She squinted at me, trying to see through her puffy eyelids, but didn’t seem to notice the pain anymore. So apparently pepper spray did have some effect on werewolves, just not as much of an effect as we’d hoped.

The woman began stalking towards me, crouched in some sort of fighter’s stance. Her movements were liquid grace. I darted a nervous glance to see Jason and Dan grappling on the floor. Jason seemed to be losing. His body was mostly obscured from my vision by Dan’s broad back. I watched in horror as Dan raised a hand that had sprouted claws. The fingers had gotten thicker, each tip dominated by a long, black claw. The hand had grown wider in to a rounded square shape. The mutated hand dove down at Jason’s chest.

I ripped my gaze away and forced my attention back to my opponent. She sniffed the air and looked at me as she cocked her head, perplexed. She still stood in her fighter’s crouch, hands clenching and unclenching, weighing her odds. It took every ounce of my self-restraint not to run to Jason. A low growl tricked out of the woman’s rose-petal mouth. Suddenly, the woman rushed, trying to catch me off guard.

I lifted my fireplace poker like a baseball bat. The woman leapt towards me. I closed my eyes and swung as hard as I could. I felt the poker connect with a sickening thunk, the force of the blow throwing me off balance. I landed on my butt a few feet away. I opened my eyes, expecting the woman to be ready to pounce.

The woman had gone flying back from the impact as well. She lay on the floor, stunned. I was rather stunned myself. I was so not that strong. The solid iron poker was bent near the middle. I held it up in front of my face and stared at it, not entirely sure of what had just happened.

My opponent was down, at least for now, so I took the opportunity to rush to Jason’s aid. I reached them in time to see Dan once again gain the upper hand in the fight. He pinned Jason much in the same manner as he had before. One of Dan’s shoulders seemed to be dislocated, the hand of that arm had reverted back to human form and hung limp at Dan’s side. Dan cocked back his good arm, that hand still in claw form. He poised it above Jason’s throat. It all seemed to go in slow motion.

I hit Dan in the head with my crooked poker as hard as I could. He stumbled off of Jason, and skittered away from me. Jason looked up at me in shock. Join the club.

Dan stood and he did not look shocked. He looked very, very angry. He glared at me through hooded eyes, panting like a bull ready to charge. A trickle of blood dripped from his scalp and oozed down the side of his nose.

Jason struggled to his feet, his chest dripping a copious amount of blood. He stood by me, facing Dan, a united front. Dan looked across the room to his fallen companion. We had him outnumbered. He gave us a final look of pure hatred, then turned and ran out the front door, holding his limp arm against his side. What he wanted wasn’t here anyhow.

Jason must have really been hurting, because he didn’t go after him. I met Jason’s eyes and began to take in the damage. His shirt was torn into bloody ribbons, completely baring his chest, where most of the damage was. Deep claw marks covered his chest and abdomen. White rib bones showed through some of the deeper scratches. I watched in stark amazement as the scratches began to heal themselves. It was like watching the scratches happen in reverse-motion, flowing together smoother than water.

Snapping back into action, I turned away from Jason and ran to Allison. I gently turned her onto her back and her eyes fluttered open. I let out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding.

Jason came over and crouched beside us. He took one look at Allison’s pale face, then turned to me with a meaningful stare. “She needs to go to the hospital.”

“N-no,” Allison mumbled. “I’m fine.”

I met Jason’s worried eyes, and couldn’t help glancing down at his chest again. The scratches were nearly sealed, leaving behind bright pink welts that began to fade as well. “Go check on Lucy and Max,” I told him, “I’ll take care of Allison.”

Jason’s gaze crept over to the unconscious woman.

I’d forgotten about her. “It’s fine,” I told him. “Leave me your car keys and I’ll get the cuffs we used on Lucy out of the trunk.”

Jason nodded and pulled his keys out of the pocket, handing them to me, then in the blink of an eye, he was gone. I helped Allison to the couch then ran out to Jason’s car to get the cuffs before our attacker woke up. I paused to look in the direction of Lucy’s house, hoping to see, I don’t know . . . something. She had to be ok.

I took a deep breath and turned my attention back to Jason’s car. I examined the little electronic black square that dangled from the key chain and hit the button to pop the trunk. The cuffs were in plain sight, along with the chains we had used on Lucy. I noticed that the lanterns were gone and wondered if we had left them in the warehouse. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. Maybe this was what if felt like to go into shock. I took another deep breath, then quickly grabbed the cuffs to rush back inside.

When I got back to the living room the woman was still unconscious. I rolled her onto her stomach and cuffed her hands behind her back.

Allison was looking at me like she had never seen me before. “Did you do that?” she asked. “Knock her out, I mean?”

“Yeah.” I still felt numb, like I was watching everything from an outside perspective, not really involved in any of it. I noticed blood on the side of the woman’s head. It had trickled to congeal in her long dark hair. I looked closer and realized that I had cracked her skull. I jerked my head away with a sharp intake of breath. I tentatively reached down to check her pulse, keeping my eyes off of her wound, but then jerked my hand back when I realized that I could see her breathing. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

Jason burst in through the front door, followed by Max. “Lucy’s gone!”

Chapter 17

“What do you mean she’s gone! She can’t be gone!” I practically screamed as I ran towards Max and Jason. I looked back and forth between the two of them, desperate for an explanation. She couldn’t be gone. I finally focused on Jason as he began to speak.

“I found Max outside; he was unconscious. Wolf scent was everywhere, but it was not Dan’s,” Jason explained. “I went to Lucy’s window. It was open and Lucy was gone.”

“We were just a distraction,” I said numbly, realizing that Dan had only attacked to keep us busy while Lucy was being stolen away. “H-how are we going to find her?” I asked, barely able to force the words out.

When Jason didn’t answer me, I looked to Allison to see how she was taking the whole situation. She was sitting on the couch with her knees curled to her chest, not really looking at anything. Max went to sit down beside her.

Jason put his hand on my shoulder, turning my attention back to him. “We will find her,” he said. “I promise.”

“How can you promise!” I screeched without really meaning to. I went on a little more calmly, “You don’t know that we’ll find her. Dan has been one step ahead of us this entire time. We’re playing his game and he has no rules.”

“He is not going to kill her,” Jason said, “and I will not stop until we have her back.” I didn’t like how he said that Dan wouldn’t kill her, rather than that he wouldn’t hurt her. We couldn’t stop him from hurting her. We needed to act. We couldn’t waste any more time.

I stared at Jason and he answered my question without me having to ask it. “We at least have a place to start,” he said calmly, and jerked his head toward the fallen woman, “if she will talk.”

I glanced at the woman, then back at Jason, meeting his blue eyes calmly, stare for stare. “She’ll talk.” I wasn’t sure how I’d make her talk, but I was going to get Lucy back . . . one way or another. I shook my head at my thoughts. One day I was judging Jason for being a killer in his past, and now I was contemplating torture. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Jason was still watching me, waiting for me to explain my thoughts. I quickly looked away from his eyes and turned back toward Allison. “Allison?” I asked, not liking the fragile tone of my voice. She didn’t answer. I walked to the couch and squatted in front of her. “Al? You in there?”

“She needs to go to the hospital,” Jason repeated.

I looked back to find him kneeling by the unconscious woman.

“I-I just need a few minutes,” Allison finally said, “then we’ll go get Lucy back.” I cupped my palms over Allison’s hands warmly with an assurance I didn’t exactly posses, then left her and went to kneel next to Jason.

“Why isn’t she waking up?” I asked. What I thought was, Please tell me I didn’t kill her.

Jason answered without looking at me, “She must be a newer wolf. She is healing the damage, but slowly.”

Jason rose from the woman’s side and came to face me. He put his hands on either side of my face. His wounds were gone, his bloody shirt and pants the only reminder that they had even been there. I stared at his chest, unable to get my thoughts straight, my world still in a fog. I felt cold.

“Xoe,” Jason said, turning my eyes up into his face. “I think you are going into shock.”

I stared at his face, not comprehending his words. He pulled me against his chest and wrapped his arms around me. My entire body began to tremble violently. Jason lowered us down to the floor and lowered me into his lap. I breathed in the scent of vanilla and trees, cringing at the smell of blood that tainted it. My trembling began to subside as my body grew warmer. I felt safe. I knew it was an illusion, but it was one I was grateful for.

“She’s coming to,” I heard Max say.

Jason and I glanced at him in unison, then followed his eyes to the woman on my floor. She began to squirm around on the floor.

Werewolves, even new ones, didn’t seem to stay unconscious for very long. It was quite a time-saver. As the woman’s senses returned, she started struggling against her cuffs, trying to scuttle away from us. I expected defiance, but instead she cowered, terrified.

“I-I’ll talk,” the woman stammered. “I can t-tell you where they are, d-don’t hurt me.”

Well that was easy.

Once the woman, Lela, got talking, it was hard to shut her up. Apparently Dan had been trying to gather pack members as he traveled. He’d go from town to town, looking for wolves that were like Max, rare cases that had survived without a pack. I guess they weren’t as rare as we’d thought. He had only managed to acquire three pack members, including Lela. Lucy was Dan’s first attempt at turning someone to be in his pack, to be his mate more specifically.

Whenever Dan would find a new wolf, he’d bring him or her into his “pack”. Lela claimed that they didn’t have much choice in the matter. It was hard for lesser wolves to resist an alpha, which Dan was. That was why most wolves went into packs willingly; their alphas would protect them from situations like this one. Dan had originally come to Shelby High to make Max join his pack, but he saw Lucy and things changed.

I looked down at Lela skeptically. “Why should we believe you?”

Her eyes widened even more, which a moment ago, hadn’t even seemed possible. “I-I didn’t want to join Dan. I had no choice, he would have killed me. He’s like nothing I’ve ever seen, stronger and faster than he should be. I c-can tell you where he’s hiding, where he’ll take your friend.”

I crouched down beside her. “Go on.”

Lela told us that Dan was hiding at the old ranger station, roughly ten miles away from my house. It had been abandoned when the state built a new one a few miles east, about four years ago. So now we only had to go there, get past Dan and his other pack members, and get Lucy out. Ri-ight.

Jason, Allison, Max, and I got up to leave the room to discuss things away from Lela.

“Wait,” Lela said, “there’s something else.”

We looked back at her expectantly.

“He wants Xoe.”

What? “I thought I wasn’t important, since I can’t be turned,” I said.

“He doesn’t want to turn you, he wants to use you. He’s obsessed with it. He thinks if he can find a way to control you, he can use you to solidify what he calls his power base. He’s not exactly sane.”

“Tell us something we don’t know,” I said, trying to act cool. On the inside I was shaking like a little girl.

We left Lela and went outside into the cool night.

“Sooo what’s the plan?” I asked Jason, as we all walked a little ways away from my house. We stood enveloped in soft moonlight that cast ominous shadows all around. I couldn’t help trying to see through the shadows for any sign of eavesdropping werewolves.

“Can’t we just call the cops?” Allison blurted before Jason could answer.

“And tell them what?” Jason replied. “That they need to go in armed with bazookas? Even if they did, their reflexes would not be quick enough. We would be sending them to die.”

“Ok,” I said, “there are three of them: Dan, and the other two pack members. Including Lucy, there are four of us.”

“Five,” Allison chimed in.

“Sorry Al, you don’t really count.”

She pouted, so I humored her. “There are five of us, including Lucy. So, we just need to reach Lucy, and we should have no problem getting back out, five against three.”

“It's too dangerous,” Jason countered. “I will call Dan’s old pack. For this, they will come. In the mean time I will try to stall Dan, and I will go alone,”

“Oh no,” I replied. “You aren’t pulling any of that gallant hero stuff with us. I, for one, refuse to be left out of the rescue.”

“Me too,” Allison chimed in.

“Me three,” added Max.

“Then it’s settled,” I said, turning back to Jason. “We go in together.”

Jason shook his head. “You could all be killed. He is not going to kill Lucy, but I do not think he will be as considerate with any of us. It's too risky.”

“It’s even more risky with just you going in,” I replied. “At least with all of us we have some chance of success. How long will it take for Dan’s old pack to get here?”

Jason met my eyes and tried to stare me down. I slowly crossed my arms and tilted my head to the side, staring back. Allison and Max came to stand on either side of me and mimicked my stance. Jason slowly nodded his assent, but he did not look happy about it. Too bad he didn’t have a choice.

Jason sighed. “Okay, here’s the plan . . . ”

The plan was that we would take Lela, in cuffs, with the pretense of making a trade. We knew Dan would never go for a trade, but if we could distract him with conversation, maybe one of us could get near Lucy and free her from any restraints she might have. The idea was that no matter what happened, Lucy would have as much chance of escape as the rest of us. I was trying really hard not to think about the chance that we might not all escape. In the mean time, should we fail, we would hopefully have Dan’s pack riding in to rescue all of us. They were based in Utah, so they would have to fly. If they were able to get an immediate flight out, we would still have two to three hours before they arrived.

We went back inside and Jason went into the kitchen to call the alpha of Dan’s old pack. I listened to Jason’s side of the conversation as he detailed all that had happened. After a few minutes more, I heard the phone click into the cradle.

Jason came back into the living room. “They are coming.”

Max cleared his throat, turning everyone’s eyes to him. “What about me and Lucy? Will they make us go with them?”

Jason didn’t answer, instead he said, “You don’t have to come with to the ranger’s station, Max. You can just go home now.”

Max crossed his arms at the wrists, then drew them to his sides, like an umpire calling someone out. “No way, I’m coming. We’ll just have to worry about the pack when the time comes.”

It was settled. We gathered Lela up and trooped out the front door, faces stern and somber: a vampire, a human, a teen wolf, another wolf who was terrified enough for the rest of us, and a half-demon without a clue. Bad guys beware.

Chapter 18

There is a bumpy mountain road leading to the old ranger’s station. We were all piled into Jason’s car, bouncing as we crawled along. I was in the front passenger seat with my trusty fireplace poker across my lap. Lela was in the back, sandwiched between Max and Allison. Allison had traded in her not so effective pepper spray for a baseball bat we had found in my garage, though that probably wouldn’t do her much good either.

I kept having to remind myself to breathe. My love for Lucy was all that kept courage running through my veins. The closer we came to our destination, the less confident I felt in our ability to pull off the rescue. Despite Jason’s assurances, I wasn’t convinced he could take Dan in a one-on-one fight. Jason claimed that vampires were simply stronger than werewolves, though he did admit that Dan was stronger than any other werewolf he had ever met, confirming Lela’s claims. It wasn’t just Dan’s fighting skills that made him dangerous. Dan had more physical strength and speed than he should have, than any werewolf should have.

As for Max, I was even more worried. The unknown, at least to us, pack member had bested him pretty easily outside of Lucy’s house. Max claimed that his opponent got downwind and snuck up on him, but that fact alone made me think that Max wasn’t a match for him. I was the wild card in the situation. Including me, we were three against two, given that we couldn’t trust Lela to join in the fight and Allison wouldn’t be much help. I was stronger than I used to be, but I wasn’t sure by how much. I didn’t think that I could trust my new-found strength in the upcoming battle. I’d proven that I could deal a hit, but taking one, well . . . I was not looking forward to finding out how that would go.

Chapter 19

“Please don’t give me back,” Lela urged, breaking the silence and my train of thought. “I can’t go back to him.”

“We’re not going to give you back,” I said. “You’re just an excuse to get inside.”

“But what if you lose? He’ll take me back! I can’t go back!”

I’d had enough. I took off my seat belt and leaned into the backseat, getting in Lela’s face. “You helped Dan attack us. As far as I’m concerned you’re the reason he has Lucy. Now you’re going to help us get her back, and just be happy that you’re still alive.”

Lela cowered and pressed herself back against her seat as much as possible, and hid behind her long dark hair, trying in vain to distance herself from me.

“Calm down Xoe,” Jason said in a voice that was meant to be soothing. He had replaced his ruined shirt with a dark green cotton t-shirt from his trunk. Max and Allison had frozen in place, each shoved as far away from me as possible.

I glared back at Jason, a snarl on my face.

He spoke slowly, “Remember what happened the last time you lost your temper?”

I couldn’t think. All I felt was white-hot rage. It felt like burning embers were eating me up from the inside.

“Remember what happened with Brian?” Jason urged just as calmly.

The memory of Brian’s scared face came flooding back to me, sobering me and chasing away my anger, well, most of it anyhow. My temper had never been this bad, not even close. It was an all-too real reminder of my . . . heritage. I sank back into my seat and crossed my arms, embarrassed by my outburst.

The bouncing of the car lessened as we began to slow. Jason pulled off to the side of the narrow road and stopped the car out of sight of the ranger’s station. If a large enough truck came by, it wouldn’t be able to fit past. Luckily, no one came up this way anymore.

Jason turned in his seat to look back at Allison. “You are going to wait in the car, in the driver’s seat, in case we need to make a fast getaway.”

“No way!” Allison argued. “You guys are so not going in there without me!”

“It makes sense Al,” I said trying to placate her, because I agreed with Jason, “you’ll do us more good out here.”

It was better for everyone if Allison stayed outside. She would be out of harm’s way, at least farther out of it than the rest of us, and we wouldn’t have to worry about protecting her while we were trying to protect ourselves. I was reminded that I was supposed to protect myself and my heart sped a little.

Allison’s face contorted into an angry pout. “Fine.” She was not happy, but I’d rather have her mad at me than dead.

We emerged from the car, Max holding onto Lela by her cuffs and me gripping my fireplace poker. As we began walking toward the hideout, the unusually warm air gave my skin an electric tingle. My earlier bravado with Lela had worn off. I was all nerves now. I stopped walking. “Umm, remind me again what the plan is?”

Jason stopped beside me, laying his hand on my arm, “You do not have to go in Xoe. In fact,” he gave me a small smile, “I would prefer it if you did not go in.”

I took a deep breath. “I’m fine, I’m okay, let’s go.” I was so not fine. What was I thinking? I didn’t know how to fight. Until tonight, I had never even been in a physical fight with a human, and now I was expected to fight werewolves with a fireplace poker? I looked up at the sky, trying to keep myself out of full panic mode.

The moon was in the middle of the sky, still mostly full. The tall pine trees cast ominous shadows across the dirt road leading to the abandoned ranger’s station. Another warm breeze blew my hair back out of my face. Sweat beaded on my forehead.

Jason’s tall, shadowy form led the way toward the ranger’s station. I was next, with Max following a few feet behind us, dragging Lela along. I could hear Lela muttering, “No, no, no . . . ” under her breath. I had to admit, I sympathized. We approached the small, log cabin style building. It looked dark and empty. Had Lela led us astray? I looked back at Max. He nodded, confirming that Dan’s scent was in the area. Jason motioned for us to stop.

Jason crept forward to the wooden door. He paused, as if sensing something, then suddenly rammed his shoulder against the door. It flew open inwards, slamming on the wall inside. All was quiet. Jason stepped into the dark interior of the building. From where I was standing, it looked empty. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. This felt like a trap.

Jason whipped back towards us. “Max!” he shouted.

I looked back towards Max and Lela just as a dark figure barreled into Max. Max, Lela, and the attacker tumbled into the bushes at the edge of the road, out of sight down the four-foot drop. I started to rush to the area where they had disappeared into the foliage, then paused in mid-motion at the sound of male laughter. I turned back toward the ranger’s station as a short, stocky man came sauntering around the side of the building. His shadowed face revealed a full beard and completely bald head. Small, beady eyes were swallowed by his protruding brow, emphasized by his lack of hair.

“Wow, I wasn’t expecting you guys to be this stupid,” the man mocked arrogantly in a gruff, scratchy voice.

“Were you expecting to be outnumbered?” I asked with false bravado.

“By the two of you?” the man laughed, “Sorry, no competition.” He started to walk forward. “You think you scare me?” He chuckled to himself.

Jason stepped into his path. Jason spoke to me in a dead-pan voice, “Find Lucy.” His eyes never left his opponent. “Go!” he shouted, just as the man rushed him.

I went. I ran into the ranger’s station and began searching frantically, holding my fireplace poker ready to swing. The mostly bare room was still. I saw some dark shapes in one corner and ran to the largest shape, thinking it was Lucy. My heart dropped as the shapes revealed themselves as some bunched up tarps and half-empty gas cans. I checked behind the counter and in the small bathroom. Empty.

I backed into the main room and examined the floor. The moonlight shining in from the large wood-framed windows helped me to make out several sets of dusty footprints. One set led to the back door. I stopped to listen. I could no longer hear the sounds of struggle outside. I started to run back to the front door, but forced myself to stick to the plan. Our attacker’s purpose was likely to distract us while Dan escaped with Lucy. I couldn’t take that chance. I turned and ran to the back instead.

I stumbled out of the backdoor into the woods. “Lucy!” I shouted. I started running down the trail that led away from the back door. I continued shouting for Lucy as I ran. Drawing attention to myself probably wasn’t the best tactic, but I couldn’t think of how else to locate her.

Tree shadows played tricks on me, making me see hidden attackers at every angle. What if Lela had lied? Who knew how many wolves Dan had actually gathered? Suddenly, I was on the ground. A thrill of pain shot from my arm through my body. I raised my unhurt arm in weak defense as I waited for my unseen attacker to deal their next blow, but the blow never came. I struggled to sit up, looking for what had taken me down. There was a gnarled tree root sticking up in the middle of the trail. We had bad guys aplenty, and I was taken down by a tree root. I was afraid to look at my arm. I had a feeling it was broken.

There was a sound from within the trees to my left. I stayed sitting in the dirt and tried to calm the noise of my ragged breathing. I peered into the shadows in the direction that the noise had come from. “Lucy?” I whispered hoarsely through gritted teeth.

I heard the sound again, it was a soft whimper. I folded my arm gingerly against my chest, clenching my teeth against the pain. I struggled to my feet and followed the sound of the whimper, abandoning my poker in the dirt where it had fallen. I looked down to find that the underbrush had been trampled on one side of the trail. I ventured farther away from the hiking trial, following the trampled path. I stumbled through the vegetation, wincing each time a hidden root or rock jarred my arm, until I noticed a dark figure huddled on the ground.

I clumsily ran to the figure, keeping my hurt arm pressed against my chest with my good arm. Lucy was tied and gagged. Her restraints were only rope, not silver chains. I knelt beside her and she started whimpering again, eyes shut tight. She was still in the jeans and tennis shoes that she had been wearing earlier that night. Smartly, she hadn’t dressed for bed; else she’d be out here shoeless and in pajamas.

“Lucy, Lucy it’s me,” I whispered.

“Oe?” she asked through her cloth gag.

“It’s okay Lucy, you’re safe.”

I crouched next to Lucy and used my knees to keep my hurt arm pinned across my chest so I could use my good arm to untie her hands. I struggled with the ropes for several minutes, but was finally able to free her arms. Lucy rolled into a sitting position, ripping off her gag. She started working on the rope around her ankles.

“Where is everybody? Where’s Dan?” she whispered frantically. “We have to get out of here!”

“I know,” I whispered back. “We need to be quiet ok? Can you walk?”

“Yeah, I think so. I don’t think I’m hurt.” Lucy slowly rose to her feet. I carefully got up, bracing my bad arm against my stomach with my good arm again.

“What happened to your arm?” Lucy gasped.

“I fell. Can you help me tie it in place?” I glanced down at the rope that had bound Lucy.

Lucy nodded, pulling off her hoodie. She picked up the rope and managed to Macgyver a makeshift sling for my arm. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth together as she slipped the contraption around my shoulders. I had to squat down so she could reach behind my neck to gingerly tie the rope in place. As her wrists passed my face, I noticed raw rope burns around them. A pang of anger at Dan stabbed my stomach. I took a deep breath and managed to contain it, not wanting to lose my temper again.

“Is that okay?” Lucy asked, then before I could answer she added, “Where’s Dan?”

I let all of the worry I was feeling fill my face. “I was hoping you could answer that. I thought he’d be with you.”

Lucy shook her head. “The two guys that took me brought me straight here. I haven’t even seen Dan.”

I nodded. The two guys Lucy was referring to had to be the two that attacked us; the one that knocked down Max and Lela, and the bald man. That left Dan completely unaccounted for. “We have to go.”

I crept back toward the ranger’s station with Lucy following closely behind me. I tried to make as little noise as possible, but I felt dizzy and clumsy with pain. We stopped a short distance away from the dark building.

I turned to Lucy. “Allison is waiting down the road in Jason’s car. Go wait with her.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I have to find Max and Jason.”

“I’m coming with you.”

I gave her a worried look, but I knew the stubborn set to her jaw. It was a look that she, Allison, and I had in common, and Jason and Max for that matter. It was a wonder that our group functioned at all. Here’s hoping we could all stay alive and continue to function.

Lucy was coming, and I had to admit I was glad for the company. We crept around the side of the station to the front door, where I had left Jason to face off with the bald man. The moon cast empty, still shadows all around. A chill crept up my spine. Something had gone terribly wrong. I should never have left them to fight alone. I crept to where Max had fallen into the bushes. Empty. That left the ranger’s station.

I had a fleeting urge to run back to the car and Allison, drive away, and pretend like none of this had ever happened. But Jason and Max were here somewhere, hurt, or maybe worse. I tried to swallow the lump that had formed in my throat. Please don’t let it be worse. They were here because of us. They came to save Lucy, to protect Allison and me. We couldn’t leave them.

Taking a deep breath, I crept back towards Lucy and the ranger’s station. Realizing my intent, she turned to walk into the building ahead of me. I saw movement on the other side of the door. “No!” I shouted, just as arms reached out and pulled Lucy inside. She let out a small scream that was cut off as soon as she disappeared into the darkness.

It was just like the stupid people that get killed in the horror movies. The whole time, you’re shouting at the screen, telling them to run and call the cops. Whatever you do, you should never go back into the creepy dark building. Well, I was going in at full speed. I skidded into the building and came to a halt. I spun around just as the door slammed behind me. I was face-to-face with more features I didn’t know. Dan’s third pack member.

The man was tall and dark. He leered down at me with nearly black eyes, holding Lucy tightly against his chest with one hand clamped over her mouth. He didn’t seem to notice her struggling and kicking against him. He smiled at me, revealing large, square teeth. Dan’s voice behind me brought my attention back to the room.

Max was lying in the back left corner with the tarps and gas cans that I had mistaken for Lucy earlier. Lying very still. What I could see of Max’s face was covered in purple and black bruises, his mouth swollen and bloody. Jason was in the opposite corner with his back to the room. What I assumed were Lela’s cuffs were now around his wrists. I had no idea how they had unlocked them given we’d left the key at my house. Jason was just as still as Max. I looked around the room for Lela, and noticed a wolf peeking out from behind the counter. It had to be Lela. I hoped it was Lela, and not the bald man. Either way, we were missing one person. The wolf looked terrified, if a wolf could look terrified.

I turned to Dan, who was still dressed in his black outfit. “What do you want?”

“Well,” he replied. “I originally wanted to just take Lucy and be on my merry way. I had no intention of hurting you or your company, but you left me little choice. Now, because of all of the trouble you and your little friends have caused me, I want more. Your vampire killed David, and you managed to turn one of my pack members against me. Lela shifted and fought against Brent when we attacked. She seemed to think that you and yours would save her. I had to show her how very wrong she was.”

I guessed Brent was the man holding Lucy, and David had to have been the bald man. Dan started pacing with his arms clutched behind his back, chuckling to himself, like the mad scientist in a horror movie. He had totally lost it. He asked me, “Would you like to hear my new plan?”

I glared at him.

“I will no longer simply take my dear Lucy and leave the rest of you alone. I will still take her of course, but now I will take you as well. There’s more to you than you’ve led us all to believe. I’ve come to my own conclusions on what that is, but we’ll have plenty of time to prove my theories true or false once we get out of town. As for the rest of your party, they will all have to die. And little Lela? Do you wonder why she is still in wolf form? We’ll have to dispose of the bodies somehow.” Dan walked closer and got in my face. Sweat had beaded on his brow and began to drip down around his crazed features.

I turned my nose up and peered at him with prideful eyes.

“Ah,” Dan said. “I see I’ve sparked your temper. Don’t want to do that ‘till I’ve got you on a leash. Are you surprised that I know? It really wasn’t all that hard to figure out.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said coldly.

“Tsk, tsk,” Dan went on. “No more playing dumb, Xoe. I’ve figured it out, that elusive smell, you smell like demon.”

“And how would you know?” I asked, fear leaking into my voice.

“Oh, I know all about demons, all about dealing with them too. Part of the draw of Shelby is its graveyard, perfect for calling on demons. You see, it’s not only the size of a graveyard that makes it a proper catalyst for magic, but the age as well. Shelby cemetery has both size and age, but that’s a story for another time. We’ll have plenty of time for that later. If you’re a good girl, I’ll give you any answers you might want.”

I needed to keep him talking. I had to buy some time. Dan’s pack had to be here soon. I asked conversationally, “But graveyards aren’t evil are they? Why are they a good place to call demons?”

Dan smiled. “They’re good for all sorts of stuff. Magic tends to collect in cemeteries; raw power. I don’t know the exact how and why, but the older and larger the cemetery, the more power that collects there.” Dan began to pace with his arms clutched behind his back again. “The ritual needed to call a demon requires quite a bit of power, and with no magical talents of my own, I must rely on cemeteries.”

I nodded. “But why would you want to call a demon?” I saw Max shift position slightly, gaining consciousness. I kept my eyes on Dan, urging him to continue.

Dan grinned like a teacher, proud that his pupil had asked a good question. “There is much to be gained in dealing with demons; strength, wealth, information, though there is much to lose as well. I’ve done pretty well so far. I may have even come across your father at some point. I’m guessing that he is your demon parent. Your mom doesn’t have that particular smell. We’ll eventually find out who he is. I can only imagine what he would trade for you.”

I smiled bitterly. “He left when I was born. He obviously doesn’t want me.”

Dan chuckled again. “Well of course he didn’t want you then, you were useless. But I imagine you have at least begun to come into your powers, after what you did to Lela. That, makes you far more appealing. He’ll trade, and you will be reunited with dear old daddy.”

Tempting as that offer was, I had no intention of meeting my dad. Dan’s pacing had taken him closer to Max, leaving his back to me. I had to act, but what could I do? Suddenly, the door swung open and a loud crack resounded behind me. I spun around to face Lucy and the man called Brent. Brent had dropped Lucy to the ground, where she crouched, surprised. Allison was standing behind Brent’s broad back, holding her baseball bat ready to swing again. Brent turned and grabbed for Allison, and Lucy jumped on his back. The three of them went tumbling out the door.

Arms grabbed me and threw me against the wall again. A new shock of pain shot through my arm as I fell to the floor. Bright splotches blurred my vision as I tried to catch my breath. I opened my eyes to see Dan’s red, hateful face inches from mine.

He spat his words into my face. “I’m going kill all of your little friends while you watch. Even my dear Lucy. I’ve grown tired of her antics. And your vampire? His death will be special. Nice and slow. I may even make you help with that one. I won’t kill you though. I may even let you go. I’ll let you live out your sorry little life with the memory of watching your friends die. I’ll let you live with the knowledge that you did nothing to stop me. You are powerless. A worthless . . . little . . . nothing.” His anger had flipped a switch in his mind. It was like he had two different personalities . . . as if the situation could get any worse.

Brent came limping back in holding Lucy in his arms. I didn’t see Allison with them. I tried to struggle to a sitting position, but my body screamed pain. My arm felt like it was made of fire. To look on the bright side, at least I hadn’t been knocked unconscious from hitting the wall as hard as I did. Hoorah for superhuman strength.

Dan stalked to the other side of the room and grabbed Jason by his cuffs. He dragged Jason across the floor and threw him next to me. Jason had apparently come to.

He looked at me with defeated blue eyes. “I’m so sorry Xoe,” he whispered.

“Shut up!” Dan shouted. He walked to Jason and kicked him in the stomach.

Jason didn’t so much as grunt in response. He kept his eyes locked on mine.

Dan sneered and got back in my face. “How shall we kill him?” Dan stood back up and kicked Jason in the face. Fresh blood poured from Jason’s nose to splatter on the floor.

My vision went red. I felt my blood boil. Hot rage washed through my veins, numbing my pain. I welcomed it with open arms. I wasn’t afraid of my new temper anymore. Anything to wash away the image of Jason’s bloody face.

I thought of Allison unconscious on my floor after Lela threw her. I thought of Lucy, screaming as her bones cracked and reformed her into a wolf. I thought of Max, his black and blue face against the floor. I thought of never seeing Jason again.

I let the rage wash over me. I reveled in it. Gathering my strength I lunged for Dan, not sure of my intention. My hands had barely made contact with his chest when he erupted in blue-white flame. I threw myself backward and fell back against the wall. The fire crept up his shirt and began to turn to orange as the clothing burned. Dan dropped to the ground and started rolling, grunting in pain. The flames began to go out. I closed my eyes in defeat, waiting for the next blow.

I reopened my eyes to see a dark shape fly across the room, spewing liquid. It landed on Dan. I smelled gas. Max had opened one of the gas cans and thrown it when he saw the flames. Within seconds, Dan was engulfed in fire. He started screaming. He continued rolling on the ground, a few feet away from me, but he couldn’t put the flames out. The acrid smell of burning flesh began to fill the room. His screaming became something shrill, almost inhuman.

I looked to the front door. Lucy and Brent had disappeared. I couldn’t make myself move to find them. A wolf’s face appeared around the writhing, flaming mass that was Dan. Lela crept up and laid her large wolf head in my lap. Jason had struggled closer to lean against me in a half-sitting position, blood still seeping from his nose. The room began to fill up with putrid smoke. Movement at the door caught my eye. Lucy stood holding Allison up, silhouetted by the moonlight and blurred by smoke, with Allison’s arm across her shoulders. I turned my attention back to the burning mass. Dan had stopped screaming. I should have been scared. I should have been horrified.

I numbly looked past the flames to the faces of my friends and stroked the fur of the wolf that sat calmly at my side. Lucy and Allison looked horrified. Jason carefully avoided my gaze. I realized that I was smiling. I had set a man on fire. I wasn’t scared, I wasn’t horrified. I was glad. He had hurt my friends. Burn baby, burn.

Chapter 20

Max had disappeared. I looked away from the disbelieving faces of my friends towards the back door, wondering where he had gone. He came limping out of the small bathroom, carrying a fire extinguisher I hadn’t noticed earlier. He shuffled up to the burning mass formerly known as Dan. He sprayed it with the extinguisher, putting out the last of the flames.

Lucy and Allison stumbled past me, to stand behind where I was sitting. I followed their eyes to the front door of the ranger’s station to see a tall, dark man framed by the light of the moon. For a moment I thought it was Brent, but then the man stepped forward, revealing strong Hispanic features framed by dark, straight hair reaching well past his shoulders. He had to be Dan’s old alpha.

“Abel,” Jason said in greeting.

The man, Abel, nodded his head in acknowledgment. His voice was a deep bass rumble. “I see that we were a bit late.”

“You can say that again,” I mumbled, thinking that he wouldn’t hear me.

He whipped his head in my direction. “Excuse me?”

My eyes widened in surprise. Damn that supernatural hearing. It took me a moment to speak. “Nothing, um . . . sir.”

He nodded and turned back to Jason. “I apologize for your troubles. You will be compensated fairly. As a favor, I will ignore the three living werewolves in this room that are not of a pack. But they should be warned, that three wolves constitute a pack on their own. If they are all to remain in Shelby, they must file the proper forms.”

I raised my eyebrows. I had imagined the forming of a werewolf pack as something mystical with loads of ritual and traditions. Filing forms just seemed so . . . mundane.

Abel continued, “Now I suggest you all leave this place. We will dispose of the remains of Dan and the other dead wolf.”

“Thank you,” Jason replied simply. His nose had stopped bleeding. He got to his feet and slowly lifted me in his arms.

Max, Lucy, and Allison came to stand beside us. We made our slow progression outside, Max and Lucy trying very hard not to make any eye-contact with Abel. Lela followed at my heels, still in wolf form.

The cool night air was refreshing after being in the smoky interior of the ranger’s station. “I can stand,” I told Jason.

He slowly let me down from his arms, but kept a hold around my waist so I didn’t fall. The woods to either side of us were alive with the movement of the other wolves from Dan’s former pack. We limped and hobbled back down to the car where we took an assessment of our injuries. Miraculously, I seemed to be the only one with a broken bone, though everyone else had a lot more cuts and bruises than me. Jason, Max, and Lucy had already started to heal, though Lucy was healing at a slower rate. The bruises on Max and Jason’s faces were already fading into a sickly brown edged by yellow. Allison was not so lucky. Her entire back was a swollen purple mess and she had several gashes on her arms. Apparently Brent had thrown her into some bushes and decided the fight was over.

Lela, still in wolf form, had walked down beside me until we reached the car, making sure I didn’t fall. After we verified that we would all survive, I eased myself into the front passenger seat, then turned to acknowledge her. She licked my hand, the one attached to my unbroken arm. I gave her a pat on the head before she turned and disappeared into the darkness of the woods.

With everybody loaded into the car, it was time I got to the hospital to have my arm examined. I was also healing a lot more quickly than I should have been, and Jason was worried that my broken bone would re-knit itself before a doctor could set it. I was able to convince Allison that she should get checked out as well. She was, after all, only human.

We drove back down the mountain, reeking of smoke. No one seemed to know what to say. What do you say after a kidnapping, a supernatural battle, and a murder or two?

“I smelled the gas, but how did you guys light Dan on fire?” Allison asked.

No one was answering. I sighed. “It was me.”

“You mean . . . ”

“Yeah, my demon powers strike again,” I said bitterly.

“You weren’t the one who killed him Xoe,” Max interrupted.

“I set him on fire and he burned to death. Yeah, I’d say I killed him.”

“I got him with the gasoline,” Max explained. “Don’t blame yourself.”

I didn’t answer. I appreciated Max’s valiant gesture, trying to take the blame, but I knew otherwise. It was my fire that had killed him, even if Max’s gasoline had helped. I didn’t really feel guilty; he totally had it coming. It was more the lack of guilt that was bugging me. I was already struggling with my loss of humanity in finding out about my heritage. Now I felt less human than ever.

We pulled into the hospital parking lot a little after 2:00 am. Our absolutely genius cover story was that Allison and I had fallen down the stairs in the house. Whatever . . . it would work. If anyone asked about our unpleasant odor, we’d play dumb. Allison and I got out of the car and headed into the hospital. Jason was going to get Lucy back home. If her kidnapping had woken her parents up, we would have a lot of explaining to do. We’d just have to hope for the best.

Allison and I got signed in at the front desk of the emergency waiting room. They insisted on calling our parents since we were both minors. Our moms were on their way, though it would take my mom several hours, seeing as she had to come from Washington. The doctor called me in first, deeming my injury the more serious one. My arm was in fact broken, my ulna to be more exact. The wonderful, wonderful doctor gave me pain medication and went about setting my arm and cleaning the various scrapes on my arms and back.

Eventually I went back into the waiting room, fresh plaster cast on my arm, to find Allison and her mom waiting. Her mom peered at me with honey brown eyes disdainfully. My mom was still absent.

“What’s your prognosis?” I asked Allison, trying to ignore the less than happy look her mom was directing at me.

“Some pretty major bruises, got a few stitches, other than that I got off pretty easy. The Doctor gave me some pain meds.” Allison was acting like nothing was wrong, but the way she avoided direct eye contact with me gave her away.

With that, Allison’s mom stood and whipped her blonde hair in a perfect imitation of Allison, or maybe Allison’s was an imitation of her mother, and they left me alone in the waiting room.

The hospital had decided that they weren’t going to release me until my mom came to pick me up. Gre-at. I sat down in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs and prepared to wait.

Several hours later, my mom gently woke me up. A word of advice, never sleep in plastic chairs. I hurt everywhere, of course, that was probably mostly from the beating I had taken. She hustled me out to her car where I instantly fell back asleep. The next thing I knew I was in my bed. I didn’t remember getting home. A dark form was seated in a chair next to me. Noticing that I was awake, the form stood to hover over me. Jason’s face came into focus.

“Lucy?” I mumbled.

“We got her home safe. Her parents never even woke up, apparently our luck held.”

I tried to nod, but stopped because it hurt. “It’s over?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, sitting on the bed beside me. “I can leave town now, and let you get back to your life. Max will be here to help Lucy. But . . . if you want me to stay, I can, at least for the time being.”

“Stay,” I mumbled before slipping back into darkness.

Chapter 21

Sunlight streaming in through my window woke me. Jason was still sitting in his chair. I felt miraculously better. Maybe being a half-demon wouldn’t be so bad. The extra healing power sure didn’t suck.

“Morning,” I said, turning my head toward Jason.

“Morning.”

I looked at the dirt on my visible skin. I scrunched my nose. “I’m going to shower.”

Jason smiled. “I was going to recommend that.”

I gave Jason a dirty look, then went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. My mom had left a wad of plastic shopping bags and a roll of masking tape next to my sink for putting over my cast while I showered. I turned on the water to let it get hot while I bagged up my arm. When I was sealed up and ready to go, I slipped off last night’s clothes and stepped under the stream of steamy water.

The water that sped toward the drain was tinted with dirt. Ick. I would need to wash my sheets today. I started to one-handedly lather shampoo in my hair and could no longer avoid my thoughts. Lucy was a werewolf. There was a vampire waiting in my bedroom. I was part demon. I had killed someone.

I let the water stream over my face to wash away my silent tears. I didn’t know why I was crying. I felt numb. We were all safe now. We had all gotten out alive. That was what mattered. I clung to that thought in order to drown out everything else.

I finished cleaning all of the dirt off me, turned off the water. Then wrapped my fluffy purple towel around me to step out of the shower. I approached my mirror and cleared a circle in the condensation. I expected to look pale and fragile, like I had many mornings recently. Though I did have some serious circles under my eyes, I didn’t look fragile. I looked, and felt, strong. We had won.

As I finished my reverie in the mirror I turned to survey the bathroom, realizing that I had forgotten to grab a change of clothes. I re-wrapped my towel tightly around me and opened the door to my bedroom. Jason very carefully avoided looking at me while I shuffled through my closet looking for something to wear. I didn’t really care if he saw me in a towel, but I appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. I grabbed the deep red, long-sleeved shirt that Allison had picked out for me and one of the few pairs of non-holey jeans from my closet, went to my dresser to get underwear, then went back into my bathroom to change. I had some difficulty pulling my casted arm through my shirtsleeve, but finally managed. I left the sleeve scrunched up to my elbow above the cast. Jason was standing by the window, looking outside, when I came back out.

“I better go talk to my mom,” I said.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked, without taking his gaze from the window.

“No, I’ll be back up in a sec.” I left my room and gently shut the door, then trudged downstairs to face the music.

I expected my mom to be mad at having to cut her trip short to bail me out of the hospital, but she was all sympathy. She had actually baked blueberry muffins while waiting for me to wake up. She ran up and hugged me as soon as I came down the stairs, then hustled me to the table. There was already a coffee mug waiting for me and she went into the kitchen to grab the muffins and the coffee pot. She set the pot beside my cup and set a blue ceramic plate with three gargantuan muffins on it in front of me.

“Umm, am I expected to eat all of those?” I asked sarcastically while filling up my mug with coffee.

Ignoring my question, my mom sat down across from me. “So, I’ve been thinking, maybe I shouldn’t go out of town so often anymore?”

“Why?” I asked, mouth full of muffin.

“You broke your arm and I wasn’t here!” she shouted, then covered her mouth in surprise at her reaction.

“Wooaah,” I said, waving my good arm in a calming gesture. “It’s not that big a deal.” I held up my casted arm. “It’ll be good as new in no time.”

“And how did it happen that Jason was around at two in the morning to take you and Allison to the hospital?”

“Um, we called him? Duh.”

“Yeah, likely story,” my mom said, smiling. “If boys are going to be hanging around, we need to lay down some rules.”

I groaned at the mention of rules.

“First,” she began, “I will be informed whenever you will be spending time outside of school with a boy. Second, when said boy is involved there will be a 9:00 curfew.”

This elicited another groan from me.

“And finally,” she went on, “know that you can always talk to me about anything pertaining to boys or otherwise. Now eat your muffins.”

Unable to help my smile I obliged, and took another enormous bite. Mmm, muffins. Nice, normal, non-portentous muffins.

I went back up to my room to talk to Jason. As I walked into my room I saw that he had returned to sitting in my desk chair. He looked up from my copy of On the Road, by Jack Kerouac. I walked over to my bed and plunked down. Jason looked at me expectantly.

“Sooo,” I began, “we haven’t heard anything from Lucy or Al since last night?”

“I have not,” he answered. “Perhaps you should try calling them?”

“No. I don't know, I guess I’m afraid they won’t answer.”

Jason’s face scrunched up in confusion.

I elaborated, “Allison wouldn’t meet my eyes the whole time we were at the hospital, and Lucy never even spoke to me after what happened with Dan. It felt like . . . like they were afraid of me.” I could feel cursed tears welling up yet again. I kept my eyes very wide, trying to prevent them from falling. I didn’t want to cry anymore. You would think I would have run out of tears by now.

Jason rose to sit on the bed and wrap his arms around me. My last thread of restraint dissolved and tears fell in hot streams down my face. Jason held me while I spilled what were hopefully the last of my tears for the situation. We ended up laying on my bed, dirty sheets and all, facing each other. Jason’s greater height put his head a little above mine. My tears had finally run dry. He gently stroked my still-damp hair while I regained my composure. He smelled clean; he had showered at some point, but I wasn’t sure when. I thought about all that Jason had done for my friends and me. He had risked his life for us. Somewhere along the road I had gotten over the fact that he was a vampire and had killed people in the past. After all, I was a killer now too.

So I decided vampire-schmampire. I looked into his dark blue eyes, leaned in, and kissed him for all I was worth. The kiss started out soft, he hesitated slightly. I wrapped the fingers of my good hand in his hair and pulled him closer, making him give in to the moment. He put his arms around my waist and pulled me against him and kissed me like he meant it. When he gently pulled away I was left flustered and without breath. He smiled a small smile and stroked the side of my face.

“You have visitors,” he said. He gently kissed my forehead, and then, just like that, he was up and out the window. A heartbeat later there was a knock at my bedroom door.

“Come in,” I called.

The door swung open and there stood Lucy and Allison.

Allison came hobbling into my room and gently climbed onto my bed beside me, obviously still in pain from last night. “Good morning sunshine,” she said to me smiling. “Glad to see you’re looking better. Non-human healing is so unfair.”

Lucy walked over to my bed with lowered eyes, and sat down beside me. When she finally met my gaze, there were tears in her almond eyes. I waited for her judgment, waited to be called a murderer, a monster.

“Thank you,” She said.

I looked a question at her.

“You saved me Xoe, you all saved me, but you most of all. None of us would be here if it weren’t for you.”

I closed my gaping jaw and grabbed Lucy in a hug. I let her go reluctantly. Allison scooted closer to the wall and I scooted to the middle of the bed, giving Lucy room to lie on my other side. We all lay there looking at the ceiling.

“So,” Allison began, “now that you’re a full-fledged half-demon and all, are you finally going to get over your hang-up about Jason’s past?”

I turned my nose up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said with a haughty air. I knew I’d eventually have to tell them about Jason and me, but for now, I could do without them making girly noises and kissy-faces at the mention of his name.

“Oh come on Xoe, he is so in love with you.”

“You know what Al?” I replied, ignoring her statement. “I think maybe you’re the demon.”

With that we all burst into laughter, and for just a moment were able to forget that our lives as we knew them had been turned completely upside-down.

Chapter 22

Jason had to leave town for a few days to report back to Dan’s pack and get whatever they were supposed to pay him, and to fill out some forms of all things. I didn’t ask how much he was getting; however much they gave him, it wasn’t enough. He has since returned to Shelby and he’s staying, at least for now. He got himself a nifty apartment and everything. I’m pretty ecstatic about it, though I’ll never admit it out loud. The whole dating thing is kind of new territory to me, but I seem to be doing okay. I finally had to tell Lucy and Allison. They would have found out eventually. The teasing has been ceaseless.

Brian’s still not talking to me. I’m afraid that he never will. I can’t really blame him for not wanting to get involved. I’m sad about Brian, but at least I still have Lucy and Al . . . and Jason. Max still hangs around. He follows Al around like a lost little puppy, no pun intended. She pretends not to notice.

I’m still learning to control my powers. I’ve accidentally lit a few things on fire, but luckily nothing living. Hopefully my luck continues, not just with my powers, but with everything else. Fingers crossed.

Accidental Ashes, Book 2 in the Xoe Meyers series, is available at your favorite online retailer.

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Stronger Than Magic

Melinda VanLone

When Tarian Xannon is blindsided by a demon-like creature who steals her blood it launches a chain of events that unravels her life. She has no idea who he is or why he attacked, but it becomes increasingly clear that he’ll stop at nothing to steal her power. And somewhere in the shadows, another enemy plans to take advantage of the situation.

In this action/adventure thriller, Tarian works to unravel a diabolical mystery that strikes at her very core, while trying to save her family, her life, and her magic. But will her own power be enough? Or are some things Stronger than Magic?

Chapter 1

Tarian Xannon lay back on a long white towel spread over black sand and let the sun soak her body. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent and taste of gardenia, hibiscus, and salt. Nothing felt better after a long swim in the most beautiful water on Earth than to lie here alone, surrounded by rocks, lush tropical trees, and privacy. She sighed, her contentment complete as her arms and legs melded with the hot sand. If paradise existed, it was surely a beach in the Pacific.

Her long, hard workouts strained every muscle, but were accomplished with the best friends in the world: dolphins. They didn’t judge, didn’t complain, seemed happy with life in general and with her, specifically. They bobbed just off shore as they watched over Tarian now, content to simply be. This pod, always present, always steadfast, escorted her on countless explorations of the ocean since before she could walk. They were more than friends at this point. They were a part of her in a way she couldn’t explain.

Today they’d giggled their way over to the Big Island of Hawaii alongside her. She pushed her body to the limit, adding a bit of magical power near the end just to be sure she made it instead of drowned. They’d kept pace easily, chatting the entire way in clicks, honks and squeaks. Her workout complete, one of them had given her a ride home by offering a fin. She’d grasped it, and enjoyed images of deep sea aquatic games sent via the dolphin’s own special mind to mind communication while he rushed her through the ocean back to her own private island. While she touched him, she didn’t worry about drowning. She didn’t need air when surrounded by dolphins. They provided it, just as they provided a boost of natural energy which replenished her.

Tarian raised up onto her elbows to look out over the waves kissing the shore to see which dolphin did most of the talking now. As she suspected, it was the one she’d named Roger because to her ears, every time he saw her he shouted “Roger” both as a name and a statement, and he sported a scar just above his left eye like a detective from an old movie. He wiggled in the water as though tickled by some unseen feather.

“I almost got you this time!” She called to him. He bobbed and nodded and flipped around. She knew that meant Not a chance, and Let’s race again. If she were in the water with him right now, he’d bump her with his nose to send her an image of him winning their race across to the island on the other side. That’s why she had these debates from shore. He couldn’t argue back without touching her. Not in a language she understood, anyway.

The sound of sand crunching beneath unsure feet behind her made her stifle a groan. She knew those footsteps. It was never good when they found her out here. She looked up to squint at Jonus, her mother’s chief advisor. He looked stiff in his slick black hair, skinny black suit, and snotty attitude.

“What have I done now?” Tarian raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun so she could read his expression. What she saw in his eyes confirmed her suspicion. He’d been sent on a mission to fetch her.

Jonus sniffed. “It appears to have escaped the Scion’s notice that her presence is required at the monthly leadership meeting.”

Tarian groaned. Two more hateful words were never uttered in one sentence. “Leadership” and “meeting.”

“How late am I?” She glanced up at the sun.

Probably very late.

“The meeting convened an hour ago, Scion.”

Damn.

“May I inform Keeper Marielle and the assembled that you will attend in a few minutes?” Jonus looked out over the ocean as though he waited for a decision. She knew he really waited for her to get up, dress, and follow him.

“Don’t bother. I’m coming.” She reached for her towel and stood. Rather than take the time to dry off, she wrapped the towel around her still wet bikini and ran fingers through her soaked hair. It tangled and fought the attention, but she persisted as she walked up the beach with Jonus following after her.

The House of Xannon, home to her family for generations, rose up out of the rock as though vomited there by an ancient volcano, clunky and awkward. From a distance, it looked like a jumble of black boulders tumbling down to the black sand beach. Behind the group of rocks, the house’s entrance, formed by a natural cave, yawned. She’d heard they once performed human sacrifices in what was now their entry alcove. It seemed vaguely ironic to have visitors arrive and depart from the very spot where people used to be killed in the name of religion, in order to appease gods who didn’t seem to care whether they lived or died. Ironic because the magical Society as a whole honored the power of nature above any mythical being in the sky.

Tarian passed through the open door and into the cool, slightly damp, air of the entry alcove beyond. Two Sentinels, part of an elite guard who protected the house and all of the inhabitants, stood at attention like chess men in white shirts and pants, their bodies a looming presence in the small space. Two indentations in the walls behind them, created so that those traveling by magic could create a travel portal directly to the heavily guarded and fortified seat of power for the region, waited empty beside them. She thought briefly about using one of them to go somewhere besides the meeting, but forced her sand coated feet through the entry and into the larger welcoming rotunda of the house instead.

Rough rock walls curved to a round skylight and formed a cavernous space into the rotunda. It was her favorite room in the entire complex, aside from the beach and the Arena, neither of which really counted as rooms at all. Bright tropical plants and flowers adorned every nook and cranny. Their vivid reds, golds and purples vibrated against the dark walls which sparkled in the sunlight. A few benches perched here and there, allowing visitors to the House a place to relax or anticipate their meeting. Sentinels stood at all exits from the room, mostly to ensure that the magical safeguards embedded within the rock, benches, and floors didn’t harm someone accidentally.

To her left, a long hallway led into the bedrock and several bedrooms, including her own. To the right, another long hallway led to the kitchen and, after a few turns, to the arena courtyard where the Sentinels trained and where she worked out when she wasn’t swimming.

In front of her, with two overly large doors ajar, the Receiving Hall beckoned and sported a disapproving look, as though the doors knew how much trouble she was in.

Jonus cleared his throat. “I’ll inform your mother.” He proceeded through the doorway. She didn’t hear him say her name, so he must be hurrying to the front to whisper to her mother, rather than shout to the crowd that she’d arrived late and underdressed. Again.

She could simply continue on to her room. Nobody would drag her through the doors. Nobody would force her to interact. She was sure they all wished she wouldn’t. Except her mother, of course. Her mother would demand that she meet each and every one of the attendees, and then there’d be a quiz later to see if she remembered their names, home towns, and talents. She should go to her room and change clothes. With luck, the meeting would be over before she’d made herself presentable.

Not that I’ll ever be presentable.

After a long pause, Tarian squared her shoulders, adjusted her towel to be sure it covered all the important bits, then crossed the rotunda and entered the room.

Chapter 2

Tarian waited just inside the doorway of the Receiving Hall and tapped her foot. Usually the hall stood mostly empty, with only her mother, Advisor Jonus, and a few others sitting at a table at the far end of the vast space. Today it contained circus freaks. She snorted to herself. That wasn’t fair. They were people, of course.

More than that, they were leaders from all the major regions and continents, including North America, here for the monthly Society meeting her mother held as a way to exchange information and solve problems among magic users. Tarian had met most of them, though she hadn’t enjoyed the experience. All of them wore disapproving expressions exactly like her mother’s. She knew what they thought about her. She didn’t measure up as leadership material. The endless droning about trivial details bored her to tears, and the overload of personal power signatures radiating off so many in one spot gave her a headache. Not to mention the different scents of sweat, deodorant, after shave, and perfume which clashed with the natural floral scents in the air.

It just doesn’t get any more pointless than this.

Tarian surveyed the room. Same leaders, sitting at the same long tables, discussing the same boring problems. Advisor Jonus stood at attention next to her mother. Keeper Marielle led the meeting from the Dolphin Throne, an ornate chair topped by a medallion of dolphins swimming nose to tail in a circle, imbued with magic ancient as earth itself. Marielle’s eyes caught Tarian’s, and flashed in irritation. Tarian glanced down at the towel she had wrapped around her body to catch the water from her wet bathing suit. A small puddle formed underneath her. She thought it better to arrive wet than not at all. Obviously her mother didn’t share the same thought.

As Tarian once again debated going to change her clothes, the meeting ended, and muttered conversations started up as the people stood up from their chairs and prepared to leave. Her mother made her way through the crowd, smiling and nodding, ever the gracious hostess.

What a lie. Tarian knew better. Her mother was far from a gracious mood at the moment. She could sense the waves of disapproval as surely as she could read the expression written in the small lines around her mother’s mouth. She should have stayed in the ocean. If she was going to get chewed out anyway at least she could feel the waves lapping at her body while it happened. Damn. She’d been in such a good mood. Until now.

Tarian looked up at the the three round skylights currently open in the ceiling, hoping to find balance in the serenity of the outdoors. If the room were quiet, the salted air, filtered through hibiscus brought with it the sounds of the sea. She usually loved being in this room. The thousand year old tapestries extending from the high dome to the floor depicted scenes which still mystified her, and her personal symbol etched into the center of the floor made this particular room, the center of the House, feel like home. Unless there was a meeting. The hum of voices overshadowed even the calm of the ocean, and the occasional laugh sent a jolt through her spine, not to mention the small pulses of unintentional power from the guests. Today she’d rather be anyplace else. Prison would be preferable. Meetings like this one did little to enhance her state of well being.

Clunky footsteps behind her preceded the scent of after shave and a signature which radiated a warm tingle up her arms, followed by a deep, lilting, Hispanic voice. “Chica, you missed the meeting again?”

“I wouldn’t say I missed it.” Tarian turned to grin at her friend, Alex. He wore the standard Sentinel uniform, black pants, white shirt, belt with weapons and clunky black boots, so he must have come from work. “How can anyone miss acting like a stuffy puppet doing the bidding of an invisible puppet master?”

Alex looked into the room, then back at Tarian. “It’s a job, chica. Like any other. You think I like all the parts of my job? Sitting in that Cellar day in, day out ain’t all that.”

“You get to go where you want, do what you want, without someone constantly looking over your shoulder or judging every action you take. You have freedom. I have a rock tied to my foot and people spying on me everywhere I go. I’d take your job any day.”

Alex snorted. “It always looks pretty on the other side of the ocean, but that don’t mean they don’t shovel their own brand of shit. Look, when the Keeper is done reaming you, I need a favor.”

“Ask now. By the look on her face it’ll take her awhile to calm down.” Tarian leaned against the doorway, the carved wood digging into her bare back, and fiddled with the towel to make sure it stayed in place.

“You shouldn’t get her so riled up, chica. She’s your Madre. You only get one.”

Tarian crossed her arms. “Are you going to ask your favor or not?”

“Whatever. It’s your head.” Alex shuffled his feet. “One of the newer recruits lost his snitch, and can’t seem to find him again. I wouldn’t ask, but if the Captain finds out, he’ll get booted. It’d be his third strike. This month.”

“Sounds like maybe he should get booted, Alex.”

Alex grinned. “He’s a school buddy. He ain’t a bad guy, he’s just a slow learner. He ain’t got your skills.”

“Flattery? You must want this pretty bad. Why don’t you go fetch this skipper?”

Alex dropped the grin. His suddenly serious expression made her pulse jump a beat.

“Tried. Can’t find him. The collar’s good at hiding, but he ain’t dangerous. He’s a drunk. It’s hard to find a drunk. They don’t take logical steps. He’ll be an easy mark. An easy snatch and grab. Plus, we know he’s in Philly. And I know you love Philly, chica.”

At last, a bit of light at the end of a long, tedious tunnel. He was right, she did love Philadelphia. The grit. The grime. The coffee. Oh, heavens, the coffee. She could almost smell it on the air now. She pictured PJs coffee shop in her head, along with a mug of that glorious liquid.

“Okay. You have something I can use to latch on?”

Alex nodded and held out a bit of filthy cloth. “Piece of his t-shirt. Sorry about the smell.”

Tarian coughed as the stench of filth, vomit and decay reached her nose. “Damn, Alex. You don’t have anything else?” She held the fabric by the barest possible amount of forefinger and thumb, away from her nose.

“Nah, that’s all Darryl managed to grab in the struggle. Darryl tried to hold him, but this guy is a wiggly bastard.”

“Darryl just doesn’t have the right equipment for the job.” Tarian grinned and thrust out her chest.

“And just what job requires you to wear a towel, Tarian?”

Her mother’s voice behind her made her jump. Tarian closed her fist around the rancid piece of cloth and turned to face her mother, putting her hand behind her.

“Catch ya, chica.” Alex waved, bobbed his head to her mother, and left as fast as his boots would take him back down the hallway. Coward.

“Mother. Lovely meeting.” Tarian nodded at the men and women still milling about in the Receiving Hall. Serving staff scurried in and around them, offering beverages and fruit.

Marielle smiled, but it didn’t lighten her eyes. “Yes, it was.”

Tarian stood up straighter and pushed her shoulders back as she looked at her mother. They were the same height, but there the resemblance stopped. Marielle was a refined, blonde, put-together woman who dressed in beautiful dresses and suits. Tarian usually wore tank tops and jeans and would rather be barefoot. Her black hair would never stick up in a bun the way her mother’s did. Her blue eyes would never have the depth her mother’s brown ones held. Her face would never wear the mantle of leadership so well. How the woman still had no grey hairs, Tarian couldn’t fathom. Just dealing with the day to day problems would turn anyone’s hair gray.

But not Marielle’s. She was the very picture of what a leader should be.

Tarian was not. Simple as that. She knew it. Her mother knew it. The people in the meeting knew it. Shame she came to the title by birth and not by merit. Stupid rule, really, to require someone to carry Xannon blood in order to inherit the magic of the Dolphin Throne.

“Anything I should know?” Tarian cleared her throat, and pretended to not be wearing a towel and ignored the puddle forming around her feet.

“Yes. Many things.” Marielle closed her eyes and sighed. Her lips moved as though she counted to ten. Twice. When she opened them, the deep brown captivated Tarian, as it always did. Her mother exuded a presence that could not be denied, even when not using any of her magic. “The leaders are concerned you do not take your responsibilities seriously.”

Tarian shrugged, wishing it would ease the tension in her shoulders. “I take plenty of things seriously. They just don’t appreciate where I choose to focus my attention.”

“They hold power of their own, Tarian. And everyone, no matter where they fall in Society, deserves respect. Showing up late, or not at all, shows them how little you value their presence.”

“I got the time wrong. It wasn’t personal.”

“At some point, you’ll learn that everything you do and say is personal to someone else. They might not mean much to you right now, but you mean a great deal to them. And everything has consequences. Every action causes a reaction. Even something as simple as coming to a meeting late. Or not at all.”

“I need to get dressed.” Tarian turned, hoping her mother would let the subject drop. They’d never see eye to eye. Never.

“I know you want to make a difference in the world around you, Tarian. I know you want to use your skills in the manner you think most advantageous. But consider this.” Marielle put a soft hand on Tarian’s shoulder. She might as well have bolted her to the floor. “With your strength and power, not to mention your position, comes a duty to do what is right by everyone, not just yourself. You’re not a child, and I need…”

Tarian shook her shoulder free of her mother’s grasp and turned. “No, I’m not. Yet you insist on treating me like one. Just for one moment of one day I’d love to experience life as it’s meant to be lived. To do something meaningful. Not waste away in these meetings, meeting tedious people I’ll never understand and who don’t like me or want me around. I want a different path, mother. Why is that so difficult to understand?”

“I understand it, Tarian. More than you’re willing to admit. I followed this path before you, and I know what sacrifices are required. But I also know the rewards. Rewards you refuse to see, though they are right in front of your face. If you just looked at it from my perspective, you’d see what I see. Things worth fighting for. Things more worthy of attention than some drunk petty criminal.” Marielle took a breath and let it out slowly. “It’s a waste of your time, and dangerous, to chase after such people when we have guards whose job it is to see to those types of things.”

Tarian’s fist tightened on the cloth. “He wouldn’t have asked if it weren’t important, Mother. It’s easy for me. And it’s Philadelphia, not the gates of hell. Plus it gets me out of this house. What’s so wrong about that? I’ll be back in time for the next meeting.”

Marielle arched an eyebrow. “Don’t make a promise you don’t intend to keep.”

Tarian walked down the hallway. This time her mother didn’t stop her. She’d make her easy snatch and grab, haul the guy to the Cellar and dump him on Alex. Then she’d go to the damn meeting.

Unless something more interesting presented itself.

Chapter 3

Tarian stood in the shadows of a grime covered alley and took a long deep breath—and grinned. Philadelphia wore its own special brand of perfume created by garbage, sweat, grime, hot dogs, exhaust, coffee beans, fried food and unidentifiable bits of filth. It all combined and infiltrated her nostrils in a full-on frontal assault sure to take down the weak. It certainly wasn’t the floral infused sea breeze she was used to. She wrinkled her nose. Compared to that, the city was an ocean of stench. But she still loved it. Nothing wrong with a little grit. It made her feel alive in a way the ocean didn’t quite manage.

She waited next to her favorite coffee shop, staring out at a street lined with bars, cafes, suits and homeless. None of the people passing by had active magic talent, and they didn’t even glance in her direction. None of them was the one she hunted. She leaned against the brick wall and folded her arms.

It should be an easy day, no matter what her mother thought. The one she waited for would stand out among normal people, at least to her. Tarian closed her eyes and wrinkled her nose again as she pulled from the inner power that allowed her to sense someone’s magic as it drifted on the air like radio waves, or a special scent that only her nose could detect. The tiny hairs in her nose vibrated and tickled, but she resisted the urge to rub. Her tracking ability never erred, and right now it told her that her prey was only a couple of blocks away, although he was taking his sweet time. She took another deep breath to focus her power in case she needed it for defense as well as tracking.

A few minutes more, and her target would be here. All she had to do was be patient. Easy snatch and grab. She’d be home in time for the next meeting, as promised. She comforted herself with the idea of getting a PJs coffee to take to the meeting. If she was going to sit through one, she might as well be caffeinated.

“Hey, babe, lookin’ for a good time?”

The low voice behind her made her nearly growl in frustration. Distraction didn't help when she was trying to focus magic. She turned to see a preying-mantis of a man leering at her. He hadn’t been there a minute ago. No magical signature, so she hadn’t sensed his approach.

“Oh sure, it’s always been my dream to do it in an alley. Beat it, moron.”

“I got whatcha need right here.” His hand grasped his junk and wiggled.

“I like men who understand the concept of showering. Get lost.” Her gaze moved on to another man, one passing by on the sidewalk. Shit. Her target, Mark Chester. He sauntered past, bumped into a garbage can, fell into the street, picked himself up and lurched forward to the other sidewalk.

Adrenaline kicked into gear, rushed blood to her muscles and edged her forward. She shoved past the leering man, who let out a growl of frustration and called her a name that would have horrified her mother. The smelly bum grabbed her arm from behind and spun her around.

“You comin’ with me. You got business with my man.” He held a knife in one hand, and his eyes were filled with cold certainty that she’d do exactly as he said. But the way he held the knife marked him as an amateur. He’d never do real damage with it sideways like that, even if he managed to get close enough to try. He’d watched too many movies.

She took in a slow breath and with the exhale pushed a small shield wall of air solidified by magic at him. To him it’d feel as though a giant hand shoved him backward. To an onlooker, it would look like he tripped. She used just enough to scare him, but not enough for any real drain on her resources. She didn’t want to waste energy on this loser. He dropped the knife, his grip on her arm loosened, and his eyes widened in shock as he felt the invisible force push his arms away from her. She put her hands on his shoulders and added her body weight to force him back into the alley until she pinned him to a wall, then tied a neat cage around him with strands of air like a spider catching a fly in a web. He didn’t fight back, although his hands flapped in the air.

“Hey, they didn’t say you could do it too.” His protest came out in a squeak. So much for the tough-guy routine.

She tied off the stream, using the man’s own residual energy to power it. Everybody had magic energy, even in Philly, but most people couldn’t tap into it. Thankfully.

She was rewarded for the effort with a loud growl of protest from her stomach. It took more energy to tie off a stream like that, but it was worth it. A few extra calories at lunch would replace it, and in the meantime she’d be able to release her focus on this guy and go do something more important without worrying about him sneaking up behind her. The whole thing would dissolve on its own over a few hours. Long enough to keep him out of her way, but short enough so he wouldn’t starve to death.

She thought back to the few words he’d said. Someone had told him she’d be here and sent him to—what, exactly? Trap her? Take her hostage? Had they lost their minds?

“Who’s ‘they’?” She folded her arms across her chest. The man’s eyes glazed over, then his head dropped as if consciousness had been drained out of him by a siphon. He dangled against her web, a limp dishrag, hanging by invisible threads. Confused, she checked it for anything that might have choked him.

“He isss nothing.” The slurred voice behind her tied her stomach instantly into small knots. She spun around to confront the owner. He stood in a fighting stance with feet shoulder width apart, slightly taller than her, blonde and covered in greenish gray scales on his face, neck and hands. What the hell was he, and how the hell had he managed to sneak up on her? She should have sensed him coming. She gathered focus and pushed another shield out to hold him down. He flicked a wrist and the shield vanished. Shocked, she tried another. He deflected it again.

Her heart thumped hard against her chest. She tried a third shield, this time wrapping it around herself. It held, but she wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t just ignored it.

“And who are you? Or should I say what?” Keep him talking. She could figure out what to do if he kept talking long enough. She forced herself to take a deep breath.

The lizard man licked his lips, then flicked his hand. Behind her she heard a gasp, then silence. She didn’t bother to turn around.

“Who are you?” She kept her legs loose and her fingers flexed, ready to gather up the water molecules in the air and throw them at this…thing.

“You have something I need.” The voice was low and oddly seductive.

“What would that be?” Energy pooled between her breasts and pulsed. Her heart rate matched it, beat for beat, and the tiny hairs on her skin stood at attention. She didn’t like the dip in her power caused by the shields she’d just created, but she still had enough to put up one hell of a fight.

The man-lizard hissed. Liquid dripped down the scales on his face. His hands—claws—darted out and slashed her on the arm before she could dodge. The claw sliced through her shield, her leather jacket, and flesh as though she were made of thin paper, rather than flesh and blood. The gash left behind rained blood down her arm and onto the pavement. She gasped as the pain hit her, sharp and hot, like a needle. Or poison. No telling what he had in those claws.

His tongue snaked out over his lips, and then he brought the claw up to it, letting it drip her blood onto the slimy thing. Her stomach churned as she watched. The scales on his face hid expressions from her, but she saw triumph gleam in his eyes.

Chapter 4

Tarian gathered every spark of energy she could manage in order to pull molecules of water from the air. When they coalesced around her as tiny shimmering water-diamonds, she formed them into a basketball sized bundle of blue water and flung it with one push at the lizard-man. He held up both clawed hands in front of him, and pulsed a column of reddish brown energy. The two forces met, beat for beat, in a tangle of blue and red, dirt and water. In the back of her mind it registered that he commanded a blend of fire and earth, while she favored water and air. They were exact opposites.

The two of them squared off around the center of the alley, the power between them balanced. Dirt met water, created mud, and dropped with wet splats onto the filthy pavement. Bricks around them sparkled as the grime fed the lizard-man’s assault, while her own water based stream drenched his suit, hair, and glistened off his scales. Power cracked and sparked as though their own personal thunderstorm unleashed. The noise bounced off the old brick around them in an assault on the ears, which she hoped would blend with traffic noise outside the alley.

She wasn’t ready for a magic fight on the streets of a regular city, and she had no idea what sort of talent this lizard-man possessed beyond the obvious basics. Shields wouldn’t hold him, for starters. He was as strong in focus as she was, though he didn’t seem to possess ability over a third element like she did. Not that it did her any good, since her ability with fire was fairly weak, especially compared to his. He looked to be a physical match for her, if it came to that.

If it hadn’t been Philly, someone might have called the cops at the noise they made or the odd scene they created. But in a city like Philadelphia, people maintained their distance, and nobody gave them a second glance.

The loud crunch of metal grinding on metal shattered the air and their concentration. She sensed the lizard man’s hold on the moment weaken, and seized the opportunity to push all of her energy into a blended ball of air based lightning with water, a miniature thunderstorm, which she pulsed outward, aimed right for his head. The lizard-man flicked a look behind her, then dissolved into red mist and black dust just before the energy exploded. A shower of blue sparks rained down and blended with the red to create muddy, brackish puddles on cracked concrete.

Tarian sucked in a sharp breath, then held it while she stared at the spot. One good thing about a fight like that: his particular magical scent embedded itself in her psyche. He’d never sneak up on her again. She opened all her senses to test for his magic in the air. Nothing. She let the breath out in a long, heavy sigh, but she didn’t release her focus.

She waited for a few moments, trying to calm her racing heart with deep breaths that refused to do the job properly. He had her blood. Not good. He might just like the taste of it, but somehow she doubted that. He wanted it for something. She shuddered as a chill raced through her core. Her arm throbbed. A hard, cold knot moved up and down the wound as though looking for a way out, or a way to burrow deeper, like the seed of something evil seeking a place to get comfortable. She tried to track the source, but as it left her body it vanished as if it had never been, scattered on air that for once betrayed her.

Tarian put a hand over the wound and applied pressure to stop the bleeding as she thought for a moment. If she couldn’t track that lizard-thing by his signature, she should be able to track her own blood. She sent feelers out but met a solid wall of nothing. She tried again. Pain slammed into her skull and fire burned in her nose, but she found no trace of her blood or the lizard-man. She’d never met someone she couldn’t track before.

She turned to check on the stinky bum. His body had vanished, along with her web. Her instincts screamed. The man was gone, the lizard was gone, her arm was on fire, her blood was on his claws and she couldn’t track him. He had looked like an old-style demon out of a horror novel, with scales and everything. She looked at the tear on her jacket, now soaked in blood. The cut pulsed.

Tarian took off her jacket and focused her magic on the wound in an attempt to heal it, but after a couple of minutes had to admit it: she sucked at healing. Even if she hadn’t just spent a lot of energy fighting the demon, she couldn’t have managed to heal this. When she tried to handle something as delicate as skin, she felt clumsy and awkward. The headache wasn’t helping, either. The best she was able to manage was a loose scab that she wasn’t entirely sure wouldn’t have formed on its own in a few more minutes. She surveyed the damage. It was angry and in-your-face, and it hurt like hell, but at least she’d managed to make it stop bleeding.

She put the jacket back on and winced as the stiff leather brushed against the wound. The torn section stuck out at odd angles. She tucked it in so the rip was less obvious, then searched the alley for any piece of debris the lizard man might have touched. If she couldn’t track her own blood, for whatever reason, maybe she could use something he’d touched to help solidify her focus. She found nothing, not even a button or a scale.

“Lose something?”

A man stood on the sidewalk, surveying the alley. A strong magical signature, cool as an ocean breeze, emanated from him, plus a whiff of some sort of spice. She tested the air, ready to throw every ounce of magic at him that she could muster, which wasn’t much at the moment. She relaxed as she realized he wasn’t attempting to focus power of any sort. Satisfied that he wasn’t an immediate threat, she took a good look at him.

He had the kind of strong jaw she loved, and his messy black hair soaked up the afternoon sun. He wore jeans, a black wool coat and relaxed confidence. A shiver crawled down her back and settled in her groin. If they’d met in a bar, she’d have bought him a drink. Or three.

The stranger raised his eyebrows as his eyes passed over the slice in her jacket, then had the nerve to wink at her as his gaze traveled down her leather pants.

“You’re in some kinda trouble. Need help?” His smile stretched up and lit a sparkler in his eyes. “I felt that blast all the way inside the coffee shop.”

“I’m doing just fine, thanks. I have a job to do, if you don’t mind.” Great, just what she needed, some Society member thinking he was a detective. She needed to finish her original mission and get the hell out of here.

“You’re anything but fine. Whatever job you think you’re doing, you need to have that arm looked at first.” His eyes didn’t lose the sparkle, but his voice took on a serious tone. “It smells wrong, like rancid mud. He’s earth and you’re obviously not. If he’s done what I think he’s done, you need to have it seared and sealed. Fast. And then you need to catch the guy, quick, before he uses what he got.”

She couldn’t stop herself from putting a hand over the injury. He was right. The wound felt wrong, somehow. The cold inside her wove in and around it as though a living, breathing, scaly thing. She didn’t want to think about what it searched for. It pulsed in time to the throbbing in her arm. But surely the healers could handle this when she got home. No big deal.

“Look, I appreciate the concern, but I’ll be fine. I don’t have time to get it looked at right now.” She resolutely put her hand down and pushed past him. Her target couldn’t be far. She’d only been here for what, a few minutes? He was probably in the nearest bar.

The man put a hand on her good arm to stop her. The warmth soaked into her bicep and loosened muscles all over the place.

“Make time.” The sparks were gone from his eyes. “I’d hate to see someone so fine used by something that foul.”

“Just who are you, anyway?” She pulled her arm away from him.

He put a hand in his back pocket, fished out a card and handed it to her.

Daric Voltain, Private Society Investigations

The address was the building next to the alley they stood in, the home of her favorite coffee shop. No wonder he’d felt the backlash of spell power. He must live above the shop.

“I told you, Scion, I’ve had some experience with this. And it’s obvious you haven’t. That arm is bad news. He’s left a mark on you. And if you have some of him, it means he has some of you.”

Her skin turned cold as she remembered the lizard man tasting her blood.

“It’s no big deal.” She put the card in her back pocket and matched his know-it-all stare with a glare of her own.

“I’ll take that as confirmation. The clock is ticking, hun. If he’s a demon, the stronger he is, the faster it will tick. If he knows what he’s doing, I’d say you have a week, maybe less.”

A week before what? Before her arm fell off? She put her hand over the wound again. It didn’t feel life-threatening. Her head pounded. Dizziness threatened to drop her on her ass.

It was as if Daric read her mind.

"A week before he has control over you. Your powers. Everything. You'll be his to command. That would be a very bad thing, for you and the rest of us. Scion.”

Her thoughts swam as she slumped to the curb. Daric knew who she was. Not surprising, with her position in Society. His comment about her powers, though, pushed at her gut. If someone had control of her power, they could use her to destroy the throne, her mother, the House of Xannon, everything.

“How the hell do you know about demons, anyway?” She wished her head would stop spinning.

Daric sat next to her on the curb. “My mother is a teacher. And I have a tiny amount of healing talent. Enough to know you need to get that fixed. Whatever you’re here for can wait.”

“This should have been easy.” She shook her head. “I do this sort of thing all the time.”

“Get attacked?”

“No. Not that part.” She didn’t add that most people never got close enough to attack her. With her tracking ability and power, she wasn’t usually in a vulnerable situation. What was different about today? “I was just doing a favor for a friend. Picking up a skipper.”

“Some friend.” Daric pointed to the alley. “They didn’t tell you he’d have claws?”

“I wasn’t here for him. I was here for…” The hair on the back of her neck tickled her, and she looked up in time to see Mark Chester falling out of the bar across the street. She watched as he tripped over his own feet and fell to his hands and knees on the broken concrete.

The whole reason she was here was to pick up that drunk fool. But from the looks of it, anyone could have picked him up. Alex, her best friend and trusted guard, had asked her to do this quietly, as a favor for his friend Daryl. But why had Daryl asked for help in the first place? The idiot sprawled in front of her couldn't have run from anyone, let alone a trained Sentinel guard. And that bum in the alley had told her he was sent to grab her. The whole thing smelled of setup. And if it was a setup, Chester might know something about it.

Chapter 5

Spurred on by the thought of finding out what the hell was going on, Tarian jumped to her feet. Vertigo set in, and her stomach roared and bubbled in protest. She needed to eat, and she didn’t have time for it. Her tussle with the lizard had drained more than her blood. It had drained her strength for the moment as well.

“Hey, seriously, you need to go to a healer.” Daric put a hand on her elbow to steady her.

“I know. But I need this guy. He must know something about all this. Look, thanks for your help, Daric, but do me a favor and stay back here. I have a super power for guys like this, but it won’t work if you’re next to me.”

She glanced at Daric and saw the question in his eyes.

“Boobs.”

He laughed, and put his hands up in surrender. She took two deep breaths, willing the world to stop spinning. When the ground under her feet felt firm enough, she dodged her way through the traffic and blaring horns. She reached the other sidewalk and thanked the stars that Chester hadn’t managed to get off his hands and knees. She offered Chester a hand—and a smile.

“Hey, Mark, how’s it hangin’?”

Chester looked up. His brows furrowed in confusion. His eyes traveled over her cleavage, then he beamed at her.

“Hey, baby! I hope I know you.” He attempted to take her hand but missed.

“You’re gonna know me real well.” She helped him onto his feet and held on while he struggled to stay upright.

“Why don’t we have a chat?” She offered him a view of her cleavage again. He swayed toward it, his smile even wider. Men were so easy. Show them breasts and they’d follow you anywhere. Tarian pulled Chester through a group of suits and away from the bar toward the alley next to it.

“There’s shomthing different ‘bout you. You sure I don’t know you?” Chester stumbled on some trash.

“Oh, I’d remember if we’d met, sweetie,” she purred. Chester let her lead him to the end of the alley. This one hadn’t been sullied by a clash of magic energy. It was just a normal, average, every day, rat-infested alley. Once she had Chester behind a dumpster, she pushed him up against the grimy concrete wall.

“I know about your little game, Mark. I know you were sent to lure me in. Who sent you? Was it one of the Sentinels?”

“Huh? Shentinels…you?”

“I’m not a Sentinel, you idiot. I’m the one taking your butt to prison unless you start talking. You remember the Cellar, right? I seem to remember them saying you’d spent a couple of months on Level Two last year.”

At the word “Cellar” a spark of recognition appeared in Mark’s inebriated eyes. He made a lame attempt to struggle, but she kept a firm grip and leaned her body weight into him.

“I got friendsh, ya know. Po.. pow… big friends. And stuff to do. I’m important. I’m doing shomthin important. For him.” Fumes of alcohol overload escaped his mouth as he made his pronouncement.

“Who’s that, Mark? The garbage man?”

“Him. You know, the demon. He got you. I can shmell it.” Chester hiccuped. “My talent. I can shmell it. He’s gonna be happy with me.” He poked himself in the chest for emphasis.

The pit in Tarian’s stomach squirmed and moved up into her throat. She swallowed hard to keep herself from throwing up.

“What do you know, Chester?” She pushed him hard against the brick wall. “Spill it.”

Chester started to giggle. “You in such trouble. He wants you, you know. He gets what he wants. And he got you.”

“Do you know how to stop him? Do you know who he is?” The words tumbled out of her in a rush.

Chester laughed, his eyes wide and near hysteria. The laughter turned to coughs.

She wouldn’t get anything out of him when he was this drunk. She needed to sober him up first, and then she’d force him to talk.

Tarian glanced back up the alley. Daric stood at the entrance, far enough back to avoid notice but close enough to see. She gave him a wave and nodded her thanks.

With one hand she held Mark in place. She thrust the other out to cast a travel portal spell. Nothing happened. Her focus refused to cooperate, and her power felt like an empty battery in desperate need of a recharge. The alley and Mark’s dopey face swam around her in lazy circles. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.

The feel of grimy lips on hers popped her eyes open. She drew back in disgust as she realized Chester had mistaken her closed eyes for an invitation. Maybe she’d played up the sex-kitten act a bit too much. She ignored his pursed lips and took another deep breath. Concentrating on pulling together what was left of her strained resources, she tried again to pull her focus together. This time, she felt it coalesce inside her like it always did, as a pool of liquid energy that radiated from her chest down to her hands and out, connecting her with the unseen power found in all living things. The first moments after calling power were always the sweetest, and the most dangerous. The trick was to keep complete focus and control over it, even as it threatened to consume her soul.

She pulled on the energy with her mind, wrapping it into a complex web that most people would never see. Next to her the air shimmered and undulated like an ocean wave. At first it looked like a trick of the shadows in the dark alley. Then the hole expanded to a large oval big enough for an adult to step through. The alley could still be seen beyond it, but overlaid on top of it was the faint image of the small, stark room made of black rock that welcomed criminals into the Cellar.

Chester lurched sideways the moment the travel portal became clear. Debris tangled his unsteady feet, and he fell headfirst into the trash bin before landing in a heap on the ground.

“No point in running, Mark. It’ll only make things worse. You’re going to tell me what I want to know.” Tarian grabbed his arm and helped him back up. She added a small magic push to force him toward the portal as he struggled and made himself deadweight. He gasped, then started to retch. Disgusted, she shoved him through the portal, then glanced back to the mouth of the alley. Daric stood there, a grin spreading his lips and creating a dimple she’d love to dive in to. She rolled her eyes at him, then then stepped through herself.

Chapter 6

The travel spell embraced Tarian in an icy hug that squeezed her body, then shattered it. The pieces of her body whirled toward her destination, a journey that seemed like an eternity inside a vacuum, but in reality only took a few minutes. Inside a travel portal, there was nothing to see, hear, taste or touch. Enveloped in a white blanket of nothingness, she suppressed the urge to wander into the “what if the spell went wrong” thought process and focused on her destination.

Just when it seemed like she’d remain a jumble of ice cubes forever, the bits and pieces of her body slammed back into place one by one. Her senses returned as the portal opened and ejected her out into the reception area for the detention center of House of Xannon, more commonly known as the Cellar. More than just a basement, it secured all levels of criminals with magic ability under rock embedded with centuries old magic power and surrounded by deep ocean.

Chester huddled on all fours in front of her, his body wracked with telltale heaves. She dodged to the side just before he threw up on the polished black rock floor and then fell into it. The stench of stale beer, cigarettes and stomach acid greeted her. She suppressed the urge to puke. Her body felt off, as though she’d gone on some sort of alcoholic binge, and the smell didn’t help.

Chester groaned, but didn’t lift his head. She almost wished she could join him.

With everything that had happened this morning, she was glad it was her best friends on duty. Alex had his feet propped up on the desk and a baseball game playing on the laptop. His brother Frankie had his glasses on and his nose glued to his monitor.

“Tari! You’re kidding, right?” Alex pulled his feet down and wrinkled his nose. “Damn. What did he have to eat?”

“More like what he had to drink. I don’t think travel agreed with the whiskey.” Despite the stench, Tarian’s stomach growled. She suppressed the urge to gag. It was an odd sensation, to feel like throwing up and still be starving for food.

Alex and Frankie both frowned at Chester. Alex came around the edge of the desk and then paused to survey her.

“Nice look you got going there, chica. I’m liking the pants. What’s this?” Alex tugged at the torn sleeve of her jacket.

“Just a scratch. That a new shirt?” An odd knot of something traveled up and down the wound on her arm in reaction to his touch. She snatched her arm away, then ran her fingers through her hair to distract him. Her arm throbbed, then a sharp jolting pain shot up the forearm into her shoulder. She had to grit her teeth not to curse.

“You know me, a style magnet.” Alex modeled for her, turning his body to the side to show off. His coffee-colored skin vibrated against the white shirt.

“Name?” Frankie tapped on the keyboard. He was a lot smaller than Alex, but she’d bet on him to win a fight every time. He was smart and fast, and he hid a lot of muscle underneath his crisp uniform.

“It’s Mark Chester.” Tarian watched Chester roll onto his side, coating his shirt and hair in vomit, and sighed. It would be hours before he’d be sober enough to tell her anything useful.

The wound on her arm jabbed, and again felt like it wanted to escape. Could it travel from her arm to someone else? Not on her watch. No way was that thing getting her friends too. She shifted away from them, hoping distance would help.

“Enjoy yourself? You got some nerve, skippin’ out like that.” Alex nudged Chester with his booted toe. Chester groaned.

“This is strange. The charges against him have been dismissed.” Frankie pounded a few more keys. “Three misdemeanor charges of negligent use of magic, one charge of attempted magical coercion of a non-talented, complicated by drunk-and-disorderly mischief, compounded by evading and resisting, all dismissed. This morning, after you left.”

“How is that possible?” Tarian moved around the desk so she could stare at the screen. As she got closer to the screen, static started to obscure the screen. “How do you see anything on there with all that static?”

“It’s not normally like this.” Frankie put a hand on her arm and pushed it away from the computer. The screen solidified into a solid image again. “It’s you.”

Tarian winced, resisting the urge to soothe the wound with her other hand.

“What’s up with your arm, chica?” Alex pointed at the tear. “That don’t look like no scratch to me.”

A cold knot in the pit of her stomach jumped. “Frankie, who dismissed the charges?”

Frankie studied the screen. “Doesn’t say who, specifically, but it’d have to be one of the current panel of judges. I can find out. Any commands they put in are registered, so I can trace it back to the source. Go see the healers. I’ll have an answer by the time you’re done.”

“Who says I need the healers?” Her stomach lurched, and she fought the dry heave even as her shoulder sent a searing shot of pain across her neck and into her head. The reek from Chester’s puddle taunted her.

Alex raised an eyebrow at her.

“Okay, fine. I’ll see a healer.”

“The question is, chica, why do you need one? Did Chester do this?” Alex glared at the man on the floor.

She’d have to tell them something. Alex would never give up, and since they might be in danger she owed it to them to let them know.

“The alleys in Philly aren’t the safest places, as it turns out.”

Frankie looked up and took off his glasses. Alex stared at her.

“Something nasty was waiting for me. If I had to guess, I’d say Chester was bait.”

“What was it?” Frankie leaned forward.

“According to someone named Daric…” she fished the card out of her pocket. “Voltain, it was an old fashioned demon.”

The swift intake of breath from Frankie and the shout from Alex told her more than enough about her situation.

“You get that looked at right now, chica. Don’t even bother arguing.” Alex pointed at her arm, then over at the travel alcove. “We’ll talk about this Daric guy later.”

“In a minute.” She avoided looking at him, choosing to stare at the computer monitor instead. “You told me your friend Daryl asked you to hunt this guy as a favor. What exactly did he say?”

Her hand had somehow found its way to her stomach as though seeking comfort. She put it down by her side and ignored the pulsing throb of blood rushing to the fingers on her injured arm.

“You mean other than ‘go grab him’? Not much. He asked if I had any pull with you. If I thought you'd use your tracking to find the guy before his super noticed he'd lost yet another collar.” Alex sat on the edge of the desk and tilted his head. His eyes searched her face and then traveled down to her arm.

“Did he seem nervous?” She backed up a bit, leaned against the wall and let the cold of the black stone wall seep through her jacket. Her arm pulsated, but she did her best to keep her face neutral.

“Well, yeah. He’d lost a prisoner, right? Of course he was nervous. It's his head if he's caught doing something stupid like that. Now he’s gonna get his ass kicked too. He sent you to get this bum, and now you’re damaged. Not cool.”

“Did he say anything else?” She gasped the words out as a jolt of pain rocketed up her arm, burrowed into her neck, and then connected with her heart.

“You okay? You don’t look so good.” Alex jumped up and joined her at the wall. He put a hand on her shoulder and stared into her eyes, as if he could will her to talk. “You stubborn mule, go get this looked at. You’re worse than mi madre.”

She closed her eyes. If he was lapsing into Spanish, he must be really concerned. “Did he say anything else?”

“Lemme see. Chester was just sitting there on his ass in that sorry excuse for an apartment. No problemo, except the bum talked Daryl into stopping off at a bar. Which is odd, ’cause Daryl don’t drink. Never trust a man who can’t enjoy a good beer.”

“And that’s where Chester cut loose? At a bar? Does Chester have compulsion talent?” She opened her eyes to find Alex staring down at the arm she now cradled with her other hand. The concern in his eyes nearly made her lose what little control she had over herself.

Alex shrugged. “Daryl didn’t really say. Just handed me the piece of shirt I gave to you, and begged me to ask you for the favor. Not to tell anybody. I’d have said the same thing, if I’d been that stupid. Look, Tari, this can wait. Let us check into all this. You go get looked at.”

Her stomach throbbed, and her neck felt as if a worm burrowed under the skin. The headache that had been in the background blossomed with new vengeance. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, willing the pain now wracking her body to subside long enough to think.

Something wasn’t quite right. She couldn’t put her finger on it, other than Chester didn’t seem capable of escaping from a bathroom stall, much less Sentinel custody. But he probably wasn’t that drunk at the time. If he had some sort of natural compulsion ability, it might explain it. Maybe. It was just too hard to tell with him this drunk.

“From the limited information in the database, if that was a real demon, you need more than just a healer. If he got a decent blood sample from you, he can start pulling at your power. Healer or no. When he gets enough, he’ll have control over your body. You’ll be a prisoner in your own head, while he’ll run the show. Tari.” Frankie stood up and took her shoulders in his hands, “To call this a big deal is an understatement.”

The cold inside her felt more solid now, and her neck ached as the pain pounded on ligaments. Her blood felt…sluggish. She knew he was right. She’d read the stories. She remembered a history tutor warning her about this type of creature. She’d just thought they were stories told to frighten her into staying in bed at night as a child. So much for fairy tales. Daric had said she had a week before the demon’s spell would be complete.

A week.

Crap.

She sagged against Frankie, fixated on her problem. What should have been a normal arrest of an idiot with minor magic infractions had turned into some sort of hellish nightmare. What would happen to the Dolphin Throne if someone got control of her power? What about her friends. Her family. The House of Xannon.

What would happen to her?

She shuddered as she pictured the rest of her life spent looking out through her own eyes but being unable to control her actions. Being someone else’s puppet. A vision of the Dolphin Throne swam through her mind. For the first time, she saw herself sitting on it, but instead of looking like the leader her mother insisted she needed to be, she was laughing maniacally as her power incinerated everyone near her. She saw the demon, standing in the shadows next to her, hissing in triumph.

Her stomach boiled as her thoughts swirled and the cold knot at the back of her neck pulsed in some strange rhythm of its own. She fought the urge to throw up. She could hear her mother’s voice in her head. All those lectures about the security of the throne, the need for an heir, and the duty of the Scion to provide one circled and lodged in her chest along with a healthy dose of guilt and irritation that she’d let this happen in the first place.

If the demon was able to control her actions and power, everyone around her would be in danger, and they wouldn’t even know it until it was too late. If the demon got control.

That was the key.

“I have to stop him from getting that control. If Daric Voltain was right, I have a week. I still feel like myself, for the most part.” She pushed away from Frankie, to find Alex right behind her. She backed away from them both, trying to take back some of her dignity.

Other than being exhausted and starving from her fight with the demon, and the strange cold knot at the base of her neck which gave her a resounding headache, and the searing wound on her arm—she felt fine.

“I just have to figure out where the demon is, how he’s using my blood and stop it before the week is up. Simple, right?”

The look of doubt on Alex’s face said everything.

“How did the demon even know where I was going to be? This whole thing smells like the garbage in that alley.”

“We’ll help. We’ll follow the trail from the beginning. Daryl, then Chester. You, chica…” Alex pointed at her, “get to a healer. We’ll let you know when we got something.”

The steps solidified in her mind. Block the takeover of her power, find the demon and destroy him. It sounded like a plan.

Frankie cleared his throat. “Alex, I say we hold Chester in cell #3 ’til we sort this out.” He tapped on the keyboard a few more times, putting the information into the official record.

“Fine. As long as she gets to the healer.” Alex poked her arm.

“As long as you tell me the instant this idiot is sober.” She poked him back, but her heart wasn’t in it. After giving her a hard look, Alex turned back to their prisoner.

“Alright, brainless, on your feet.” Alex pushed Chester with his foot, but he remained on the floor. “Dammit, Tari, you coulda snatched him before he got so loaded.”

“I’m not sure he’s ever been sober.” It had seemed easier to grab him while he was drunk, but now she wished she’d grabbed him before he’d managed to get so wasted. She could be interrogating him right now, instead of waiting for the whiskey to wear off. But no amount of magic would make the alcohol process through his body any faster. She’d have to wait.

Alex reached down and pulled Chester up by his pants, set him mostly upright, then guided him roughly to the door that led to the holding cells. He pushed Chester up against the wall and held him with one hand as he pressed the palm of the other up to a plate on the wall. The panel above the plate beeped in approval. Alex muttered, a sound more like a growl than actual words. The panel beeped again and lit up green, which allowed the door to swing open.

Alex propelled Chester through the door in front of him, then stopped in the doorway to look back at her. “You gonna be okay? You need help getting to the healer?” Alex jostled Chester, who groaned.

“Just let me know when he sobers up, okay?”

Alex raised an eyebrow, then pushed on through the door.

Tarian leaned against the cool wall and let the pain wash over her.

“You know we got your back, right?” Frankie’s face glowed in the light from the computer.

“Yeah.” She gulped, willing the nausea to retreat. “And I got yours.”

“Don’t think I don’t know what that means. I know you. You'll be all about trying to protect us instead of asking for help. And you can’t do this thing without help. So let us.” Frankie looked at her over the screen. His eyes flashed with too much understanding. They knew her too well. Most of the time, she’d have said that was a good thing. But today, she had the sinking feeling all it meant was they were in just as much danger as she was. She’d never forgive herself if something happened to them.

Since the only way in and out of the Cellar was by portal, she opened one to the healer’s hallway knowing Frankie would look to see that she went directly to the healers. She stepped through, closed the portal, then leaned against the wall. Exhaustion washed over her.

What if this power she felt circling inside her could reach out to others? Anyone near her was in danger. The thing in her neck writhed, and the wound pulsed, both a living connection to a demon straight out of horror stories. She needed to get her arm healed and the demon out of her body. Fast. Or she needed to get out of the house and never come back. Alex and Frankie, along with her mother and sister Calliope, would want to help her, no matter the danger. She couldn’t let them take that chance. Frankie was right. She wanted to protect them, and her family, above anything else.

For the first time in her life, she felt alone.

She took a few steps toward the healer’s quarters, but the knot in her neck punched her with a jolt of pain, and the pulse in her wound bonded with it in a throb that never quite matched her heartbeat. She fell against the wall, hoping it would support her since her legs didn’t seem to want to do the job. The polished stone soothed the flushed feel of her face. She put her burning forehead against it.

A force from deep inside her neck, foreign and slightly oily, reached out into the air around her and searched for something.

An odd sound permeated the air and her ears. She struggled to listen. Clicking, singsong staccato. She couldn’t immediately place it, but it reminded her of the ocean. Surely she wasn’t hallucinating already. It seemed absurd, but her energy was low and with everything that had happened maybe she was losing it.

She forced air in and out of her lungs. Each breath renewed the war with whatever it was that struggled to connect with something around her. She tried to pull her focus together enough to form a shield around herself, but she couldn’t muster enough energy. She’d spent too much fighting the demon the first time, and the wound constantly drained her. The travel portals had sucked what remained of her strength. Her body simply refused to gather any more. She’d need sleep and food, and she couldn’t have either. Too much pain coursed through her arm and head. Too much power circled around her body that didn’t feel like her own.

“Tari? Are you okay?” The soft voice echoed down the hallway and reverberated in her head.

Tarian turned to see her sister, Calliope, standing just outside the door to the main healer room. She’d tied her hair blonde back, and held a bundle of cloth like she’d been sewing. She looked so much like their mother that Tarian squinted just to be sure it wasn’t Marielle standing there. Calliope’s forehead creased as she got a good look at Tarian.

The odd force inside Tarian’s neck leapt through her throat and pushed toward Calliope. Tarian backed away, even as her sister moved forward.

“Get back.” Tarian put her hands up to block her sister. “I mean it, Calli. Get away from me.”

She turned and ran, before her sister could protest.

She didn’t even look where she was going, as long as it was away from Calliope. The force inside her felt like a string pulled tight from somewhere outside herself. Her injured arm nearly lifted on its own. If the demon did this, he did it from thousands of miles away through some of the toughest magical walls ever constructed.

Her mind spiraled, then she slammed down on that thought process. It was too fast. Too soon. She had a week. That’s what Daric Voltain had said. A week, dammit.

What if he was wrong?

She barreled out of the healers’ hall and into the main one at a dead run. She had to get out of the house. It would be easier in the entry. She could use the steady stream of power embedded in the rock and wood that was always available in the travel alcoves. She pushed toward it, nearly blind in her need to get there before something horrible happened. Focus. She needed to put up some sort of shield between her and her enemy. She needed to put distance between herself, the Dolphin Throne and the rest of her family. From the feel of things, her shield would have to be a lot stronger than any she’d ever created before. Without energy. Without sleep, food or help of any sort. Her eyes twitched as sweat dripped into them.

How could she shield against something she couldn’t even see, that lived inside her own body? How could she shield herself from…herself?

She reached the rotunda at a full run and turned toward the entry. Her boots, covered in vomit and city grime, slid on the polished stone. Her arms circled in the air in a futile attempt to keep herself upright, then she landed on her butt, skidding halfway across the floor from the momentum of her run, out of control.

Chapter 7

The receiving hall doors burst open on Tarian’s right. Two Sentinels stormed out, followed by a blond man with eyes wide in anger or fear, she couldn’t tell which, followed by her mother. Loud staccato burbling filled the air, and a filament of light formed fingers that reached straight for her. Tarian slid to a stop near a large potted plant, her foot embedded in a bench.

More Sentinels surged into the rotunda with weapons drawn. Tarian knew they’d focused their magic, because the hairs in her nose wiggled and made her sneeze. They looked ready to kill. Tarian struggled to get her feet underneath her so she could get out of the way of whatever the hell was going on. Shouts reverberated off the circular walls. Boots clumped, weapons clicked, and an odd buzz rang through her ears. Her own name bounced back to her from somewhere. Then her mother’s name. She saw her mother raise a hand toward the blond, who seemed to have frozen in position.

The Sentinels pointed their weapons at the stranger even as they backed away from the fingers of light that advanced on her. The power inside her struggled against the fragile hold she had on it like a cold stone cutting through the back of her neck. It wanted to join with the filament of power. Or the power called to it, she couldn’t tell which. The power stream pulled at her, a force which threatened to drag her into the stream.

She forced her body to back away on all fours, but found her momentum stopped by another giant indoor palm. She had a fleeting glimpse of her mother’s shocked face before the glow enveloped her. Fear gripped her as she felt the odd lump inside her surge through her throat and greet the filament extending from the reception hall as an old friend.

Light surrounded her, and warmth drenched her arm and the thing at the base of her neck. Relief flooded through her as she realized the outside power helped energize, rather than drain, her. She added it to her own dismal energy force, then tried to wrap it around the stone. If she could just get whatever it was wrapped up in her own power, surely it would destroy the demon’s link.

It was harder than anything she’d ever done in her life. Blood rushed through her ears. She struggled to catch her breath. The odd scene around her faded into the background as she fought her internal war.

“Tari!”

Calliope. Dammit. Her sister had followed her. Of course she had. But now Tarian couldn’t spare a breath for anything—couldn’t warn her away. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t even really see. She put a hand on the back of her neck, squeezed it, and focused on creating a shield around the foreign object lodged inside her. She’d never tried to shield something inside her own body before and didn’t have the slightest clue how to do it. Instinct guided her, but instinct would only get her so far.

“Let me help.” Calliope’s voice was quiet in the middle of all the noise, but Tarian heard her anyway. Her sister put soft hands on her arms, and Tarian drew on her sister’s fresh energy. The power from the Dolphin Throne circled them. She felt her mother’s energy join the flow, almost as if her arms circled them both. The strength of the ocean, a gentle wave of power and a singsong call mixed with joy and determination, wove in and around them. In the back of her mind, she put a name to the sound. Dolphins. Her life-long friends, who gave her family the Dolphin Throne.

With the added strength of two other women, and the throne itself, the stone’s influence retreated. She used the shield spell she already knew to fashion one around this parasite inside her neck. It wiggled, fought, throbbed under her hands.

It was like trying to hold onto a grease puddle, but eventually she managed to force the shield into place and cocoon the odd…thing…in a ball of air energy woven tight, with water energy to seal any cracks. The thing didn’t break, but the power flowing from it spread into her shield, which reverberated with it but didn’t yield. She gasped with relief as the pain receded and her head cleared a little.

Tarian held the focus of power from her sister and mother for another minute, just to be sure this…thing…wouldn’t escape. When the shield held, she let the focus of power from her mother and sister go, and collapsed as the backlash washed over her. Power always rebounded. Usually it wasn’t enough to worry about. She’d normally absorb it back into her body, burning calories which would cause a bit of a drop in blood sugar, but otherwise she’d escape unharmed. This much, however, was too much. She fell against Calliope, her legs unable to keep her upright.

Her sister’s hands on her arms helped ease Tarian’s descent to the floor, but the stone still bruised her knees. She fell forward on her hands, and discharged the last of the rebounding power into the rock floor. Solid, steady, boundless earth, soaked up what she dished out. The power reverberated outward along the floor and up the walls to the ceiling, dispelling into a portion of everything it touched, including people. It wasn’t her favorite way to discharge. Connecting with Earth this way always gave her a headache after. Water worked best. But it was convenient, and she’d never be able to crawl all the way down to the shore to use the ocean or dolphins as a release.

When the last of the excess power left her, she couldn’t lift her head. She stayed on all fours, exhausted and drained, and pushed each breath in and out, and ignored everything else. Bright light flashed through her eyes, and reverberated through her head.

It took a few minutes for Tarian to realize how quiet the rotunda was. The only sounds were the singsong of dolphins and the caress of ocean waves in her ear. The air smelled of flowers, sweat, tension, fear, residual energy, and cheap cologne. She collapsed the rest of the way to the floor and rolled over onto her back. At least now she could see what was going on without expending extra energy.

The Sentinels gaped at her, their weapons down by their sides. Calliope sat on her heels next to her. Her sister’s face was an unnatural shade of pale, and her brows formed one straight line. It looked like she might throw up. Advisor Jonus stood near the door to the receiving hall doubled over as though he were about to vomit. The blond stranger’s eyes were full of something she thought might be fear, and his hands balled into fists. Her mother stood next to Calliope with one hand on her sister’s shoulder. She looked regal—and pissed off.

“Well, so much for keeping this quiet.” Tarian took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her arm throbbed. Through the stillness, the dolphin call continued. It meant something. Something important. Something she couldn’t quite pull out of the recesses of her brain. She was simply too tired.

The blond man looked around as he, too, realized the sound that remained in the air. He wore a suit, perfectly pressed, but his tie looked as though he’d twisted it in his hands. His eyes widened, and his hands fluttered by his side in agitation as he shifted from one foot to the other. He couldn’t possibly know the war she’d just been through inside her own body, but he’d surely felt the magic she discharged. She didn’t understand why it bothered him so much. It was her body, after all, not his. None of it had been directed at him.

“Just what are you trying to pull…” the man sputtered.

“You may leave now, Mr. Aiello. As you can see, I have other priorities.” Keeper Marielle raised her hand toward one of the alcoves in the entry just off the rotunda. A travel portal appeared, but Tarian couldn’t make out where it led from her position on the floor.

“This is not acceptable.” He glanced down at Tarian. He hesitated, on the verge of saying something. Whatever it was, he seemed to think better of it. He pulled himself up straight, and relaxed his hands. “Whatever this stunt was, I’m not impressed. You can’t brush this aside. You can’t just sit here in your island paradise, isolated from the real world, and expect to have any grasp of reality. People need guidance. They need supervision. We need the structure to support that. This…” he waved his hand at Tarian, “only serves to emphasize my point.”

“Sentinels, please see that Mr. Aiello arrives safely at his destination. We are closed to visitors for the remainder of the day.” Keeper Marielle glanced down at Tarian and Calliope. “Follow me, both of you.” Their mother returned to the Receiving Hall without looking to see if they obeyed.

Aiello glared at their mother’s retreating back. He took a step as if to follow her, but stopped when the Sentinels raised their weapons. Physically, the weapons looked like small handguns. Magically, they could put a man in stasis and render him unable to move, kill him or dismember him entirely, depending on the focus of the user. Aiello growled, then turned his back on the Sentinels and the Receiving Hall to stare at Tarian.

Tarian sighed and dragged herself to her feet with help from Calliope. “I wouldn’t hang out, if I were you. She’s not a pretty sight when she’s angry.”

“Scion.” He made the word sound more like a curse than a title. He smiled, although the expression never touched his eyes, straightened his tie and smoothed his jacket. His eyes traveled the length of her body and stopped as they reached her injured arm. She crossed her arms in an effort to hide the tear in her jacket—and the blood.

“Are you feeling well, Scion?” His expression changed abruptly from anger to curiosity and concern.

“I’m fine.”

He smiled. “I'm Victor Aiello. Leader for the Eastern region. I had hoped to meet you under more pleasant circumstances. Are you sure you’re not injured? That looks like a dangerous cut. Perhaps I was hasty. In my anger, I didn’t see clearly that you require attention. May I get a healer for you?”

“It was nice to meet you, Victor.” She wasn’t about to admit how injured she was to a stranger.

He paused for a fraction of a second, then nodded. “I certainly wouldn’t want to cause any more conflict with you already injured. Your mother is right. She has other priorities right now. It was a pleasure to meet you as well, Scion.”

His eyes flicked to her arm again before he turned away. She watched as he strode over to the travel portal and entered it.

What the hell was that glowing finger of power? She’d never seen, or felt, anything like it. It had followed her mother out the door and launched straight for her as if on purpose. It obviously had been sent by the Dolphin Throne, but she’d had no idea the throne could act on its own like that. Usually her mother invoked the power as an enhancement to her own. But surely her mother hadn’t known she was even in the rotunda, much less in any sort of trouble.

Maybe it was a reaction to Victor Aiello, rather than her internal tussle with a demon, but he seemed harmless enough. He hadn’t even gathered any power during the whole mess. Surely her mother hadn’t summoned dolphin magic just to send him out the door. The Sentinels could have done that.

Her thoughts collided with each other as Calliope pulled her through the doors and into the receiving hall. She let her sister guide her, too tired to do much else. Her eyes didn’t want to stay open, her head swam and the knot at the base of her neck weighed her down. Warmth from her sister’s touch spread down her arm until it reached the wound, where it stopped.

Halfway through the hall, her sister’s grip tightened on her arm. It wasn’t like Calliope to be tense, but she didn’t have the energy to figure out why. It was all she could do to put one foot in front of the other. She stumbled, but Calliope steadied her.

Together they crossed the expansive room toward the platform which held the Dolphin Throne, along with a long table and several other normal chairs.

Her mother marched toward the seat of power as though on a mission. Tarian and Calliope followed. Advisor Jonus staggered behind them as though he were drunk. She’d giggle at the thought of him in that sort of state if she had any energy left. Their footsteps echoed off the stone floor and up the walls.

Her entire body hurt. She felt like she’d run a marathon after a bar fight. Her head pounded. She was cranky. And she smelled like puke.

Her mother paused at the bottom of the raised platform and turned toward Tarian. Her eyes held anger and some other emotion she couldn’t put a finger on. Panic? Concern? She wondered how those eyes would change when her mother found out what had really happened and the danger they were all in.

“Tarian, please remove the jacket. Jonus, please fetch Healer Chloe.”

Jonus flashed a look of resentment or irritation, but it was gone so fast she might have imagined it. He bowed and exited through the side door.

“Tarian.” Her mother’s voice sounded flat. So much for motherly concern.

“Mother.”

“Please remove your jacket and take a seat.” Marielle indicated the throne.

Tarian shrugged out of the leather jacket and let it fall to the floor. She didn’t look at her wound, but she saw Calliope’s eyes grow into two small moons that filled her face. Her arm throbbed again, one large pounding jolt that made her gasp.

The Dolphin Throne glowed brighter as she approached. The light pulsed in time to the throb in her arm. Now she knew what had provided the power surge, and why.

“Tarian.” Marielle pointed again to the throne.

“I’m not so sure this is a good idea.” Nobody ever sat in the Dolphin Throne aside from her mother. Nobody. As far as she knew, the throne wouldn’t allow it.

“The throne has properties you need. Now is not the time to argue.”

Tarian glared at her mother. She opened her mouth to protest. She’d contained the threat. She didn’t need to sit in that chair. She didn’t need the help. But her mother’s eyes filled with a knowing expression she knew all too well. She closed her mouth and shuffled forward. She was being stupid, and her mother called her bluff. Without ever uttering a word.

Calliope helped her up the three steps to the platform and over to the chair. As she moved next to the Dolphin Throne filaments of power reached out to her as they had in the rotunda, except now they seemed to wrap around her injured arm. The wound throbbed in response. The stone in her neck, shielded as it was, still punched her in small, tight jabs that tightened her shoulders.

Tarian paused. What would happen if she actually sat down? Some sort of war seemed to be brewing and she didn’t like how it was being waged inside her. Her body had taken about all it could for one day.

“I don’t think I should get any closer.”

“I think you should. Sit.” Keeper Marielle’s voice was soft, but there was a steely note underneath.

“I’m not sure what will happen.” Tarian turned to face her mother. The look of concern on her mother’s face was so unexpected it completely overwhelmed her.

“It’s already happened, Tarian. Whatever is going on with you, the damage is done. Now comes the hard part.”

“Fixing it?”

She saw her mother’s lips twitch.

“Tari, what’s going on?” Calliope looked back and forth between them as if watching a tennis match.

“I think the throne hates me.” Tarian clutched at her stomach as it churned. Her knees felt weak again. It was too much, too soon, on top of everything else that had happened today. She saw no other option, short of trying to run from the room. She didn’t think she’d make it down the stairs now, let alone out the door.

Tarian moved in front of the throne and sat.

Chapter 8

Warmth enveloped her and extended up her arm into the knot in her neck and shoulders. It soothed her body and comforted her soul, and wrapped the stone inside her neck in another layer of cushion. She sighed with relief and closed her eyes.

It felt wonderful. She let her consciousness go and drifted. Was this what her mother felt when she sat here? It was peace undulating in a rhythm, like ocean waves caressing a beach in, then out, then in again. She smelled hyacinth, and sand, and sea salt, and hibiscus. All of it blended into tropical scented paradise. Caressed by the throne’s power, she had no doubt that it belonged to the Pacific. Loving hands must have formed each animal on the wood. Dolphins sang it to life. Their cry echoed all around and through her, speaking of joy, of happiness, of safety, and serenity.

She wondered briefly what else the chair could do besides soothe strained nerves, but it didn’t really matter. She was happy to drift. Happy to let her internal struggle go. Happy to enjoy a moment of peace.

Bliss.

Voice intruded in her Zen moment. Harsh edges cut the soothing ocean kiss. She frowned. Why was there so much talking going on? Couldn’t they just let her rest a minute? She focused on the words. They came into her ears in pulses of sound which faded in and out and circled around her head. The voice sounded familiar. It belonged to someone kind. Someone she’d grown up with.

“I’m not sure what else we can do, Keeper. I’ve never seen anything quite like this. It’s as if something is draining her energy. I can’t stop it. The best I could do was bolster the shield she put in place. As you suspected, if she sits here, the magic of the throne replaces the power she’s losing. I think if she leaves the house, the power loss would escalate, but I can’t be sure. She needs rest and food, but beyond that I’m not sure how to stop this.… I’m sorry, Keeper.”

Tarian opened her eyes and found Healer Chloe frowning down at her hands where they rubbed the wound on Tarian’s arm. Chloe’s spiked purple hair wiggled as she worked on the sore muscle. Slowly Tarian’s brain registered that her arm no longer throbbed. She sighed in relief. Her stomach growled, loud enough for Chloe to raise an eyebrow.

“I could really use a cheesesteak.” Tarian’s mouth watered at the thought of her favorite meal. She tried to pull her arm away from Chloe, but the healer held it down.

“Ah, back with us, I see. Scion, how did you get this injury?”

Tarian looked around. Her mother, Calliope and Advisor Jonus all stared at her as if she had sprouted a horn or a third eye.

She sighed again, this time in irritation. Having to explain what happened to her mother, after she’d been warned about going in the first place, made her feel like a child caught doing something naughty.

“Long story short, a lizard man took a swipe at me. And now, according to Frankie and some guy named Daric Voltain, I’m a walking time bomb.” Tarian looked down at her arm. The wound had changed since she sat down. The large, angry welt was now a faint white scar, about 3 inches long. “Wow. Chloe, nice work.”

How had Chloe even had time to fix her arm? She’d only been there a couple of minutes. Come to think of it, when had Chloe even arrived?

“Thank you, Scion, but I didn’t do this on my own. Calliope helped. Now, tell me more about this lizard man. What did he look like?”

“Tall, dark, sorta grayish green and scaly. Claws for hands. You know, like an Amazon woman and a lizard had a baby.” Tarian shrugged. “What do you mean Calliope helped?”

“A real demon?” Calliope gasped. “In Philadelphia? But I thought they were a myth or extinct.”

“Did he know you?” Chloe’s voice was sharp. “Did he say your name?”

Tarian thought back. She remembered the smelly bum, who had obviously been sent to distract her in that alley long enough for the demon to catch her. Clever to use someone with no magic talent. She hadn’t felt threatened and hadn’t put up any defenses.

“No, he never used my name. But I’d say he knew me, yes. I’d say the whole thing was a set up.”

“What did he say?” Her mother moved to stand directly in front of her with her arms crossed.

“We didn’t exactly have time for polite conversation. The thing I remember most was him hissing at me. Oh, and he said, ‘You have something I need.’ Then he clawed my arm, licked some of the blood off the claw and left.”

Chloe glanced at Calliope. “It’s enough for the research.”

Calliope nodded, and ran for the door.

“What did I say?” Tarian watched her sister retreat in confusion.

Chloe cleared her throat, and patted Tarian’s wound. “Scion, it’s obvious both from your description of events and from your current condition that the demon was able to obtain a portion of your blood. While this hasn’t happened in hundreds of years, the medical journals are quite clear about what the demon, who by definition is half daemon or fae, will be able to do with your blood should he decide to use it, which he obviously has. We were able to cleanse the wound and seal it, but he’d already lodged a tracer which has traveled to the top of your spine.”

“A tracer? You mean that knot back here?” Tarian rubbed the back of her neck. A cold, hard lump bulged just under the surface of the skin. It pulsed, but at the moment the movement was slow and faint, as though it rested.

“He’s siphoning your power, Scion. While you sit here, in this house, in that chair, the effect is diminished. But now that he has a trace on you, it’s only a matter of time.”

Tarian heard Daric Voltain’s words echo through her head: “You have about a week.”

Great.

Marielle touched Tarian’s shoulder in a manner meant to be comforting. “While you remain here, the throne and I can protect you. We will solve this problem together.”

“Remain here…” Tarian’s voice trailed away. Stay here? Confined to the House, like a criminal?

“If I may, Keeper…” Jonus stepped forward, his hands clasped together so tight his knuckles were white. “I think it would be wise to ensure the Scion’s safety at this crucial time by increasing the guards both around her person and the primary locations throughout the house and hallways, as well as increase the border patrol.”

“Guards?” She couldn’t keep the squeak out of her voice. “Are you trying to arrest me?”

Jonus flushed, and a bead of sweat dripped down the side of his face. “Of course not. I am merely suggesting that as Scion your safety is of utmost importance, and I must agree with the Keeper that you remain within the confines of these walls, with armed guard, so that we can better ensure the safety of you and the throne.”

“Agreed.” Marielle’s voice sounded firm, and final.

Tarian pushed her mother’s hand away and stood up. The cold look she saw in her mother’s eyes only added fuel to a fire already forging its way through her veins. Words spilled out before she could stop them. “I’m not sitting here doing nothing while everyone else risks their lives to solve the mess I created. Besides, I have the advantage. I can track him. Now that I’m rested, I can find him.” It was hard to be puffed up with bravado when she couldn’t even stand on her own two feet without leaning on the chair for support.

Marielle planted her feet and clasped her hands in front of her. “Tarian, you’ve missed several important details. Jonus is right. As the Scion, you simply can’t go running off after a creature that hasn’t been seen in hundreds of years, let alone one who can exert power over you. And as much as you might try to ignore it, something else has been triggered by your arrival bearing that trace.” Keeper Marielle lifted her hands, holding them out as if there were something in the air Tarian should pay attention to. Then she turned and pointed to the center of the room, at the floor.

Tarian looked where her mother pointed, and stared at the rune on the floor as it glowed bright, then dim, then bright again. In the silence, she finally paid attention to the watery, stochastic call of dolphins. When she’d first arrived, it had been pleasant and reassuring, a reminder that she was home. But now a chill ran through her as she looked at the rune in the floor.

Its placement in the exact center formed part of the power structure of the room. She’d stood there on her naming day. She was bound to it and to the house in more ways than one because of the magic of this room.

And now the rune glowed and the dolphins sang. Her stomach sank to her feet.

How had she not noticed that on her trek across the floor earlier? She closed her eyes and counted slowly. Her heart pounded. It couldn’t be. She wasn’t ready. It was too blasted soon.

The Succession Ritual.

“This can’t be happening.” The dread that lodged in Tarian’s heart threatened to overtake her panic at a demon stealing her power. No wonder her mother had rushed out of this room in the middle of an audience with Aiello. She’d been looking for Tarian. She’d known from the very first dolphin call that the Succession Ritual had begun, but probably hadn’t understood why, which explained the look on her face when she’d seen Tarian sprawled on the floor, bloody and ripped up. Tarian sank slowly back onto the throne, stunned.

“I see you now have a full grasp of the situation.” Marielle turned to Chloe. “How long?”

Tarian answered before Chloe could say anything. “A week. More or less.” Her heart pounded. “It doesn’t matter. The ritual doesn’t matter. There won’t be time for the full thing before we’re all screwed. Unless I find the demon.”

Her mother’s eyebrows inched up her forehead, making wrinkles Tarian had never seen before. “The ritual can’t be stopped regardless of other circumstances. The call has already gone out to potential candidates. They will answer and arrive here for presentation within three days, according to the rules set forth centuries ago. ”

“So with everything else going on, you just expect me to go ahead with an archaic, ridiculous ritual?” Her voice rose with each word, panic driving the syllables home. “It’s insane. It’s not right. Women shouldn’t be treated this way. I will not just spread my legs to complete strangers just because this…inanimate…thing insists I should. I won’t do it. Nobody should be forced to have a child, and especially not this way.”

Her mother stood watching her with the calm of a woman who’d heard every argument before and merely waited out the storm. It was an old argument, but one never settled. Jonus shifted from one foot to the other. Chloe shuffled back an inch or two as she too stared at the rune on the floor.

Tarian hadn’t expected to be hit with the ritual like this. She’d spent most of her life simply ignoring the subject entirely. After all, what woman in her right mind, in this day and age, would even contemplate a custom like this, which required her to have sex with a group of strange men, with the objective of getting pregnant without knowing who the father was, all so she could provide an heir and continue the family blood line? Even the British didn’t approach the regency this way. And in America? It was unheard of. Ridiculous to even contemplate. This kind of thing just didn’t happen. Yet here it was, staring her in the face. The Dolphin Throne had felt threatened and taken action, her feelings on the matter be damned.

Tarian somehow thought the ritual thing would work itself out eventually if she waited long enough. She’d thought that maybe, at some point, she’d find men she didn’t mind having sex with, and then would start the ritual on her own. She’d get pregnant on her own terms, in her own time, and screw the rules and the throne. But that tenuous, girlhood plan was nothing but vapor. Reality slapped her in the face and poked her in the back of the neck for good measure.

The demon had no idea how well he’d struck when he slashed her arm.

Or maybe he did.

Marielle paced from one side of the platform to the other, obviously sensing the agitation in her daughter. “This magic is ancient, Tarian. It can’t be altered and is the main reason the Dolphin Throne exists. It ensures the safety and succession of leadership. It’s a duty, a right and a privilege. One you were born to fulfill. The consequences if you don’t will put our entire Society at risk in a way that demon hasn’t even begun to contemplate.” Her mother’s voice, so tight and controlled, told her far more than her words ever could. She was scared. Very scared. “As I’ve mentioned countless times before, if you’d look at it in a different way, you’d see it’s not the travesty you imagine it to be. Demon aside, that is.”

Tarian let go of some of her anger, though some boiled in reserve. Her mother hadn’t caused this situation. The ritual was as old as the island they stood on, created by some long-dead ancestor to ensure power remained within the Xannon family, with the women, rather than bloodthirsty men. But that was so long ago. Times had changed, and surely the ritual could change with it.

Except now there was no time to change it. She’d always thought there’d be time. Her heart ached for missed opportunities she couldn’t even begin to imagine.

“I know, Mother, I know. But how the hell am I supposed to do all the steps of this…farce, and get pregnant, while hunting down the demon who, by the way, will have stolen all of my power before I’ve ovulated? Just how is all this supposed to work?”

As she said the words, her mother’s face turned a sickly shade. The real problem, aside from the archaic and twisted ritual, was that the demon would have control of her while the ritual was taking place. The demon could, if he had control of her body, select the Potential. The demon could be the Potential. There were no rules governing exactly who took part in it or how, apart from her. The main rule was more than two men, so that a combination of powers would mix with her own, providing the heir with new abilities, and ensuring that no man could claim to be the child’s father and therefore, claim the throne. But if that man had control of her power, and that of her child, there’d be nothing to stop him from abusing it. Nothing at all. She’d be a puppet, dancing on invisible strings.

Tarian pounded the arm of the chair. “This can’t be happening. I can’t believe the demon was able to trigger it like this. Does he even know? Or was this just lucky coincidence? He obviously wanted my power, but did he have any idea it would trigger the ritual? It shouldn’t count. We should be able to call it off.” The horror of what might evolve from that one scratch washed over her.

Tarian leaned her head back against the carved dolphins and closed her eyes. Her stomach growled, oblivious to the tension in the room.

“She needs to eat. Then rest. And then…” Chloe’s voice trailed off. “Perhaps Calliope will find something useful. I will check the medical archives as well.”

Tarian slumped in the chair. She hardly noticed Chloe leave the room and didn’t hear the door shut. All she heard was the dolphin calls echoing through the empty space.

Marielle continued to pace, but now seemed to be talking more to herself than the room at large. “Perhaps we should ask for assistance from the Sentinel’s. A squad could be sent to find…”

Tarian snorted. “Exactly how are they going to find him? It’s not like he left a calling card.”

Except he had. Inside her. She rubbed the back of her neck. It felt stiff and sore, as though she’d been struck with a heavy object. Within, wrapped in a shield and layers of throne magic, something pulsed in time to her own heartbeat. The demon held a connection to her now just as she connected with others using their own signature. Surely if the demon could siphon from her, she could use the same trick to find him. The fact that it hadn’t worked in the alley in Philly had to be a fluke. One she refused to admit to her mother. When she got her strength back, she’d be able to do it. Surely.

She looked at her mother. She’d obviously had the same thought because her eyes widened and her face flushed.

“No.” Marielle shook her head.

“It’s the only way, Mother.”

“You must remain here. We can’t risk it.”

Jonus cleared his throat, and Tarian nearly jumped out of the chair. She’d forgotten he was there.

“Keeper, the cost if the Scion leave this house..”

“I know the cost if I stay. I will not put my family and friends or this house in danger. I will not allow that demon to use me to steal the Dolphin Throne. I sure as hell am not allowing him any part of the Succession. I can find him. I’m the only one who can. But I can’t do it hiding here in this room.” Tarian tried to stand, then settled back into the chair. Her legs were in no condition to support her. She ignored the knowing look in her mother’s eyes. “I just need something to eat. And a shower. At the moment, he’d smell me coming.”

The main doors banged open, making all three of them jump. Alex entered the room at a fast walk. Tarian rolled her eyes, nearly laughing at her own nerves. She was on edge, that’s all. The attack had made her jumpy. Chester must have sobered up enough to talk.

Except he advanced as if he had something important to say. She narrowed her eyes and studied Alex’s face. He looked grim.

Shit.

Chapter 9

When Alex reached the platform, he stood at the base, his back stiff and his arms tight by his side. His eyes never left Tarian’s.

“Keeper Marielle, Scion, there’s been an incident in the Cellar.” Alex cleared his throat. It wasn’t like him to be nervous, but she could see sweat forming a spot under his arms. He must have run here.

“What happened?” Tarian couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Tarian…” Alex stopped, then looked around the room. The dolphin cries echoed in the stillness.

She hoped that he didn’t understand what the calls meant, but when he looked back at her, his eyes wide with shock, her heart sank. She felt heat rise in her cheeks. He knew.

“Did you have something you wished to say?” Marielle’s voice was cold and calm.

“The guy Tarian brought in, Mark Chester, is dead. I found him a few minutes ago. I was checking to see if he’d sobered up any. Tarian, I’m sorry.” Alex shook his head. “He never woke up.”

Tarian let the information sink in. Her only source of information was dead. How was she going to figure out who this demon was now?

“How is this relevant?” Marielle’s voice rang through the hall.

Of course, she didn’t know. Tarian swallowed, wishing her mouth wasn’t quite so dry.

“It might not be. He’s the one I went to grab this morning. I wasn’t waiting in that alley to be a victim. I had a reason to be there.” Tarian could tell by the look on Alex’s face that there was more to the story. “How did Chester die? Did he choke on his own vomit?”

“Somebody, or something more like, offed him.”

“Are you sure?” Advisor Jonus spoke for the first time, his voice so quiet Tarian almost didn’t hear him.

Alex nodded. “Oh, yeah. He looked like he’d been beaten by something pretty strong and then ripped apart. Maybe set on fire or something. Frankie is checking it out.”

Tarian tried to picture the scene, then realized she didn’t want to. She’d been around enough puke for one day and didn’t want to add to it.

“How did someone manage to get into the Cellar, past two guards, into a secure holding cell and rip a person apart, as you put it, without your knowledge?” Advisor Jonus’ voice was louder, more confident, and accusatory.

Tarian turned on Jonus. “If you’re trying to say Alex or Frankie had anything to do with it, trust me…they didn’t. You should be more worried about who or what would have the power to enter the Cellar without permission. As far as I know, that’s not possible.”

The Cellar was older than the house, and embedded in the rock that created the island. The only way to get there at all was via portal, and only one place, the reception area, where that was even possible. The walls were too thick to dig through and soaked in magic. The prisoners were locked in stasis, unable to move or even breathe. They were held in suspended animation until released, a feat which could only be accomplished with the help of the person who put them there. Anyone trying to break in would be faced with all of that, plus the guards on duty and some pretty nasty magic traps. She pitied the idiot who tried to get past Alex and Frankie.

Alex nodded in agreement. “The Cellar is absolutely secure.”

“Except for this obvious breech, you mean.” Advisor Jonus squared his shoulders, but kept his face impassive.

Alex glared, but didn’t reply. The two men looked as though they might step into the arena and settle things the old-fashioned way. Tarian almost laughed. Jonus was a scarecrow next to Alex’s bulk. Never mind Jonus’ lack of magic strength next to Alex’s earth-enhanced power.

Marielle turned to Tarian. “You had business with this man?”

“I wanted to ask him a few questions, that’s all. I was hoping he knew something about the demon. He seemed to. I need to take a look at that cell. I might be able to track who did it.” The determination she felt didn’t translate to any of her muscles, which simply refused to let her leave the chair.

She wasn’t ready for the chorus of protests that erupted from all sides. She closed her eyes and ignored them all, even her mother. She was the one with the tracking ability, not them. None of them could do what she could do. It had to be her. They’d figure it out soon enough.

She focused instead on the tracer the demon had left buried inside her neck, but she could barely feel it now. The Dolphin Throne’s magic stifled the signal. There was no way she’d be able to track the demon from inside this room, or from inside the House, most likely. Chester’s cell probably wouldn’t be any better, embedded as it was in the bedrock, but maybe there was some other clue that would help.

“Perhaps you should eat something first.” Her mother’s voice sounded distant. Tarian opened her eyes and jumped. Her mother’s face hovered two inches from her own, the eyes bright and the wrinkles in her forehead vivid.

“Okay,” she whispered.

The worried look Alex flashed her mother told her more than anything else that more than a few seconds had just gone by. Dammit. She’d passed out again. Nothing like having him see her at her weakest.

Tarian took a deep breath. “Someone bring me a damn cheesesteak. If I’m going to track a demon and get pregnant, I need a full stomach.”

“That’s not funny, chica.” Alex pointed at her. “You’re not doing that by yourself.”

“I suppose it would be hard to get pregnant alone, but I hear medicine is really advanced these days.” She flashed a weak grin at Alex.

He shook his head, his lips tight and serious. “You’re not tracking no demon by yourself. I got this.”

Jonus coughed and moved off toward the side door. She desperately hoped he was getting her some food. She might resort to crawling to the kitchen soon.

“I’m the only one who’ll be able to find him, and I don’t want him trapping anyone else. And I don’t want anyone around, in case…”

“In case he succeeds?” Marielle’s lips pursed. She knew that expression well. It meant her mother was about to lose it.

“I can handle this.”

“You don’t have to handle it alone, chica. The way I see it, all we gotta do is send out a net of Sentinels. A thing like that is bound to show up somewhere. He’d be hard to hide.”

“I don’t need you to rescue me, Alex. And I don’t need you to solve my problems.” A surge of anger energized her legs. She stood up and ignored her wobbling knees. “It’s my job to look after this house and the people in it. That’s been pounded into me since I was a child.”

“No leader stands alone, Tarian.” Marielle gestured to the door Jonus had just passed through. “Every good leader has a team behind them.”

“You’re kidding, right? All this time, all those lectures, all that preaching about responsibility and leadership. Now suddenly you want me to be a team player?”

“Leadership is not always about calling the shots. Sometimes it’s about letting others do what they do best.” Keeper Marielle’s eyes flicked toward Alex.

“And what about me? I’m just supposed to sit here and hope they find him while my power slowly leaks away? Spread my legs for an archaic ritual that has no business being any part of modern life? Sometimes a leader has to take charge if she’s the only one with the skills needed to do the job.”

The side door opened, and a young boy entered with a tray of fruit, cheese, a cheesesteak and a chocolate shake. Her mouth watered in anticipation.

“I could kiss you!” She grabbed the sandwich and swallowed three bites before she came up for air. Then she forced herself to slow down and savor each bite. Someone in the kitchen was getting a big hug from her. It was the best thing she’d ever tasted.

“Besides, so far the only way we have of finding this guy is locked away inside me.” She spoke around bites of cheesesteak, ignoring the disapproving stares from her mother. “There’s no way anyone will find him without me.”

She’d find a way to use the tracer that demon left, but it took a lot of concentration under the best of circumstances. It would be impossible to concentrate with guards staring at her as if she might blow up, or worse, as if she might faint. She might take Alex for backup, but no way was she taking an army of Sentinels.

She licked the grease off of her fingers. “First thing we need to do is check the cell. Maybe the killer touched something or dropped something. Is Chester still there?” Her stomach churned around the newly acquired cheesesteak at the thought.

“Frankie has the cleaners in there. We can’t go in till they’re done.” Alex looked so stubborn, she didn’t even bother to argue. She didn’t need to see the body. Chester wasn’t the one she was interested in tracking anyway. Dead people couldn’t be tracked. Besides, who’d want to?

“Fine. I’ll take a shower and meet you both down there. I need to get this puke off me.” She stood up, grateful for the strength that surged through her body.

“Tarian.” Her mother pointed to the rune on the floor.

“I know. Can we talk about it later? I really need a shower.” She left her mother and Alex staring at the rune. She had enough to deal with. Getting pregnant was way down on the list.

Chapter 10

Tarian arrived in the Cellar reception area grime- and puke-free. The hot shower had washed away most of her aches and pains, and she was grateful to find the floor of the Cellar entrance also scrubbed clean. Citrus lingered in the air and clashed with the musty damp rock.

“I’m not so sure this is a good idea.” Alex stood with his arms crossed in front of the door to the cells, wearing a stubborn expression.

“I think it’s a great idea.” She watched a bead of sweat drip down the side of his face. Nervous? Or had he just been in the deeper parts of the Cellar? “You’re hiding something. What?”

“I got nothing to hide, chica.” Alex unfurled his arms to run a finger lightly over the newly acquired scar on her arm.

An army of goosebumps stood at attention as his fingers traced the mark, and a shiver ran down her back. She should have worn a long-sleeved shirt, but it was summer and dammit, it was hot in the Cellar. A tank top seemed like the smartest move, plus it was her favorite. Still, maybe it would have been wiser to hide the reminder of her little problem.

She turned away to look for any sign of forced entry around the metal door. She wasn’t surprised to find it intact, and there were no magic traces other than Alex, Frankie and the natural protection of the rock itself.

“So, the dolphin call…” Alex shifted from one foot to the other, but remained in front of the door as a giant roadblock.

“Wasn’t your brother playing in Boston today? I thought you were going to the game?” Tarian felt along the part of the door she could reach, then shoved her hip into Alex to nudge him over so she could run her hands over the controls. He barely shifted. The security panel beeped in protest. Her handprint wouldn’t work to open this door. Only six people in the world had access to the Cellar, and two of them were in the room with her. The other four members of the special unit assigned to the Cellar would rotate shifts later in the day, so none of them had been around when Chester was killed. She’d trust any one of them with her life. No way any of them did this.

“Game was rained out in the third. Besides, there’s other things besides baseball.”

Tarian cleared her throat. “Did anyone come down here after I dropped off Chester?”

“Not until after we found him dead,” Frankie said from behind the desk computer.

She punched Alex in the arm. “So, are you going to let me in, or not?”

“You’re not gonna go alone, chica. And before you argue, nobody goes in without one of us. Not even you. Procedure.”

She nodded her agreement, relieved that she wouldn’t have to get uppity and pull rank, fight him for access, or worse, talk about the call for Potentials. He shifted and looked embarrassed. He’d obviously already responded. For all she knew, he’d planned on it since his naming day. The thought made her cheeks burn.

Damn the throne. Why’d it have to go start the ritual now? She had enough to worry about. She’d always thought that her mother would issue the call after a long period of debate by the regional leaders, and that it would be some grand ceremony that she’d have to be available for, so she’d made sure she was never available and avoided as many meetings as possible just in case they brought the subject up. She should have known she’d be betrayed by the very thing she was due to inherit. The throne was a traitor, that’s what it was.

It was just one more thing to add to the list of reasons to kick that demon’s ass. Talk about timing. A demon attack and the Succession Ritual on the same day. What were the odds? Pretty damn small. Now just when she needed to focus, distractions in the form of men vying for her attention were going to loom on all sides. Starting with the giant distraction that barred her way into the Cellar.

Tarian watched Alex deal with the security on the door. The muscles along his back rippled as he held his hand to the plate. He was loyal and honest, and he’d do anything for her. She trusted him completely. He was everything any girl would want. Passionate, caring, thoughtful, loyal and built. And she loved him as she would any member of her family.

She’d never looked at him as mating material before. She’d never looked at anyone that way. It was a topic she avoided, one she ran from if she were honest with herself. And Alex had never pushed the issue. He was a good friend. More like a brother than a lover.

She couldn’t afford to spend time dealing with hurt feelings. If she told him she couldn’t connect with him that way, he’d be more than hurt. He’d be devastated. He had a gentle soul beneath all those muscles and macho Latino lover impersonations. A rift with her best friend was not something she wanted to deal with. Not now. She needed to focus on the real problem. Finding the demon and stopping him. Everything else would just have to wait.

The door opened, and Alex stood aside to allow her to enter first. She paused to let her eyes adjust to the dim lighting in the hallway. When she could see reasonably well again, she started down the hall. Cat calls and whistles echoed out from a couple of the cells. She ignored them.

The air grew hotter as they progressed. Her tank top clung to her back before they were halfway to the third cell, and the air felt thick with some sort of energy she couldn’t name. The black rocks absorbed energy from the inhabitants, but it didn’t feel like that. It didn’t feel like a protective spell either. It felt…sticky, somehow. Her neck throbbed. She rubbed it with one hand while she walked.

Two cells away from her target, she noticed a red mist radiating through the door. By the time they stood next to the door, it lay on her skin like a thick blanket of foreign magic. She brushed her arms, but it didn’t help. She glanced back at Alex.

“You feel that?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You can’t feel that?” She shivered, and her neck twinged. What on earth was this invasive?

“I don’t feel anything but the same heat wave I always feel.” He looked around. “You’re making me nervous—stop it!”

“I can’t believe you can’t feel this. I’ve never felt anything like it. And I shouldn’t be able to feel much of anything this far into the Cellar. Whatever it is, it’s strong enough to pass through the door. I can’t imagine what the inside of the cell is like.”

She stepped forward and put her hand on the door to the cell. Alex pulled her hand away like she was a child near a hot stove.

“You’re always rushing in. Let me check it out first.”

“You can’t even feel this; how are you going to check it out?” She crossed her arms and waited for the logic to sink in.

Alex frowned at the door. He put his hand on it and muttered a word that sounded suspiciously like “chocolate.” He waited. Then nodded.

“It’s clear.”

“The cleaners have already been in, silly. Of course it’s clear.”

“Call me any name you want.” Alex looked at her with a satisfied expression. “Nobody gets hurt on my watch.”

“I won’t point out the obvious.” She gestured at the door. “Can I go in now?”

He focused his own power, which put the hairs on her arms at attention. He stood with feet shoulder width apart, both arms tensed, the nodded. Tarian opened the cell door, then gasped when a rush of energy knocked her back into Alex. His arms wrapped around her, and he held her tight as her knees buckled. She leaned into him, letting him support her until her legs stopped wobbling.

“I gotcha.” He squeezed, a reassuring gesture.

Tarian put her hands on his arms and squeezed back, grateful for the support. “What the hell was that?”

“You collapsed. You seem to be doing that a lot lately. Maybe you should go back to the healer.” His arms held her tight. Her back was hot against his chest, and she could feel his breath along the back of her neck, even hotter where it touched the cold of the demon’s mark.

“I’m on the list.” His whisper caressed her ear.

She pushed away from him and pointed at the cell. “I didn’t collapse, Alex. Didn’t you feel that? That was a huge rush of power.”

He shook his head and glanced into the cell. “There’s nothing here. Same old empty hallway, same old empty cell.” He turned back to stare at her, his eyes lit by some internal fire.

Tarian avoided his stare. How was she going to tell her friend that he was just a friend?

She rubbed her arms, took a deep breath, then pushed past him into the room. The power had dissipated. She could barely feel it now. Just the slightest pin prickle on her skin and an almost imperceptible ripple of the hairs in her nose. She looked around. Thick slabs of solid black rock formed the floor, bumpy black rock defined the walls, more black rock huddled overhead. Just the one door. Two glowing phosphorescent rocks above the door did little to cheer the place up, but she supposed the last thing they were supposed to feel was happy if they were in the Cellar.

She walked the entire perimeter of the cell. The toilet, which was usually bolted to the floor, lay on its side. A water cup was wedged into the rock along the back wall. The rest of the cell was empty.

“Look at this place. There’s no way Mark Chester did this. He couldn’t even lift his head. And that rush of power. No way he did that. Not that there’s any way he flayed himself either.”

Alex shuddered. “Be glad you didn’t see it.”

She paused near the toilet. Some sort of writing peeked out from under it. Someone had left graffiti. She pushed the toilet over, then stared at the word “Scion.” Each letter was formed with precision, in what appeared to be blood.

“So this is what you were hiding. How is this still here?” She looked back up at Alex.

“The cleaners said it wouldn’t come up.” He looked embarrassed but not apologetic.

She turned back to the writing. Was it even blood? She put her hand down on it to absorb any latent energy. Blood always held energy. Even those without magic talent left residue of themselves behind, at least for a little while. After a moment, she was forced to admit to herself that the cleaners had more than earned their title. If there were magic traces here, they’d been scrubbed away. It would take a lot more effort to get anything out of this.

She sat down in the middle of the floor facing the bloodstain and placed both hands on it.

“You hoping for a vision? You should see a psychic for that.” Alex knelt next to her.

“Just trying to figure out what was in here. Whatever it was, it killed Chester, and in a pretty nasty way. Yet nobody heard anything, nobody saw anything, and there’s no way it got past you guys out there. So it came straight here. What could come straight into a holding cell?”

“Nothing.”

“Exactly. This power? This is different. It’s not normal.”

“I don’t know, Tari. I don’t feel nothing. Anyway, why’d he write your name on the floor? Some think he was trying to name his killer.”

She looked up at the words, shocked. Someone thought she had killed Chester?

Alex put up both hands. “I didn’t say ‘me.’ Just some people.”

“Who?”

Alex shrugged. “It’s just gossip.”

“Chester couldn’t focus on anything but my boobs. And he wouldn’t have been able to write that neatly even if he’d wanted to. He didn’t write this.” She couldn’t keep the scorn out of her voice. Of all the nerve, accusing her of something like this.

She pushed the thought aside and looked back at the word on the floor. Not her name. Her title: Scion. Someone was calling out the heir to the throne. Why? Maybe the demon taunted her. He’d snatched her blood and now he’d killed her only source of information. And he wanted her to know about it. He wanted her to notice just how easily he’d invaded her sanctuary. Pretty effective way to put her nerves on edge, sneaking into the Cellar. The one place on earth she’d have sworn was impenetrable. Yet he’d waltzed in here with time to leave graffiti.

She’d never felt unsafe before. Never felt vulnerable. She could fight. She had power most people never dreamed of possessing. Now this demon managed to get close enough to leave a serious wound, a link to her power, and melt through Cellar walls as if they were air. She suddenly felt as though she were standing in a glass house that might shatter at the first rock thrown.

She closed her eyes and cast about for more latent energy in the cell. When she tried to follow the mist to the source, the signal stopped cold. She cast further, pushing her tracking ability harder. Nothing. On a whim, she focused inside herself for the tracer. It lay still, wrapped inside the shields that held firm. She didn’t dare loosen them to try to track it, but maybe…she cast out a feeler from the tracer.

Her head started to ache as she strained to pick up any sign of the demon or whatever had been in the cell. She couldn’t even tell if they were the same thing. All she felt was a solid wall of nothing. She huffed, opened her eyes, and rubbed her head with the palm of her hands as she looked around. A whole lot of nothing stared back at her. She stood up to go.

“Why can I feel this mist when nobody else can?”

Alex shrugged. “You got me. Maybe you gotta be a girl to feel it?”

“It seems almost like someone was leaving a message. The question is, who left it? Why? What did they mean? What do they expect me to do about it?”

“That’s way more than one question.” Alex grinned.

She left the cell, hitting his arm on the way out. “I guess I’ve found out all I’m going to here. Let’s get out of here.”

Chapter 11

Alex locked the cell behind them but didn’t move to follow her. When she realized he wasn’t behind her, she turned back.

“What?”

“You can’t pretend it’s not happening. It won’t go away, Tari.” He walked slowly toward her, his eyes riveted on hers.

“I’ll figure out who he is, Alex. I’ll find him. You know I can do it.”

Alex shook his head. “I know you don’t wanna face it, chica. But you got to.”

“If I don’t find this demon, nothing else will matter. Let’s focus on one thing at a time, okay?” She squeezed his arm, then continued down the hallway. After a heartbeat or two, she heard his footsteps behind her. She wasn’t ready for this. Potentials. Sex with strangers. Pregnancy. Motherhood. Turning her friend into a lover, even if it was only for one night. How would they even look each other in the eye afterward?

She liked things the way they were. She was just one of the guys to him and Frankie. They were the only ones who treated her as a friend, instead of the heir to an amazing gift of power from the Ancients. They were the only ones who made her feel real. She liked that and didn’t want it to change.

By the time they got back to the reception area, she was pissed off at just about everything. Alex for making things awkward, the throne for starting this stupid ritual, the demon for attacking her in the first place, her own body for letting her down when she really needed her strength, her mother because, well…just because.

She glared at Frankie, who remained behind the desk, fixated on his computer.

“Frankie, energy radiated out from Chester’s cell and seemed to coat everything in a red mist. What caused it? And don’t even start. I know I’m the only one who can feel it.”

Frankie frowned, then started tapping on his keyboard. A few seconds later, he shook his head. “I’m going to need more to go on. That isn’t enough to narrow down a search.”

“What about Chester? Someone should check who put out the charges on him.”

Frankie cleared his throat. “I’m already on it. The charges were logged in by Daryl, except he shouldn’t have been able to because he’s not the right level for that. The records are clean on who dropped them. No trace at all.” He scratched at the stubble on his chin.

“There has to be something, Frankie. There are only a couple of places they can even access the system, right?”

Frankie nodded. “On this computer here and the one in the admin offices. You might try the archives. They have access to all the old records and other things besides. They won’t let me put that stuff in my database, so I can’t search it from here.”

“The archives.” She groaned. There was nothing more boring than a giant room filled with dusty old books. “I don’t have time to spend all day in the archives.”

“You could ask Calliope.” A faint smile crossed Frankie’s lips, and his eyes focused on something not in the room. Interesting. Her sister and Frankie? She could imagine worse pairings.

If anyone could find information in that dusty cave, it was her sister. She could ask Calliope to do the book work, and then sneak out to do the tracking on her own.

“I know what you’re thinking, chica. You’re not sneaking out alone. No way.” Alex crossed his arms, and Frankie looked at her with an expression that said he knew her all too well.

“I’m just going to the archives, Alex. Leave it, okay?”

“I’ll go with.”

Alex opened a portal to the rotunda above them and waited, his mouth set in a firm line. She could argue, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t help. Nothing and nobody was more stubborn than Alex when he had his mind set. Not even her.

She flounced past him and stepped through the portal. She didn’t wait for him on the other side, but set off at a fast pace down the hallway that led to the archives.

He caught up after a few long strides and grabbed her arm to stop her. “We’re friends, right?”

“I’ve known you my whole life.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

“I’m looking at you right now.” She stared up into his dark brown eyes, daring him to argue.

“You know what I mean. Chica, it won’t ruin things. We’ll still be friends.”

She felt her body heat up like she had a fever. The danger with having a best friend was they always seemed to know exactly what you were thinking.

“You’re not the least bit attracted to me?” He flexed his biceps.

She couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’ve just never thought about it.”

“Not once? Not even when I held you back there?”

The flush reached her cheeks. She must be scarlet now, even under her tan. Deep down she had to admit his arms felt nice. But it didn’t matter. The ritual didn’t allow for personal feelings. She needed sperm donors, nothing more. Tradition dictated that she not even know the person. A few generations back, the guys wore masks so the heir never saw their faces. Just their eyes and relevant body parts.

That was the part that she’d fought against for years, the not knowing who was fathering her child part. But now she had to admit the whole process might have been developed to spare hurt feelings and situations like this one. After all, it had to be awkward for the guy too. He was being used for his sperm, nothing more. He’d never know if the child was his, and would never be a father to her. He’d never teach her to throw a ball or dance or whatever it was normal fathers did.

She’d had the odd moment or two over the years, wondering who her own father was and if he knew her. If she saw him every day and didn’t know. If he even cared. But the gap was usually filled by friends and plenty of male father-like figures. Jonus especially. He was always there, always by her mother’s side. Always ready with advice, even if it irked her. She hadn’t felt a serious lack. How could she? She was Scion. Surrounded by people, by the ocean, and by magic.

She just hoped right now that her heart was stronger than her magic, in case it was broken in the whole ritual process.

Alex stepped toward her, and she backed away until the wall stopped her. He leaned in, his body hot and close. “Give me a chance. Right now. If I can’t spark passion in you, then we quit and I won’t ask again. One chance, that’s all I ask.”

“We can’t do it now. We’re in the middle of a hallway. I have a demon to chase.”

He nodded to a door a few feet away. “Nobody ever comes down here. And you aren’t gonna catch the demon in the next half hour.” He raised his eyebrows until they looked like dark brown umbrellas. “If you gotta do this thing, what’s better than a friend to see you through? It’s the one thing I can do for you that you can’t do for yourself, chica.”

Knots in her stomach made her uncomfortable. She wasn’t ready for this. Demon aside, she wasn’t ready for the whole ritual-become-a-mother-take-over-the-throne thing. Even if it would be years before she had to take the throne, it still made it seem closer than it had the day before.

She didn’t want to lose her best friend. What would happen after they did it?

Alex leaned in, supporting his body with hands planted on each side of her head against the wall. His breath and magic, both hot and sweet, filled her nose. “It won’t change things. I’m your friend. I’ll still be your friend. If I act funny after, you have my permission to try to kick my ass.” His grin lit up his eyes in that way that always made her grin back. “Not that you’ll be able to. But you can try.”

“I already have. Don’t you remember? Arena games, three years ago?”

He laughed. “I let you win.”

“No way. I had you on your ass before you even managed to gather focus. I didn’t even have to use magic.”

He shook his head, his eyes full of laughter and heat. “In your dreams.”

“In reality.”

“I just wanted you to land on top of me.”

“Sure you did. That’s why you were sweating so hard.”

Her giggles subsided. She studied his face. Warm, kind, passionate, full of Latino heat and pride. His arms on either side of her, supporting his body as he leaned in toward her. Safe arms. Arms that had comforted her on more than one occasion. Arms that had sparred with her, hugged her and pulled her out of one fix after another. Arms that had always been there for her. It all generated heat inside her, heat that had nothing to do with the demon or the ritual or anything else.

She turned and crossed the hall to the door he’d indicated. The thought of having sex, right here, right now, had a naughty quality that turned her on. The thought of ignoring the tradition of waiting for the vetting of Potentials felt satisfying, and the thought of the demon lurking out there somewhere added an element of danger that made it all seem exciting. And Alex, if she looked at him with objective eyes, was more than attractive.

He was damn hot.

He followed her into the room. It was just a guest room, one that could use a good dusting. But it had a bed, a bathroom with a shower and nothing else to distract them.

She stood in the center of the room, suddenly awkward. Alex stared at her with an intensity that made her nervous. He was all passion and heat and very, very male.

They were really going to do this.

Her heart skipped a beat, and nerves took up a dance in her stomach.

He smiled, and it melted a few of her nerves. “It’s not the way I’d normally seduce a woman. I feel just as awkward as you.”

“What would you normally do?”

“It usually involves a few beers, some great food, maybe a relaxing shower or hot tub.”

“I’d hate to have beer brought here. It would start rumors, and I would bet there’s plenty of those going around by now. There’s a shower, but I just had one.”

He chuckled. “It’s not about getting clean. Go on, take a shower.”

She shrugged. It delayed the inevitable, but what the hell. “I’ll be out in a few.”

She started the water in the shower and waited for it to get hot before stripping. The steam permeated her sinuses and relaxed her lungs. She took slow, deep breaths, then entered the water.

He was a good friend and a good man. And she’d rather have his arms around her than some hairy stranger. She’d heard things about him from others. He was passionate in bed and out. She was curious to find out exactly what that meant. Her experience with men in this area was limited to a couple of one-night stands. She hadn’t felt anything for those men. This was more, way more.

The water coursed over her breasts and tickled her thighs as she started to lather up.

At first she didn’t notice the warm hand that joined hers in the suds on her shoulder. The touch was gentle, barely there. When she realized she wasn’t alone in the shower, the nerves shot back up through her stomach and chest.

“It’s okay, chica. It’s just a shower.” Alex kept his voice soothing and low, as though speaking to a skittish horse. He squeezed her shoulder, then his hand moved down her arm.

She closed her eyes, and steadied her breath. It was just a shower. Just two friends in the shower. Naked. With soap. And hot, steamy water.

His body radiated heat behind her. She leaned back into it, and he slipped his arms around her in a gentle hug. Bare chest, tight arms and water all combined.

She took another deep breath.

“Alex…” She wasn’t even sure what she wanted to say.

“If you want to stop, just say so. If not, then no more words. No more thinking. Just close your eyes.”

She thought about it.

She didn’t want to stop.

She kept her eyes closed and squeezed his arm.

He kissed her ear, then nibbled. A thrill shot straight to her groin. She had no idea the ear could be so sensitive. When he moved on to her shoulder, she was almost disappointed. Until he lifted her hair and began kissing the back of her neck.

As he worked his way around her back, she forgot he was her best friend. She forgot every issue she’d ever had with the ritual. This was delicious and steamy and felt so right.

She’d probably regret it later, but for right now, she let it all go. She relaxed into his kisses and sighed. He squeezed her arms again, and then his hands started to move.

And she’d thought the kisses were nice. They were nothing compared to his hands.

It was the softest caress she could imagine. He traveled down her arms and back up, and then onto her back where he began massaging her neck. The tension she’d gathered in the last 24 hours lived there in knots. He worked on each one. Her stomach melted and her knees liquefied as he worked out the stiffness and worry.

By the time he was done, she could barely stand. He reached around her and turned off the water, then wrapped his arms around her again in a bear hug. This time it was more than comforting. She felt him behind her, every naked inch of him, everywhere it touched her. He was about the same height, and she felt something else pushing against her backside.

He was aroused. She was startled to realize she was, too.

She turned to face him. The passion and longing on his face and his eyes at half-mast sent a river of heat down her thighs.

She pulled him in for a kiss. He didn’t hesitate, and when their lips met he took over.

The kiss was so thorough her lips vibrated. When he finally pulled away, she could still feel him there. Soft, tingling heat imprinted on her mouth and in her mind.

He pulled her out of the shower, never breaking eye contact. She let him lead her to the bed. She couldn’t get past his eyes to even look at the rest of his body. His black hair plastered down the side of his face, leading a river of water across his cheeks and down his chest.

When they got to the bed, he picked her up and lay her down on it as though she weighed nothing. Which she knew, for a fact, wasn’t true. It was the hottest thing she’d ever experienced, straight out of a romance novel.

She’d never thought those stories were real. After he joined her on the bed, his head above hers, his hands on either side of her holding him as he hovered above her, she realized those novels were very real.

This was really happening. And it was more than okay.

He lowered himself to kiss her again, leaving her lips feeling bruised. Then he set to work kissing the front of her as thoroughly as he’d kissed the back.

By the time he’d reached her thighs, she’d spread her legs to let him know she was ready for more than kisses.

He took her up on her offer. Without a word, his hand reached down and caressed that part of her. It was so sensitive that she jerked at the first touch. He softened and tried again.

When she couldn’t stand it anymore, she groaned. He shifted, and slid inside her.

He moved slowly and built a steady burn in her that begged for release. He stiffened and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“Come with me, chica.”

He moved faster then. She closed her eyes and let herself feel every thrust, every muscle. As his body tightened on the verge of climax, she felt her own respond. She beat him there by a full half minute. She rode the wave of his, enjoying the tremors that ran through his body, experiencing an aftershock in her own.

He lowered himself to the bed next to her and they lay, side by side, panting.

The countdown had begun. One down, two to go, with no turning back. And for the moment, she couldn’t say she was sorry. He’d been right. She was glad he was the first. Her friend.

She took his hand and squeezed it in silent thanks.

Her stomach growled. In the silence, it startled both of them into giggles.

“You should eat.”

“I suppose I should.” She laughed. “I’ll get something after the archives.”

Alex turned on his side and propped himself up on one elbow. “Why is a demon after you? What started this?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. It almost doesn’t matter. What matters now is stopping him.”

“The ‘why’ of something always matters.” His finger traced a pattern on her stomach.

She had no answer to that, so she said nothing.

“Something like this, the usual reason is sex, money or power.” His finger moved up to trace a circle around one of her nipples, which made it pop to attention.

“Maybe all three? Maybe this demon thinks if he gets my power, he’ll get the sex and money? Could he really be after money? Or is the power the ultimate thing? I just don’t know, Alex. All I know is, I can’t let it happen.”

She kneaded his bicep, appreciating the way he was put together. “I don’t get it. He’s more than powerful enough as it is. He had me easy, Alex.”

It was hard for her to admit, but she had to be honest.

“He caught you by surprise, that’s all. You’re not an easy fight. Don’t go getting down on yourself.” His hand moved to caress her stomach in a soothing circular pattern. It was oddly comforting.

“It’s just…even if I’d been ready, his magic is different. If he combined his with mine.…” She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. “I don’t even want to think about what would happen. How the hell am I going to stop this?”

“The same way we work every case. One step at a time. It’s not you alone, chica. You got a team backing you up. He don’t. Plus he obviously don’t know you at all, or he’d never have let you leave.” He squeezed her arm. “I’d never let you leave. That’s for damn sure.”

She looked into his eyes. She’d never noticed the flecks of gold before. “Alex, you know…. I can’t promise…”

He nodded. “I’ve known my whole life it would come to this, chica. I knew it would be this one moment. It’s okay. We’re still friends. I still got your back. It’s all good.”

She saw the tiniest flicker of sadness in his eyes as he looked away. His hand continued to absent-mindedly smooth the skin on her stomach. She had to end the moment because he obviously wasn’t going to. He’d planned it his whole life? And she’d never known. Where did he see this going? He knew the Scion couldn’t marry. He knew he’d never get to play father to the child.

Then again, maybe he would. Plenty of men had played father to her over the years, after all. Why not Alex? A man didn’t have to be blood related to be a father. Even if it would never be in name. The child might not call him Daddy, but she’d do far worse than having Alex as someone to look up to.

Still, he was one of nine children. Part of a huge Latino family who placed the blood bonds above all others. It had to hurt. But he’d done it anyway. For her. She wanted to cry at some loss she couldn’t even name.

“I better get going.” She was suddenly aware of how very naked they both were. He nodded and stood up to pull her up off the bed. They nearly bumped heads as they reached for various bits of clothing, dressing in silence. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. When they had put themselves back together they stood for a moment, staring at each other. Awkward, once again.

“I’ll have some food sent to you.” Alex looked as though he wanted to kiss her again, but he didn’t follow through. She didn’t pull him in.

It was over. She hoped their friendship wasn’t.

Chapter 12

Tarian stood outside the plain wood door that marked the entrance to the archives, lost in thought. Every now and then her neck throbbed or ached, but so far she didn’t feel any power leaking out. Maybe it was so gradual it couldn’t be felt. Or maybe she really was protected inside these walls.

Fatigue settled on her shoulders like an elephant. She closed her eyes and wished she were outside on the beach, that she’d never gone to Philly, and that her world hadn’t been turned upside down. For once, she wished she’d listened to her mother.

The most unbelievable part wasn’t the demon. It wasn’t the siphoning of her power, and it wasn’t the obvious plot against her family or the throne. Deep inside was the fear stirred up by thoughts of the Succession Ritual and the realization that she’d just had sex with her best friend.

She was glad she’d stuck it to tradition by her little session with Alex. Her body still tingled in places, and she could still feel him inside her. It did make her smile to think of it, even if she had to ignore the awkwardness that followed right behind the act.

Nobody knew yet, and she liked that. The throne might have called the ritual, and she might participate, but she’d decide who and when and where. It gave her a feeling of power to know she’d already started it, without waiting for permission or approval or official sanctions from anyone. She hadn’t waited for the kick-off reception, where all the hopeful candidates would be presented to her.

She put her hand on her abdomen. Even now she could be headed toward motherhood. A chill ran through her at the thought. The faint sound of the dolphin call filled her ears. Did the throne know? The sound was joyful, as always. Full of life and happiness. It was such a contrast to what was really going on. Her life fell apart around her, but the dolphins were happy. Good for them.

She opened her eyes and put her hand on the doorknob, but couldn’t seem to make herself open the door. It seemed so solid, like it wouldn’t open even if she pushed with all her might. Just like trying to find a demon, just like this stupid ritual. Immovable objects. The part that scared her most was that she was too tired to fight the demon. She’d never felt so overwhelmed in her life.

Well, isn’t this just a pity party?

Her problems wouldn’t be solved by wallowing. She closed her eyes and took several deep, cleansing breaths to initiate a short, calming meditation. For the moment, she was fine. She still had her power. She still had options. One step at a time. She opened her eyes, squared her shoulders and pushed the door open.

On the other side of the ordinary wood door, ordinary took a backseat as the room opened up into a large hall with row after row, shelf after shelf, of books. She’d never really liked books all that much. Books meant homework and long hours inside when she’d rather be outside.

She glanced up at the dome ceiling. It was the only thing worthwhile in this dusty corner of the house. A mural depicted a forest in vivid detail, so real she wanted to step into it and get lost among the trees. She followed the vines that extended from the mural down onto the rough black and brown rock walls and into the carved wood bookcases. One of the books looked to be covered in luxurious blonde hair. She shook her head. Who did that sort of thing?

Next to the blonde hair book lurked a stone creature that looked like a monkey and bulldog made love and had a very ugly baby. It had a flat face, long boney fingers and big pointy ears. Its eyes were closed. She glanced around and noted several more of them on various shelves. She’d never paid much attention to them. They’d always been there, but they never responded to her.

Below the closest monkey statue stood a table covered in books. Calliope sat there, her curly brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her sundress looked like a ray of sunshine in a pile of dust. A collection of leaves bathed in light from a floating green orb lay in a pile on the table in front of her. Her sister picked up one leaf, then another, and stared at both. Fascinated, Tarian started toward her, then stopped as one of the carved statues came to life, picked up a book covered in vines and scurried over to Calliope. It dropped the book on the table next to her, then crawled back where it came from and froze again.

She tiptoed across the floor until she stood just behind Calliope. In her best vampire voice she whispered, “I vant to suck your blood!”

Calliope squeaked and dropped the leaf she was inspecting. “Tari! You scared me!”

“Mind telling me what Chloe sent you scampering off to research?” Tarian pulled up a chair next to Calliope and sat down. Several stacks of books lay nearby, one pile so tall it was in serious danger of falling off the table.

Calliope frowned at Tarian, her forehead forming elevens between the eyebrows. “How’s the arm?”

“Barely a scratch, see?” She held out her arm for inspection, and avoided her sister’s scrutinizing gaze. The back of her neck buzzed as though a bee were trapped beneath it. “Why didn’t you stay back when I told you to? You could have been hurt, Calli.”

Tarian picked up one of the leaves and examined it. It looked like a plain old leaf. Holding it up higher, the green light shone through it and illuminated scrawled handwriting on the leaf. Fascinating.

“You looked like someone had just slugged you, and you sounded all panicky.” Calliope turned to face her. The frown was touched by a bit of something else now. Scorn? “Asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness, you know.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“You sure acted like it.” Calliope turned away to examine the leaf again. “And I don’t scamper.”

“You do, too. If you scampered any more, you’d be a squirrel.” Tarian looked around. None of the archivists moved or twitched a stone muscle. She watched her sister read for a moment, exhaustion making her numb and slow. She sighed. “I need help, Calli. You know how to research better than I do, and I’m too tired to fight about it.”

Calliope turned to face her again, her eyebrows raised.

“I need Mark Chester’s last known address. He was murdered in the Cellar, but there wasn’t anything left I could use to track who did it. And I’m pretty sure his death is related to my little problem.”

“You could have asked Frankie for that.” Calliope tilted her head sideways.

“There’s something else, too. Frankie thought you’d be able to find out more about it here. Something happened down in the cells that I don’t understand.” She explained about the strange power she’d sensed, the red mist nobody else could see or feel, her title written on the floor.

Calliope frowned as she listened.

“I can start a search with the archivists, but I’d have to stop the one they’re running now. They’ll only do one query at a time.”

“That’s a stupid rule. Why can’t they do more than one?”

“That’s all the promised. And before you ask no, I have no idea who they made the promise to. I’m not about to waste a query to find out.”

Calliope fiddled with one of the leaves, letting the light play on it at different angles.

“What have you been doing?”

Calliope glanced at her, then looked back down at the leaf. “Trying to help you. When you passed out, Mother was beyond freaked out. Chloe couldn’t wake you. We thought maybe the demon already had…” Calliope gulped. “Chloe thought maybe the archives would have information on the sort of rituals that can be done with someone’s blood. It’s not just anybody who can pull them off in the first place. It’d have to be someone with an affinity for both water and earth, which is pretty rare.”

Tarian though back to her struggle in the alley. He’d definitely had an affinity for earth, all right. But that red mist, and the jolts he shot at her…they hadn’t been water. If she had to guess, she’d swear he had a bit of fire in him.

Calliope placed the leaf carefully on the table and then turned to face her. “A lot of people spend their lives making sure we’re safe, Tarian. It’s not a good way to pay them back, risking yourself like you do.”

“I never asked them to do that.” She stood up and paced, her temper spilling over. “I never asked for any of this. I didn’t exactly stand there shouting, ‘Victim here, victim here,’ Calli.”

Calliope watched her pace with calm eyes.

“I don’t know why the throne can’t go to you anyway. You’d actually enjoy it.” All she wanted was to use her talents in a way that benefited everyone, not sit on a throne in a house all day, away from everything useful. She wasn’t meant for this. She knew it, deep down. She was a fighter, an outdoor girl, not a Keeper.

“That’s not the way the rules work.”

“It’s about time someone else made the rules.” Resentment bubbled up and blended with the anger. It wasn’t rational, and it wasn’t mature, but she couldn’t help herself. “It’s about time this old-fashioned idea of inheritance was abolished. Why shouldn’t you be able to take the throne if you want it? Hell, why shouldn’t anyone?” She paced back and forth, unable to sit still.

“Anyone like the demon, you mean?” Somehow her sister’s calmness in the face of chaos just made her even angrier.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I mean, sure, keep it in our family; hell, keep it only for women since we’re the strongest magically. But why should we be forced to do the succession the way they say? Why can’t the child know their father? Don’t you wish you’d known him? Even a hint of who and what he was?” She took a deep breath, building up steam. “And another thing. These archivists. Why can they only answer one question at a time? I need answers to more than one question, and I don’t have time to wait.”

Calliope watched her but offered nothing.

“Just how the hell am I supposed to deal with all of this? Seriously, tell me how?” She threw herself down into a chair next to her sister. Calliope radiated calm acceptance. Tarian closed her eyes and drank it in, fighting the tears that threatened to spill over.

“What’s up with you, Tari? Something’s off.”

Her eyes popped open to drink in the knowing look on her sister’s face.

“What do you mean? I’ve been attacked by a demon. Of course there’s something off.”

Calliope shook her head. “More than that. Something’s different. You’re…” Calliope narrowed her eyes.

Tarian felt her cheeks burn. She kept her eyes down, so her sister couldn’t read the truth in them.

“Your lips look very red. Your cheeks are on fire. And your hair…you’ve been messing around, haven’t you!” Calliope laughed. “In the middle of all this, you did it. You started the ritual. Like, just now?” If her sister’s voice rose any higher she’d break the water glass sitting next to her.

Tarian should have known she’d never keep that particular secret from her sister. Not right after it happened, when her emotions were still all tangled up. Still, it felt good to tell someone. She nodded, then looked up.

“Who with?” Calliope’s hands flew to cover her mouth.

“Alex.”

“Alex? Really? Alex?” Calliope’s eyes widened yet another notch until they were giant orbs or white with liquid brown centers. “Alex. Seriously? Alex?”

“Stop saying his name like that.” Tarian shifted some of the papers and put them into a neat pile.

“Where?”

“What difference does that make?”

“Just now?”

Tarian nodded.

Calliope giggled. “I’ve heard stories about him. All the girls in the healer’s hall love to watch him work out. How was it?”

“Oh, Calli, a lady never kisses and tells.” Her lips stretched in a slow grin that melted the last bit of resentment and anger. She couldn’t help it. It was impossible to be in a bad mood around Calliope.

“You’re no lady. You’re my sister, so tell.”

“He was…a friend.” The grin faded. “I just hope he still is.”

“Why wouldn’t he be?” Calliope looked genuinely confused, her brows wrinkled.

“Sex changes things, Calli. Especially when it’s with someone you spent your whole life thinking of as your best friend, not your lover.”

“Don’t worry, Tari. I’m sure it’ll be fine. He’s a good guy, and he knew what he was getting into. He knows the deal. I wouldn’t be surprised if he planned on this happening since he was a kid. He’s always had a thing for you.”

“Really?” He’d never even tried to kiss her. Not once. Until today.

Calliope nodded, the deep look of wisdom back in her eyes. “You just didn’t look for it.”

“Well, whatever happens, I’m one step closer to finishing the ritual. On my own terms, not someone else’s.” All she had to do was find two more men willing to partner with her. She really wasn’t looking forward to it.

Calliope’s face lost the giggles and amusement. “Oh, Tari, I’m sorry. This sucks. But you’ve done more than just start the ritual. You’ve freed up my question for the archivists. I can change the query. If you finish the ritual, then the demon won’t win that particular battle. We can focus on finding him, rather than stopping the Succession ritual. It’s a good thing, even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

Tarian grinned. “Oh, it felt just fine, at the time. So, explain to me what they are answering right now, and how we can change it to help me fix this mess.”

Chapter 13

Calliope’s mouth lifted in a ghost of a smile. “The query they are working on right now has to do with identifying exactly who attacked you and what his talents are. I thought if we knew that, we’d be able to form a plan on how to stop him using his weaknesses.”

The question was a fantastic one. Tarian hadn’t even thought to ask it, figuring she’d rely on her own abilities to find the demon. But if she still couldn’t track him, she’d have to find him some other way, a need her sister and Chloe had obviously anticipated. What a choice. Tarian would have asked about the red mist, but what if she were wrong, and the red mist wasn’t related at all to the demon who attacked her? She’d have wasted time and energy, things she didn’t have to spare.

Calliope’s face softened with concern. “You look like you’ve been up for five days straight.”

“I feel like it too.” Tarian ran her fingers through her hair. The burst of energy she’d managed to get from her tryst with Alex had long since vanished. So had the cheesesteak, which seemed a lifetime ago.

Calliope leaned toward her and placed both hands on her arms. Warmth spread from Calliope’s hands up her arms and into her chest, along with a soothing calm. Tarian took a deep breath and closed her eyes, opening herself to the infusion of power from her sister. It was a unique talent, just like her own tracking ability. As far as she knew, Calliope was the only one in several generations who could do it.

“Better?”

Tarian opened her eyes. She was still tired but not exhausted. She nodded and smiled her appreciation. Calliope turned toward one of the stone creatures and held out her hand. The creature hopped up and down, causing the books to teeter, then placed his paw in Calliope’s hand.

For a moment, the two sat there, holding each other. Tarian watched her sister’s face for any sign of the conversation the two held within their heads, but saw nothing.

Finally, her sister broke the silence.

“They aren’t happy about the event in the cells.”

“Join the club.”

Calliope released the paw and turned to her. “He wants to talk to you.”

Seeing the concern on Calliope’s face, she took the offered paw/hand without comment.

A small chorus of voices immediately reverberated through her head. “We have been waiting, Tarian A’marie Maitea Xannon. We expected communication.”

“I’ve been busy. You know, with being attacked and coerced into motherhood.” She looked around, but only the one archivist showed any signs of life. Yet it sounded like at least 20 of them talking in her head, some high pitched, some low pitched, all sort of growly. Their hive mind made her feel unsettled. It was as if a thousand people could see into her soul and every nook and cranny of her mind.

“There is no need to verbalize. We wish more detail. Please show us the events.”

She was about to ask how, but then her mind was suddenly filled with a picture of the archives inside her head, a movie that moved in reverse. She held her breath as scenes rewound in her head and then stopped with her standing by the door of the cell. She could even feel the warmth of the air. Everything was crystal clear. What a memory! She felt each stirring of power, again felt it blast through the door and encompass her, Alex’s arms around her, and the red mist.

When the event was done playing in her mind, it immediately went away. It was an odd feeling to have her mind suddenly blank. Her communications with the dolphins were never this vivid or as in depth. Then again, she’d never spent a lot of time trying. They seemed content to simply let her be, for which she was grateful. No demands, no judgments. Just happy to see her. Her, not the Scion.

“We sense a demon tracer within you. Please show us acquisition.”

A surge of irritation flowed through her at the words. How could they know? Before she could object, her mind leapt to the scene in the alley. Her encounter with the demon played back in slow motion. Every excruciating detail, from the bum in the alley to the scrape down her arm to their struggle. She didn’t think her memory had ever been this good. The image faded as the lizard man dissolved. Her thoughts were her own again.

“This we feared. Shield is clever, but will not hold. This results from imperfect understanding.”

“Care to explain?” Her stomach tightened, and her hand formed an involuntary fist around the tiny paw. Her brain felt violated.

“The power signature belongs to one type of being only. This requires more study.”

“Does that mean you don’t know what caused it?”

“It does not. We know the source. We do not know how it was possible.”

“Can you tell me the source?” She had a hard time keeping the frustration out of her voice.

“Youth requires patience. And understanding.”

“Yes, understanding is what I seek right at this moment. And I don’t have time to be patient.”

“The source is demon. This requires more study.”

Her hand around the archivist’s small paw tightened. She was right. The demon who attacked her also killed Chester. It was a start.

“What’s his name? Where is he now?”

Mutters filled her head. Some angry, some patient, all mixed and jumbled until she couldn’t make complete sense of them. One thought stood out stronger than the rest. They didn’t want to answer her question.

“This demon threatens my family, my friends, this house, the Society, everything. I’m trying to protect people. Even if I manage to complete the ritual, the child won’t be born before he gains control of me. I need to track him.” Panic filled her at the thought of the demon having control over an unborn child on top of everything else. Her child. The next Scion. Her stomach clenched.

She felt her sister stiffen beside her at this speech. Somehow she couldn’t manage to make herself think the words, rather than say them aloud. Calliope heard only half the conversation, but it was more than enough.

“Dolphin ritual has already begun.” An image of her and Alex in the shower flashed through her mind. Her cheeks heated. She hoped Calliope couldn’t tell she was blushing.

“Never mind that. Will it harm me to track him?”

“His power differs from Scion’s. He is demon. Scion is not. His tracer prevents acquisition of his signature.”

No wonder her previous attempt gave her a headache. The demon must have known she could track, and had prevented it before she knew she needed to. Score one to him. How was she going to find him without being able to track him? Her shoulders sank.

The one thing that had never let her down was her own magic, her own power. She’d been born with it, and it was as natural as breathing. Now she was just supposed to abandon it? How could she be stronger than her magic?

“Scion cannot abandon who and what Scion is.”

“Hey, I wasn’t talking to you.” She pondered the information. His power differed from hers. That much she’d figured out on her own. But could she beat him in a fair fight? “How is his magic stronger than my own?”

The arguing in her head after such a simple question filled her with curiosity. She’d struck a nerve. Interesting.

“Difference and strength are not equal. Strength is measured by more than magic.”

“All magic came from demons. He’s a demon. What does that make you? Or me?”

“He is not WE. He is other. Daemons are the Source. Daemons belong to the Universe, and the Universe to Magic. All are one. Daemons are magic. Demons are not.”

They emphasized the pronunciation. “Day-muns.” Not “dee-mons.” For the thousandth time, she wished they’d stop talking in riddles and just say what they meant.

“Understanding comes with knowledge and time. Daemons are the Source. Demons are other. Constructs of society and imperfect understanding, greed, pride, fear. A blend of human and daemon which should not exist. Understanding requires study.” Voices in the background echoed the thought until she saw a picture of Calliope, bent over books, reading. Her sister had always been the one to study and read. Tarian preferred the arena and the outdoors. They were right. She lacked understanding.

And she didn’t have time to get it.

Her thoughts circled back to the lizard man in the alley. This demon wanted control over her. He wanted the throne. Why? So daemons could rule?

“He is not WE.” The voices in her head sounded agitated.

“I get it, I get it. He’s not like you. Is there a way to capture him?”

“There are possibilities. This requires more study.”

“What do they mean it requires more study?” Tarian looked at Calliope.

“I think it means you need to come back later.” Calliope shrugged.

“Of course it does.” She dropped the creature’s hands, who immediately sank back down into a silent statue pose. She picked up one of the leaves and twirled it while she sorted out the situation.

“Are you sure you should be doing this? You need rest, Tari.” Calliope chewed on a fingernail, then yanked her hand away from her mouth. From the state of the other fingernails, Calliope had been eating them all day.

“I need that address. If the archivists here can’t, or won’t, tell me who that lizard man is and how to catch him and destroy his hold on me, then it’s the only lead I have.” Tarian stifled a yawn. If she didn’t sleep soon, she might just fall over where she stood. “What’s with the leaves, anyway?”

“It’s fascinating, really. Some of the oldest records are on all kinds of material. This one is a journal written by the first Keeper, Serin. I guess she it would be easy to keep it from prying eyes if it looked like a houseplant. It has a lot of information on the first Succession Ritual, why she set it up like she did, and how the dolphin throne came to be part of the House. She mentions a struggle with an ancient daemon, one I’d never heard of before. Lasair. Fire based. There’s even a hint on the archivists. Their presence in the House originated around the same time, almost like they helped to build it. But it’s not easy to read.” Calliope studied her face. “Go take a nap. When I get the address, I’ll wake you up.”

“Do me a favor? Don’t tell anybody you’re doing it?” Tarian got up from the table, then gave Calliope’s shoulders a squeeze. “The boys all seem to think I’m a china doll about to break.”

“Well, you do look a bit fragile right now.” Calliope smiled.

“Hey, I’m a warrior woman!” She flexed a muscle.

Calliope chuckled, shook her head, then bent down over the leaf again.

“Don’t tell anyone about Alex either, okay? I want to do the choosing without being chased around.”

Calliope smiled up at her. “I don’t think you’ll avoid that, now that the Call has gone out. But don’t worry. I won’t tell anybody, sister swear.”

Tarian paused. “Do I need to worry about the archivists?”

Calliope looked back down at the leaves. “They’re daemons. Guardians. And they’ve been here for thousands of years. I think it’s demons that you should worry about. Demons are human-made, not magic made. It’s far worse.”

Tarian left her sister there, wondering if research was even worth the trouble. She’d find a way to track the demon, just as soon as she had a nap. A few hours of sleep, then she’d sneak out, away from the magic protection of the house, so she could use the tracer against the creature who’d put it inside her. The demon had no idea who he’d messed with. She couldn’t wait to show him.

Chapter 14

Tarian lay in bed twisted around cool, white, cotton sheets, lost in a delicious state between sleep and awake where she swam in the memory of a dream. All she had left were impressions, but the lingering blend of muscles, dark hair and dimples set her body on fire. She had a feeling from the way her groin throbbed that those arms had been holding her, and those hands had been caressing all sorts of areas. She kept her eyes closed, trying to hold on to the feeling as long as possible.

A knock at the door jolted her out of the blissful moment. She stared at the mural on her ceiling, a child’s garden full of fairies and wildflowers, and tried to bring her mind back to Earth. Memory flooded back. Demons. Tracers. Rituals. Daric Voltain. A shower with Alex. Her heart pounded. How long had she been asleep? Dammit, she’d set a glow ball, powered by passive magic that would dissipate after about an hour to release a bright light, when she lay down. Why hadn’t it gone off? She glanced over at the wall where a ball of blue flame should have been glowing, but the wall sconce remained dark. If it’d gone off, it had since worn out. How long had she been asleep?

Another knock at the door reminded her why she was awake in the first place. She groaned and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her feet brushed the cold stone floor. Her muscles were stiff, like she’d been sitting still for a long time. Light snuck into the room around the edges of the curtains on the window. She yawned and stretched.

The knock came again, louder and more insistent, then the door swung open and a head popped through, followed by the entire body of her sister.

Calliope grinned at Tarian and hurried into the room. Tarian spotted two Sentinels standing at attention across the hall behind her sister. One of them flashed her a small smile, and the other’s cheeks turned instantly red. She glanced down. She wore her usual tank top, panties and nothing else. She rolled her eyes as Calliope shut the door.

Calliope bounced onto the bed, a triumphant expression etched on her face.

“You look like you just won a prize. Spill.” Tarian yawned.

“I have the address. It was harder than it should have been, but I got it in the end.” Calliope flicked her hand, and the wall sconces flared into life.

Tarian winced at the sudden brightness. “Why?” She escaped the glare by shuffling into the bathroom to get rid of the fur that coated her teeth.

“Because all records of Mark Chester had been wiped. Including any arrest records. It’s like he vanished. Except whoever messed with the records forgot to check the non-magic ones. Chester was born in a regular hospital in Chester County, Pennsylvania. His parents still live there.”

Tarian spit out the toothpaste, then poked her head around the corner to see her sister with a Cheshire grin. “How’d you get those?”

“The only way possible. I went there and pulled them from the files.”

“They just let you do that?”

“Well, sure, with a glamour on. I made myself look like an employee who was out sick, waltzed right into the records office. After that, it was easy enough to track his parents, and once I had their address I went to their house and told them I was a girlfriend and couldn’t find him. They seemed very excited to hear he had a steady girl. Or maybe they were just happy I looked so respectable.” Calliope giggled. “They were very happy to give me his address. Frankie was a huge help with the whole thing. He can hack any database. I need to learn how to do that.”

From the look on her sister’s face, that wasn’t all she’d like to learn from Frankie. Tarian grinned. “I’m shocked Frankie let you out on your own.”

“Oh, he didn’t, but I didn’t mind the company.” Calliope grinned back.

“How’d you manage all this in the middle of the night? Philly is hours ahead of us.” Tarian glanced at the bright light through the window, indicating the sun was about to set.

A sheepish expression replaced the smile on her sister’s face. “You’re right. By the time I figured all this out, they were closed, so I had to wait until they opened the next morning. You were so tired. I told you I’d wake you when I had the address.”

Tarian stared at her sister in disbelief. She’d slept a full 24 hours? She’d slept through the alarm?

Calliope looked down at the paper in her hands, then handed it to Tarian without making eye contact.

Tarian studied the paper for a minute. Chester hadn’t strayed far from his birthplace. She committed the address to memory then put the paper down. She needed a shower to clear the grogginess and fog in her brain.

Calliope followed her and leaned against the sink. “I found a history on demons. It’s a bit of a mess because they didn’t actually exist.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She rubbed shampoo into her hair and let the water cascade over her. Memories of Alex and his hands threatened to distract her, but she pushed them out of the way.

“Well, daemons existed before the Earth. They’re older than old, possibly the oldest thing in existence. They were formed from the original magic spark, the one that was part of the primordial soup that formed the universe. There are four basic kinds. The archivists are just one kind. Daemon’s, the ancient ones, are like us, with different levels of magical ability or races. Demons are a modern thing. From what I could tell, they’re a misunderstanding. Someone saw a daemon, a harmless one, and freaked out. They’ve been persecuted ever since. Sorta like witch hunts. People are always afraid of things they don’t understand.”

“I don’t think that demon who attacked me is being persecuted enough.”

“I think the problem is, he’s not really either one. He’s half and half. Half human, half something else. Something twisted. The archivists seem pretty sure of that. He’s not daemon. His magic is different. Whatever it is, they don’t like it. You have them all flustered.”

“Well, at least they aren’t having their power drained off. They should count themselves lucky.” She finished rinsing her hair, then grabbed a towel and set off in search of fresh clothes. She’d lost an entire day. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought.

“What’s with the Sentinels?” Tarian scrounged through her closet and emerged with a denim jacket, jeans and a plain black T-shirt. She needed to blend in with a pretty rough crowd. She’d throw on a glamour when she got there, but for now she wanted to conserve energy.

“Honestly, Tari, everybody knows you’re going to try to hunt this guy down all by yourself. You didn’t think they’d leave you unprotected, did you?” Calliope shook her head. “Especially now. Mother has the Sentinels working up all kinds of extra security. Advisor Jonus filled the rotunda with Sentinels, and all the hallways have a walking patrol. Plus the ones stationed outside wherever you happen to be.”

“What do you mean ‘especially now’?” Tarian pulled the T-shirt on.

“The Call, Tari. Potentials are already arriving. You have to be at the reception. Tonight. It’s in a couple of hours.”

Tarian groaned. “I don’t have time for that. I don’t have time for anything.”

“The guys are working on finding the demon, and I have the archivists researching it too. We’ll find him.”

She envied the confidence in her sister’s voice.

“How many Sentinels?”

“Don’t even think about sneaking out, Tari.” Calliope’s tone held the same warning in it that their mother’s had when she contemplated doing something her mother wouldn’t like.

Tarian thrust her legs into the jeans and pulled them up. She ran a brush through the tangled mess of hair.

“Let me.” Calliope took the brush from her and set to work on her hair. A few minutes later, she had a perfect ponytail complete with a fancy tie back. Her sister, the girly-girl.

“Thanks.” Tarian patted Calliope on the arm, then opened the bedroom door. She stuck her head out into the hallway. It looked like six guards on each side of the door, plus a few more at either end of the hallway. She shut the door.

“I suppose they mean to follow me everywhere I go?”

“They have orders not to let you anywhere near a travel portal.”

She snorted. “Like they could stop me. What are they going to do, wrestle me to the ground?” Tarian moved over to the corner of the room that held an old rocking chair.

“They do have stunners, you know.”

She pulled the chair out of the way, then turned to her sister. “Do me a favor? Cover for me? Tell them I have a horrible headache.”

“Tari, what are you up to?” Calliope frowned at the corner.

Tarian smiled. “I just want to check out this address.” She turned, studied the address and picture of a row home on the paper until she had both fixed firmly in her mind, then focused. She was delighted to find her strength back to full. Or nearly full. Something felt a bit off, as if she had a cold, but overall it responded.

She pushed a tiny bit of magic into the special back door she’d created for sneaking out when she was younger and grinned when she felt it open. It wasn’t a large hole in the perimeter defenses, but it was enough for her to portal through. Perfect. She opened a travel portal to the side of Philly where Chester had supposedly lived. She knew the general area, and the street indicated was not far from a small park. She’d start there and walk.

A soft hand on her arm stopped her before she could step through.

“Tari? You’re the only sister I have. Please don’t rush into this.”

Tarian looked back and felt a surge of guilt at the concern in her sister’s eyes. She gave Calliope a quick hug. “Don’t worry about me, Calli. I’m just checking the address for something I can use. He’s not there anymore, and nobody’ll know I’m gone. I won’t go after the demon tonight, okay? Promise.”

Her sister stared at her, disbelief etched on her face.

“I swear. I’ll be right back.” She ignored the guilt and stepped through the portal.

Chapter 15

Tarian stepped out of the travel portal and onto a cracked sidewalk in the Mansion district of Philadelphia, so named for a historical landmark of a house that once stood as a grand reminder of better days, but now served as an unofficial half-way house for homeless junkies. She stood across the street from a small, triangular shaped park, created by the intersection of three pothole filled streets. The park contained patches of dirt, a few rusty benches here and there, one street light that did nothing to ease the dark, and a few old leafy trees now carved with so many initials it was surprising they still lived. Feeble bushes wilted around each tree. Someone had dangled old basketball shoes on the light. Here and there a shadow moved around the trees. Drug pushers, the late shift. Tarian blended into the shadow of the houses. She didn’t need their attention.

She looked around to get her bearings. Behind her, old row houses that looked more like prisons than homes with bars on the windows and doors. A convenience store coated in graffiti. Across the park, a couple of old abandoned warehouses. A surprisingly graffiti-free church complete with steeple and bell. Trash and bottles and the stench of urine everywhere. Ratty cars that probably didn’t run. Prime real estate. She checked the street signs, then set off down the one she wanted. The address took her two blocks from the park along an empty street, except for the occasional rat or cat.

Chester’s block looked like a war zone, with barred and boarded windows. Torn crime-scene tape decorated the door of several houses. Blank, empty windows stared out at the deserted street. Graffiti coated everything. She stopped under a grimy street light in front of a section of house that probably used to be white but now looked brownish gray. One of the steps leading to the door was missing. A bullet hole graced one window. Inside, a surprisingly feminine flowery curtain valiantly tried to dress the place.

Looking down at the paper in her hand, Tarian scrutinized the address. She looked back at the dumpy house in front of her, then at the crooked number on the mailbox. She was definitely at the right location.

A spicy scent, so out of place in the filth, wafted over her a second before the magic signature tickled the hair on the back of her neck and in her nose. She whirled in place, her magic focused enough to block any spell coming at her. She relaxed slightly when she saw Daric Voltain standing there.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” He glanced down at her arm, but the denim jacket she wore covered the scar. “So your healers solved the problem?”

“How do you know so much about demons?” She crossed her arms, hiding the injured one underneath.

“My mother was a teacher.” He shrugged, as if that explained everything.

She studied him. There wasn’t enough light to get a good look at him, but she had to admit he made an impressive silhouette against the street light. A remnant of the dream she’d woken up to circled in her head for a moment and heated up her face. She could imagine those arms belonging to Daric and could imagine all too clearly how those arms would feel wrapped around her.

“What are you doing here?” She took a step backward, out of the pool of light.

“I was about to ask you the same question.” Daric gestured at the neighborhood. “This doesn’t seem like Scion territory. Especially since you’re supposed to be somewhere else tonight.”

She didn’t think it was possible for her cheeks to be any hotter, but she was wrong. He’d been Called. He knew about the ritual. A brief image of him fulfilling the ritual flashed through her mind. She wondered how he’d feel, compared to Alex. Then she pushed that thought right out of her head and ignored the sudden throbbing in her groin. “I’m here on official business.”

“In the middle of the Mansion, on the night of the reception for Potentials?” His eyes flicked to the house behind her. “We have something in common. I’m on official business too.”

“What sort of business?”

“I’m looking for someone who is supposed to live here.”

“This is Mark Chester’s last known address. If you’re looking for him, you’re wasting your time.” She shifted from one foot to the other. Why did she feel so agitated around this guy?

“Actually, it’s his cousin I’m looking for. Kevin.” Daric stepped closer, and the light from the street lamp surrounded him.

His crooked smile made her stomach twist. A faint jagged scar on his left cheek emphasized his eyes, and his nose looked as if it’d been broken. But somehow, it all came together in a way that made her want to kiss him. Or slap him. Maybe both.

She willed her body to stop reacting to pheromones. Her body didn’t give a crap what she wanted and let her know by sending her nervous butterflies.

“Did my mother send you?” She wouldn’t put it past her mother to have tried more than one way of keeping her under watchful eyes.

“No.” He looked at her with a curious expression. “I sent myself.”

She glanced back at the house. It was a crime scene waiting to happen. Something in the distance sounded suspiciously like a gun shot. Maybe her mother wasn’t all wrong. It wasn’t a bad idea to have company in this neighborhood, at this time of night. She usually could defend herself against just about anybody, especially if they didn’t have magic talent. But her magic was off, and she didn’t feel quite like herself. The memory of the demon attack lived in the forefront of her mind. He was out here, somewhere. The tracer inside her neck pushed against her shields, a reminder that she couldn’t use magic out here without attracting attention from the demon. It would be nice to have backup. Just this once.

“Fine. We’ll check it together then.” She turned and marched up the steps. She heard his footsteps crunch on the cement, and a tingle went up her back at the thought of him watching her.

A hint of residual magic leaked out through the walls of the house in front of her, faint but noticeable. She knocked and waited. No lights flared, no footsteps hurried for the door.

Daric joined her, standing a little closer than he needed to. She felt the heat from his breath down the back of her neck. Tingles. She knocked again. A dog next door barked, the sound loud and deep against the backdrop of distant sirens and city traffic.

She tried the doorknob and found it turned easily. They must have forgotten to lock up. Odd, in this neighborhood.

The front door opened into a small living area, which connected to a tiny kitchen. Torn wallpaper with gaudy yellow flowers lined the walls. Dilapidated steps coated with stained carpet led to the second floor. Stale beer stench coated the air. The whole place felt dejected. The American Dream, gone to hell.

“They lived here?” Tarian couldn’t believe a rat lived in this place, much less people. She kicked a few empty beer bottles out of the way.

“I wouldn’t call it ‘living.’” Daric pushed a broken chair aside, but nothing was behind it but a thick layer of dirt. He sneezed, three times in quick succession.

Tarian moved into the kitchen. “Squalid” was an understatement. She wrinkled her nose at the filth and smell of sweat, beer, and old stinky feet, but followed the trail of magic that tickled the hairs on her arms. It led to a narrow door. Steep stairs behind it led down into black nothing. She tried the light switch but, of course, in this dump it didn’t work.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a light, would you?”

“There’s probably something we can use as a glow rod. Hang on.”

Daric moved off into the front room, then returned a few minutes later with an old Popsicle stick. Holding it in one hand, he focused on it. The Popsicle stick lit up and cast a diffused light around them. He handed it to her. Her fingers brushed his as she took the offered light, sending a tiny thrill up her arm. Hormones. She really didn’t need them tonight.

“Ready?” She glanced at Daric. He nodded, and she held the stick high as she led the way down the steps.

Tarian tested the air at each step for any trace of another living human or magic. The dank smell of mold permeated everything. The residual magic grew stronger and settled on her, but she felt no other presence, human or otherwise. The basement was empty. There weren’t even any boxes or cast off bits of furniture. Odd.

Daric scouted around the corners of the room while she concentrated on the middle. Something had happened here. The magic felt like it had in the Cellar, but there was less of it. And as far as she could tell in the dim light, it wasn’t red. Then again, it was so dark, all color faded into shades of gray.

Daric stood in the middle of the empty space. From the expression on his face, his frustration mirrored her own. “Can you track the people who were in this room? I hear you’re good at that sort of thing.”

“And you aren’t?”

“It’s not a common gift.”

“So what’s yours?”

Daric raised his eyebrows. “Can you track them or not?”

“I doubt it. There’s a reason they came down to this basement. The earth and walls help block the signal. But I suppose it’s worth a shot.”

Tarian placed the glowing Popsicle stick on a beam that ran along the ceiling where it could cast light over most of the basement, then sat down in the middle of the floor and put her hands on the filthy concrete.

“You going to clean the floor now?” Daric looked down at her, amusement playing around the corner of his eyes.

“Sure. I do housekeeping on the side for extra money.” She pointed at the corner. “Go stand over there.”

“Don’t trust me?” He moved to the indicated corner, a full grin turned up the corners of his mouth and caused a dimple on one side. Cute.

“I don’t need you messing with the signal.” She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. Magic focused in the center of her forehead and chest, the hairs in her nose twitched, and her neck thumped. She tried to ignore the ache which settled immediately at the top of her spine, but her pull on magic out here beyond the protection of the House of Xannon and the Dolphin Throne seemed to excite the tracer, even behind the shields she still maintained.

She shook her head, trying to clear the fear that gathered in the pit of her stomach.

“Are you okay?” Daric knelt down where he stood. In the dim light he formed a dark lump with glittering eyes.

For a moment, panic flared through her. Here she was, a demon tracer inside her, in a dark basement permeated by foreign magic, in the middle of the worst district Philly had to offer, with a stranger. Not smart. Not smart at all.

She didn’t feel any movement toward her from Daric or any gathering of energy. He seemed a lot like Alex, actually. Concerned and helpful, with a heavy dose of sexy. Plus, she didn’t have a lot of options right now.

She took more deep breaths, then added a meditation chant for good measure. Calm surrounded her, and from within it she extended her focus out into the stifled basement air in search of any left over signatures.

The tracer jiggled, and lurched as something external tugged on it. She rubbed at it with one hand and tried to ignore it, but heat descended over her body, as if she suddenly had a high fever. She gasped and pulled her magic back into herself. Something grabbed the other end of her magic stream and tugged, as if a rope extended between them and this was a game of tug-of-war. If she hadn’t been sitting, she’d have fallen.

Damn him! The demon could feel her, and he was pulling on her power. Determined, she tried to follow the invisible rope. If he could find her, she could find him.

Her power hit a wall and rebounded back at her so hard she cursed out loud. A hand gripped her shoulder. She punched out at the owner, just missing him.

“Tarian. Snap out of it, dammit.” Daric shook her shoulders.

She opened her eyes and found Daric was on his knees in front of her. She hadn’t heard him move.

“What happened?” His grip tightened on her shoulders.

“I can’t track him.” Even to herself, she sounded frantic. “They were right. I can’t track him.”

Chapter 16

It wasn’t possible. She’d always been able to track people. Always. If she had any connection with the person at all, they couldn’t hide from her. She’d won a lot of hide-and-seek games as a child that way.

Yet when she tried to use it against the demon, she couldn’t. He could track her, but she couldn’t return the favor. How the hell was she going to find him if she couldn’t use her strongest ability? How was she going to stop him when every time she used magic at all, he stole it away? She panted with the effort to control her panic.

Daric’s grip on her shoulders grew so tight she nearly cried out in protest. “You have a tracer, don’t you? Are you crazy? You shouldn’t be here.”

He picked her up off the floor, anger palpable in the feel of his hands on her and in the depths of his eyes. She shoved back at him.

“The only way to be free of him is to find him. You told me yourself. I have a week. Less, maybe. I can’t hunt him from home.”

“Why didn’t they remove the tracer?” He kept his arms by his side, but his hands twitched as if they’d like to throttle her.

“Why do you care?” She glared at him.

“Tarian.” His voice was a soft growl.

“They’re working on it.” She shifted her feet. Her muscles ached from her tug of war with the demon. She felt drained, weak and vulnerable. It wasn’t pleasant.

“You mean they don’t know how.”

“Do you?” Her eyes challenged his.

His silence told her everything she needed to know. She glanced down, breaking the eye contact, then let out the breath she hadn’t realized she held.

“Something happened in this basement. Whoever did it was bound to have touched something.”

“This is the last thing you should be doing.”

“I have a mother, Daric.” She turned her back on him. “If I use the demon’s own tracer to track him, he’ll just drain me faster. I need something else. They couldn’t spend that much time down here and not touch something. A button. A light switch. Something.”

“This place is scrubbed.” Daric stood still for a moment, his face set. She stared at him until he walked over to the corner, and got down on hands and knees to check the floor.

Tarian started in the center of the room and worked outward in circles. The two of them crawled over the filth, an inch at a time, in silence. Every inch was like a vise around her heart, making it difficult to breathe.

“This might be something.” Daric brushed his hands over the dirt in the far corner of the room.

Tarian joined him. As Daric swept away the dirt, she saw it in the dim blue glow of the popsicle light. Neat, red handwriting spelled out the word Scion.

“Shit.” She sat back on her heels. The bastard was taunting her. With fantastic penmanship.

“Can you use it?”

“I doubt it.”

“You’ve tried before?”

She nodded. “He left something like this in the Cellar. I didn’t get anything from it.”

Daric’s mouth formed a line, but he went back to his search.

“Hey.” Daric scraped his fingers on the floor and held out something fuzzy. “What about this?”

Tarian scooted over on her knees to join him. “Is that hair?”

“Yes. Can you use it?”

She took the hair from him and shuddered at the thought of what or who it might have come from, not to mention where. But if it was all they had, she’d work with it. She folded it into her hand and glanced at Daric.

“Where’s the trust?”

“Just go stand in the other corner, and don’t gather any magic.”

He complied, but his expression was unreadable. Was that concern? Or irritation? She seemed to have that effect on people. She didn’t want to explain that his personal signature intoxicated her and created a distraction she just didn’t need. She closed her eyes and focused on the hair in her hand. She’d never used hair to track anyone before. It might not work.

She sent a light touch of magic along the hair and out into the air. Not tracking, simply reading the residual left-overs or imprints left. Her neck twitched, and tugged, but nothing overwhelmed her like it had before.

A few seconds later, her head filled with the image of a girl, larger than life, with her eyes so wide open the whites glowed. Cold. Horror. Pain. Incredible pain. She gasped and dropped the hair.

“Holy shit.”

“What happened?” Daric crossed over to her. His hands reached out toward her, maybe to comfort her or shake her again—she wasn’t sure—then stopped.

“The hair belonged to a young black girl, with a mole high on her left cheek and a small scar near her chin. She’s…dead. Like Chester.” Tarian shivered. The image had been so vivid, and the emotional impact of death so real. She might as well have been standing there when it happened. Tears formed in her eyes. That poor girl.

“Chester is dead? How?” Daric put a hand on her shoulder. This time she didn’t push him away. The shock of seeing that girl’s face in what was probably the last moment of her life ran too deep. She’d never felt anything like that. The girl’s horror ran through her bones. The bit of human contact Daric offered provided welcome relief.

“He was ripped apart. In the Cellar.”

Daric’s hand tightened. “Can you track who killed the girl from that hair?”

Tarian shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that. I need something he’s touched. I mean, really touched. I don’t think yanking hair out counts. I can’t just track thin air, there’s too many signals. I have to know which is his. I have to have some connection to the person.” Her voice shook. Emotion flooded through her. Horror, for the girl. Panic, at her situation.

Did the demon do this? The girl had been alive when it happened. The thought of being alive to experience an arm ripped from your body, or your heart torn out, was almost too much. She’d tracked petty thieves and drunks before as favors for the Sentinels, but never something like this. It struck her just how protected and cloistered she’d been all these years. Couldn’t risk the Scion, after all.

“You okay?” Daric’s tone was soft and low. He pulled her in close and wrapped his arms around her.

Tarian started to push him away, then instead let the warmth of his arms permeate the cold that had slammed into her along with the image of the girl. She squeezed Daric in silent gratitude, relishing the contact for a moment before moving away slowly to stand on her own.

Daric traced his hand down her arm as she stepped away. “That’s the girl I was hired to find. I thought Kevin might have snatched her. Now I know, and I can tell her family. It’s something.”

Tarian glanced around. She didn’t want to admit to herself just how much she needed there to be more in this basement than the hair of a dead girl.

“You shouldn’t be here. Don’t you have a reception to get to?” Daric’s eyes glinted in the flickering glow of the Popsicle stick.

“Don’t you have a family to visit?”

“You know, we could work together on this.” Daric held out his hands as if in truce. “We’re on the same team.”

“I’m not a team player.” At least, not anymore. Now that the demon had entered her life, she didn’t need one more person at risk by being around her.

“When are you going to admit that you need help?”

Anger flared in her, mixed with fear. “I have plenty of people trying to help me. But I’m not going to sit around and let others fight the battle for me. I’m not going to let them get hurt because I got tangled up in something I should have avoided.”

“You really think you could have avoided this? You don’t seem the type.”

“What type is that?”

“Martyr.”

She glared at him.

“If someone is willing to risk their life to take yours, there’s not a whole lot you can do. Besides stop them. Now that you know about it, you can plan. But you couldn’t have known before that alley, so stop beating yourself up over it and start planning the solution.”

He was right, but it didn’t soothe her temper any to admit it, even to herself. “Don’t you think I’m trying to come up with a plan? Why else would I be here?”

“Seems to me you’re trying to run from your friends.” Daric shook his head. “Don’t you think it’s odd that after all these years as Scion you’re suddenly a target?”

“I think it’s odd that you keep turning up wherever I happen to be. Exactly why are you here, Daric?”

“Exactly what are you trying to say?” Daric’s head jerked on the words, his irritation obvious.

“Why were you there, so conveniently close by, when I got attacked?” She crossed her arms. It wasn’t rational, and she knew it. But if this was what it took to get this guy to back off and go away, so be it.

“You’re way off.”

“You found what you came for. I think your official business is done here. It’s time for you to go.”

“You first.”

“What, so you can follow me again?”

“So I can make sure you don’t do something stupid.”

“Excuse me?” Disbelief and anger overrode any gratitude she’d felt from his comfort earlier. Had he just called her stupid?

They stared at each other in silence. Their stand-off lasted until the dust and mold in the basement tickled her nose, and she sneezed.

Daric muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “stubborn.”

“I don’t get it. Why are you so angry? I’m the one with the problem here.”

“You say you have a problem, but you don’t really believe it. You have no idea how high the stakes are. You haven’t faced facts. You’re running around without any help, without a plan. It makes me angry. The people around you care about you more than you care about yourself.”

She was dumbfounded. His words left her mouth hanging open in disbelief. “You don’t even know me.”

“What if I said I’d like the chance to get to know you, before some demon takes over your body or worse, rips you to shreds? You’re making it damn near impossible.”

“I’m not the one who caused all this. That demon is. You act like I did this on purpose.” She was nearly out of breath, her words tumbled out so fast.

“You take foolish risks. Like now. If every use of magic speeds up the process, why the hell are you here, using your magic?”

“I’m the only one who can track him, dammit.” Her voice broke with frustration. “I’m the only one with the ability. What am I supposed to do, sit there and wait until he wins?”

“I thought you said you couldn’t track him.” Daric’s voice was steely, quiet.

He was right. She couldn’t use her tracking. At least, not the way she normally would. “There has to be some way. I’ll figure it out.”

“When you decide to climb down off that pedestal and admit you need help, you know how to find me.” Daric pulled his wallet out of his pocket and took a card out. His fingers brushed hers as he handed it to her.

She ignored the shiver that ran down her back, and put the card in her back pocket without looking at it. For some reason, she was keenly aware of the feel of it through her jeans. She didn’t even protest that it was the second one he’d given her.

“Scion.” Daric bowed his head slightly, in mock salute.

She didn’t like how he said the word. Like it was the lowest title he could think of, instead of the highest.

Daric opened a travel portal. She could see her favorite coffee shop in Philly, PJ’s, wavering in the glow of street lights. She had a sudden, intense longing for a cup of coffee and a quiet corner. If only she could put life on pause for just a moment. But the place was closed this late at night.

He stepped through the portal, then closed it behind him, leaving her alone in the damp space.

She stared at the air where the portal had been, as if staring could bring it back. She’d let Daric leave thinking she was a spoiled, selfish brat. It was for his own good, but it didn’t feel so great. She didn’t want him to think that way about her. She wanted him to like her, more than she cared to admit. She scolded herself for allowing hormones to overrule her judgment. It’s not like she was allowed relationships. She was Scion, a breeding machine for the good of the magical society. She wasn’t allowed to form attachments.

Somewhere deep inside her a voice whispered, “Why not?”

“Because it’s my duty.” She said the words out loud. Even to herself, her voice sounded flat.

She stared down at her name on the floor. Why was her name here, hidden in dirt? A sort of “come and get me” tease? Why was the demon taunting her? How would he know she’d even find it?

Her brilliant plan of checking Chester’s house had turned out to be a dud. She’d found nothing but the remnants of a dead girl’s last moments and lost a bit more magic for her trouble. She had no idea what her next move should be. The demon wanted control of her and the throne. If she could figure out exactly why he wanted those things, maybe she could stop his attack from another angle.

She had one giant dead end and a ritual pushing her right into another. Daric was right. She needed a plan.

She took one last look at her name scrawled in the dust, then made a portal to her bedroom. The back of her neck pulsated as she used that small bit of magic. She rubbed at it, then snatched the Popsicle down from the beam she’d balanced it on, and stepped through the portal.

Chapter 17

Calliope stared at her as she stepped out of the portal into her bedroom. Her sister’s frown filled the room with disapproval, but Calliope had never been one to stop at just a dirty look.

“I thought you said you’d be right back. It’s been two hours, Tari.”

“It took longer than I thought.”

“You sure know how to make Mother angry. And you got a whole group of Sentinels in trouble.” Calliope looked at her. “You look like you rolled in dirt. What happened?”

“Nothing.” She put a hand on her neck. Now that she was back in the House, the tracer had settled down. And she was starving.

“What’s wrong?”

“Let’s get this stupid thing over with.”

“You aren’t wearing that, are you?” Calliope looked appalled at the idea. In her soft blue skirt and white blouse she looked like one of the flowers in the mural above the bed.

Tarian glanced down at her clothes. Dust coated her jeans. Her boots were scuffed. Her tank top had some sort of stain on it. The jacket looked fine.

“What’s wrong with it? It’s who I am.”

Calliope crossed her arms and tapped a foot.

Tarian opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. Twelve Sentinels stood at attention. Two more, along with Advisor Jonus, stood at the end of the hallway. She started toward him, her boots clunking their way down the hallway.

She heard her sister’s dainty footsteps behind her and slowed down to let her catch up.

“Really, Tari. You could at least take a shower.”

“I’m putting an end to this farce, Calli. I have bigger problems.” She rubbed the scar on her arm. By the time the Potentials were officially chosen, she’d be a puppet or…she stopped that line of thinking.

“I have an outfit ready, you know.”

“You sound hurt.”

“I put a lot of effort into it.”

“I’ll tell you what, Calli. If I find the demon and kill him, then I’ll wear it without complaint. I’ll even smile.”

“Tari.” Calliope put a hand on her arm to stop her. “We’ll get through this together.”

She turned on her sister. “That’s just it, Calli. I don’t want you to get through this. I don’t want anyone to have to deal with this mess.” Her voice rose to echo the frustration she felt. “The demon wants to use me. I might not know exactly why, but I can guess, and it’s not healthy for anyone around me. I’m not letting it happen. I need to kill him. Or…” she stopped, seeing her sister’s eyes grow wider.

“Or what, Tari?”

Tarian started walking again. She wasn’t going to spell it out. If she couldn’t kill the demon, then she needed to take herself out of the equation before he used her to hurt anyone else. It was as simple as that. Not that she relished suicide. But she’d do it to keep everyone safe. Especially her family.

After a moment, Calliope followed. They reached Advisor Jonus together. She could feel Calliope’s agitation rolling off her in palpable waves.

“Tari, what would stop him from coming after me? If you…if you weren’t here?”

She stopped mid step. What would stop him indeed. No doubt, if Tarian were gone they’d lock up Calliope in some sort of gilded cage and initiate the ritual on her, since she’d be the only surviving heir. But the demon had already proved he could get into the Cellar, which she’d have sworn was the most secure place on Earth. If he could get in there, he could go anywhere. No hiding place would keep her sister safe. Her mother would have the protection of the Dolphin Throne, which might be enough. But not her sister.

Her brilliant self-sacrifice rendered inconsequential, just like that. She sighed, and started walking again.

Advisor Jonus looked at the state of her jeans, his expression thoughtful, but made no comment.

“I suppose you think I’m underdressed too?”

Jonus bowed his head slightly. She could imagine her mother’s reaction, as well as a room full of men taking in the dirty jeans and disheveled hair.

She turned to her sister.

“It’s an impossible situation, isn’t it?”

Her sister pressed her lips together in a tight smile.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit hypocritical to pretend to be something I’m not?”

“You’re more than just your clothes, Tari. I think it’s rude to show up looking like this. They don’t know what’s going on. All they know is the Call went out and they want to impress you. They’ll all be dressed up in their best and nervous, besides. So be nice; impress them back. Think of it as a deposit in your karma bank account.”

Tarian sighed. It wasn’t these guys’ fault that she was locked into this ritual just when she had a demon trying to destroy her life. And she did have to complete the ritual with someone. Two someones, at least. How would she do that if she never met anyone else? She could pick someone else from her limited pool of friends, but it seemed like a stupid idea to fish those waters twice. She’d rather the next one be with someone she didn’t have to face every single day.

Or Daric Voltain.

“Fine. Whore me up.”

Calli bounded back down the hallway. “You head for the shower. I’ll get everything ready.”

They left Advisor Jonus staring after them. When she glanced back, she saw he hadn’t moved. He just watched.

An hour later, Tarian stood in front of her full-length mirror and saw a stranger.

“I think you worked some serious magic here, Calli. Whoever this girl is, I hope she enjoys herself.” She shook her head and watched the girl in the mirror shake hers in response. Her sister giggled behind her.

“I didn’t use any magic at all. Well, not tonight, anyway. You are beautiful; you just don’t usually bother to show it.” She fluffed a stray bit of hair.

The pantsuit quite literally took Tarian’s breath away. She looked ready for the red carpet or maybe some intimate Hollywood after party. Calliope had used a silky black material that draped in a way that made every feminine curve demand attention. A red sash accentuated her waist, and a sweetheart neckline hugged her breasts. Calli had done her hair loose, and it spilled in soft curls over her shoulders. Diamond beads in her hair sparkled like water droplets against her auburn curls. The sleeveless design showed off the silver cuff on her upper arm.

“Some model should be wearing this on some runway somewhere.” She spun, liking the silky feel of the fabric against her skin.

“Well, who knows? Maybe someday they will.” Calliope smiled impishly.

“It’s not fair,” Tarian shook her head. “You are selling them someone else. I can’t live up to this image.”

“You already do, Tari. Don’t worry. Just try to think of it as speed dating or something. A lot of women would kill for the chance you will have, to pick and choose like this. To get to spend a night with a man without complications or commitments.”

“Except for the whole motherhood part, you mean.”

“A lot of women would kill for that part, too.”

“A lot of women. But not me.” Tarian stared at herself in the mirror. Who was she, really? Lucky. So far, her life had been all about luck. Born at the right time in history, to the right woman, in the right situation with the right power. Strength and power beyond most people’s wildest dreams, and yet what she really wanted was… She didn’t even know anymore. The demon had forced her to think about her life and then taken away the chance to do anything about it, in one swipe down her arm.

“What’s wrong, Tari?” Calliope put a soft hand on her arm.

“Besides the obvious, you mean?”

Her sister turned her around so they faced each other. “Something’s on your mind. Something new. So what is it? Is it Alex?”

“No. Nothing like that. I’m just thinking.”

“About?” Calliope tilted her head to the side. She had the look on her face like a terrier gets when it’s eyeing a bone.

“Just something Daric said.”

“Daric? The guy Frankie told me about?”

“Frankie told you?”

“Don’t deflect. What did Daric say?” Calliope folded her arms but maintained eye contact.

Tarian looked down at her outfit. “He seems to think I take foolish risks. That I don’t plan enough. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m a spoiled brat.”

Calliope smiled, an impish little grin. “So he knows you that well already?”

“You think I’m a spoiled brat too?” She glared at her sister.

“Of course not. You’re an independent woman, Tari. One who usually doesn’t have to struggle much to get what she wants. I call it confidence, not spoiled. But he’s right about one thing.”

“What’s that?” She turned to look at herself in the mirror again.

“You do take risks. But I wouldn’t call them all foolish. Everybody makes mistakes. That’s how we learn. You’re learning; that’s all.”

“Yeah.” She shook her head. She met her sister’s gaze in the mirror. “But can I learn fast enough?”

Calliope squeezed her shoulders for an answer.

“We should get going.” Calliope opened the door and waited for her to leave first. Impulsively, she gave her sister a quick hug.

“Thanks, Calli,” she whispered to her sister.

Chapter 18

This time, when they met Advisor Jonus in the hallway, he smiled, but it didn’t reach his tired, puffy eyes.

“Not sleeping well, Jonus?” Tarian fell into step beside him on their way to the receiving hall, with Calliope on his other side.

“It’s quite troubling, the current events surrounding tonight’s festivities. I’ve been working with your mother on options, but I’m afraid so far we’ve yet to find any palatable ones.”

The news that her mother had been trying to solve the problem warmed Tarian’s insides. Maybe having some sort of conference with her mother and Jonus wasn’t a bad idea. They could create a plan together. She thought about it as they walked toward the reception, to distract herself.

The doors to the hall stood open, and the deep tones of male voices spilled out into the rotunda. Hundreds of male faces, each projecting a magical scent that fought for attention in her nose, greeted them as they entered. She had no idea there were this many men with magic talent in the region, much less this many interested in procreating with her. They all stared at her, and she could tell by the glints in their eyes that most were picturing the ritual as if it were their own private porn movie. She felt like a prize calf on display at a county fair. Get your meat right here, fellas! Plenty to go around!

Calliope took her hand, and they started to pick their way through the crowd. They pushed past men on both sides as they made their way down the walkway formed by a red floor runner. Long tables crowded them on both sides, and some of the men moved into the aisle ahead of them to either greet her or run her over, she wasn’t sure which. The smell of aftershave, ocean, and magic assaulted her from all sides. Tarian brushed her nose with the back of her hand to stem the flow but it didn’t help.

“I had no idea.” Calliope shook her head, her eyes wide as she was jostled from the left. Tarian helped her keep her balance.

“How did I get to be this popular?” Tarian pushed one man with particularly gropey hands out of the way.

Advisor Jonus signaled, and several of the Sentinels stepped in to clear a path for them. For once, she was grateful to be surrounded by guards.

“Advisor Jonus, you didn’t tell me the circus was in town.” Tarian couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“Scion, I assure you I had no idea we would have this many answer the Call. Usually it’s no more than three dozen or so.”

“Oh, gee, only three dozen.” She looked around. There had to be triple that number in the room. It was a good thing this hall was more like a ballroom, or they’d never all fit.

The crowd resumed their conversations; the sound was a bee buzzing around her head that she just wanted to swat away.

“I can’t believe I agreed to come here.” She stared at the rune in the center as they passed over it. It still glowed. She assumed it would until she’d managed to procreate. Calliope squeezed her hand.

Through breaks in the crowd, Tarian saw a long table set up near the front of the room. Several leaders representing all four continental regions of the Northern Hemisphere, plus Hawaii, watched her progress. They looked eager and excited. She’d forgotten that they’d oversee the vetting of this initial wave of candidates.

With this many, the whole procedure would take weeks, if not months.

“I think I should thin the herd.” Tarian smiled mischievously at Calliope. Leaving her sister and Jonus behind, she pushed her way up to the head table. An older leader with a thick nose and gray hair, from the Western region if she remembered right, rose to greet her then stood dumbfounded as she climbed onto one of the chairs and finally onto the table, being careful not to step on any of the cutlery or empty china plates. She accidentally nudged a crystal goblet too hard and it fell over, rolling onto the floor. She watched it shatter, but couldn’t hear the sound over the low rumbling of male voices permeating the hall.

“Men, may I have your attention?” A few men nearest the table stopped talking to look at her eagerly. A few more noticed her standing up on the table, and a general “shhhhh!” went through the audience until it was relatively quiet. All of the eyes in the room turned toward her, expectant, eager, greedy, lustful and a few other emotions she’d rather not notice. The leaders watched her with their mouths hanging open.

“I just want you to know I believe this ritual is antiquated and completely ridiculous.” Her voice rang out loud and clear in the now quiet hall. “I’m not a piece of meat here for your pleasure. If you’re imagining some sort of porn scenario in your head where you waltz in and have your way with me, you’d better leave right now. No matter what tradition dictates, I’ll be the one picking who I will and won’t sleep with. On the day of the so-called official ritual, the first one through the door that wasn’t handpicked by me will lose his manhood. Even if I did pick you, I’m liable to bite it off anyway. And I won’t pick anyone who can’t stand up to me in a fair fight. Arena style. So if you can’t fight, don’t bother.”

She was amused to see several men making for the exit as she climbed down off the table and back to the floor. Losers. Good riddance. She looked around to judge reactions and saw all of the leaders in a frenzied, whispered conversation. She caught sight of Alex laughing to her right. He winked, then gave her a thumbs-up sign. She grinned back. At least he wasn’t acting jealous. So far.

She looked more closely at him. He looked smug. He’d already been the first man through the door, and he very clearly hadn’t lost his manhood. She smiled to herself. Who knows, maybe she’d give a repeat performance. Just for him. Just in case she’d jumped the gun and their little romp was too early.

Heat trickled down her back like slow dripping water. She turned to see the Dolphin Throne casting a glow in her general direction. Soft clicks nudged her ears. Dolphin calls.

Low level rumbles filled the hall as the men resumed their conversations while she continued to stare at the throne.

“What’s it doing?” Calliope reached out to touch the throne but pulled back her hand as the glow reached her. The two of them watched as the glow encircled Tarian for a moment and then traveled out into the crowd of men, none of whom seemed to notice.

“I don’t know.”

Advisor Jonus approached the table with a stiff back and a neutral expression painted on his face.

“Your mother will be here momentarily, at which point dinner will begin.”

A gong sounded, followed by a melodious male voice.

“Keeper Marielle A’Tania Erlea Xannon. Leader of the Society in the American Region. Keeper of the Dolphin Throne.”

Polite applause broke out among the assembled men. Her mother sailed gracefully through the side door and over to the head table in a cream gown embroidered with gold trim. It was modern and sleek, with one shoulder bare. The Keeper could have been her sister, rather than her mother.

“One of yours?” Tarian looked at her sister.

Calliope nodded and flashed a proud smile.

“Well done. It’s fabulous.”

Her mother paused next to both of them, then greeted Tarian with a tight-lipped kiss to the cheek before placing her lips near Tarian’s ear. “You might fight the leaders and tradition, but you can’t fight the magic of the throne. One way or another, the ritual will be fulfilled. The House will have an heir.”

“Is that what the throne is doing? Choosing for me? And exactly how will it get me to follow through with the rest of it?” Tarian looked out over the crowd. She saw a slight glow around Alex. The rest seemed to have dissipated in the crowd. Had the throne marked any others, or was it waiting for her to decide? Or was it merely an acknowledgment that Alex already participated in the event?

“I think you’ll find that, in the end, you’ll want to and that it’s not the burden you imagine. In all other ways, the throne is a tool for us to use. But for this, we are the tool.”

She leaned in to whisper in her mother’s ear. “I’m taking care of things my way. I don’t have time to wait for the process.”

Her mother drew back, startled. She glanced at the throne, then out to the crowd.

“I see.” A ghost of a smile played across her lips before she turned to greet Calliope with a warm hug before taking a seat on the Dolphin Throne.

Tarian had never felt so resentful of a piece of furniture.

She sat next to her mother and looked around at the dining table. Everyone was talking, laughing and having a good time at her expense. The kitchen staff moved swiftly as they served a small bowl of soup. It smelled of pumpkin and spice, and provided a distraction that she welcomed. She raised the spoon to her lips, then paused as she noticed one man in the crowd with his face turned toward her instead of his soup bowl. Well, well, well. Victor Aiello had answered the call. Her gaze met his, stare for stare, over the soup spoon. After a moment, he dipped his head as a greeting and smiled. Tarian nodded at him in return.

She looked down at her spoon. It was unnerving, being stared at that way. He looked…hungry. Had the throne issued some sort of aphrodisiac into the crowd? As if they’d need one.

Tarian looked back at the crowd. Victor continued to stare. His lips curled in amusement in a lazy sort of way. She pointedly looked in another direction, hoping he’d take the hint.

“Is that who I think it is? Wasn’t he arguing with Mother?” Calliope picked up the bowl of soup with both hands and sipped.

Tarian nodded. “Victor Aiello.” She looked down at her soup again. “He keeps staring. I feel violated.”

“He’s not the only one.” Calliope took another sip of soup. “Look to the left, over by the door.”

Tarian casually glanced toward the door. Daric Voltain. He’d changed out of his T-shirt and jeans into a black knit thing that didn’t hide a muscle on his chest. When he caught her looking, he chuckled and his dimple winked at her. She raised an eyebrow at him, and in return he raised his glass in a silent toast. Even from this distance, she could appreciate the way he was put together. Her thigh muscles tightened in anticipation of spending some quality alone time with him.

“Figures.” She looked back down at her soup, making little circles in the liquid with a spoon.

“Who’s that?”

“Daric Voltain. He helped me check out Chester’s house tonight.”

“You didn’t tell me he was so hot looking. He’s staring at Victor, I think, instead of you, now. Who, by the way, is still staring at you.”

“When did my life get to be so complicated?” She asked the soup, not expecting an answer.

“It always was. You just didn’t take the time to notice.” Her sister nudged her with a shoulder. “ Change doesn’t have to be painful, you know. There are worse problems than picking which hot guy to have sex with.”

“Really? Like killing a demon? I agree.”

“I didn’t mean that.” Calliope blushed and took another sip of soup.

A serving girl took away Tarian’s soup untouched, leaving in its place a small plate with appetizers of various types on it.

“What’s the point of this dinner?” Tarian asked as she stared at the plate.

“You’re supposed to meet and mingle with the Potentials. I think it’s so you don’t feel so awkward, you know.” Calliope cleared her throat.

“It’s not working. I’ve never felt more awkward in my life. This feels like such a waste of time. I’ve already started the ritual on my own. I don’t have time to wait for them to go through the motions.” She fought to keep the panic out of her voice. The walls inched toward her. The room swirled lazily around her, and the smell of fried things turned her stomach. “I only have five days left. I can’t spend them sitting here doing nothing. I’ve had enough.”

She jumped up, nearly knocking the chair over in her haste.

“Tarian?” Her mother looked up at her, concern and irritation at war on her face.

“I need to get some air.”

She left by the side door before anyone could stop her, and then stood taking deep breaths in the utility corridor to the kitchens. Workers scurried past, carrying plates and pitchers. More than one glanced her way with a mixture of curiosity and awe. It was the outfit. She was such a fraud. They had no idea. She might be Scion, and she might have magical power, but the demon was stronger. Deep down, she knew it. She’d known it since he sliced through that shield. They had no idea that their Scion couldn’t protect herself, let alone anyone else.

The door behind her opened, and Advisor Jonus hurried out. He slowed when he saw her. “Scion, it’s time for introductions.”

“Are you a robot or something? You can’t possibly be human.”

“It’s not as overwhelming as it may seem right now. Although the room is full of applicants, they won’t all be selected. The vetting process begins in the morning, in front of a committee made up of leaders all across the region. No more than twelve will make it through that process. And you, of course, will select the final three.”

“Gee, that’s good to know. I don’t even know why you bother with this charade. Might as well line them all up right now and have me spread my legs. Don’t you get it? None of this matters.” Her voice echoed off the walls.

“I understand far more than you give me credit for. I know what you are facing, and I know how you feel about this ritual, but the fact remains that it has been called and will proceed regardless of other circumstances or desires. We must, by law and tradition, continue with the steps. You must participate. There is no other option.”

“Seems to me like there is another option. Our house is under attack. I’m under attack. And all you can think about is introducing me to a bunch of strangers?” She turned away from him. “I won’t put other people in danger, not even them.”

She heard him take in a breath and looked back. Anxiety and frustration competed on his face. What did he have to be so upset about? It was her body!

“Scion, what are you planning?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She pushed past him and stalked down the hallway. She wasn’t going to admit that she didn’t have a plan.

She turned the corner and entered the rotunda, so focused on her anger that she didn’t see a man standing in her way until she’d plowed right into him.

Chapter 19

Tarian caught a whiff of musk as strange arms circled her in an effort to keep them both upright. Her face planted into a broad chest, and they both struggled for balance. She tried to pull away while he tried to steady her in a clash of arms and feet. By the time she regained her composure, her fingers had curled into fists and she was ready to hit him.

He covered her fist with one large hand, and his magic tickled the hairs on her arm and in her nose. The knot at the back of her neck warmed slightly. She’d only met a few men with this much latent power, and Daric was one of them. A strong magic signature was unusual in men, but this wasn’t Daric. She looked up.

Victor Aiello looked down at her. The smile that crawled across his face matched the triumphant gleam in his eyes. She jerked her hand away.

“Tarian, I’m glad I caught you.” His teeth were perfectly straight and absurdly white. He was a prime candidate for a toothpaste commercial or government office. “I was afraid after you rushed out that I might not get a chance to apologize for my behavior. How are you feeling?” His eyes traveled down her arm and fixated on the scar.

She covered it with her hand, and then crossed her arms for good measure. “I’m fine.”

Victor raised his eyebrows. “You seem a bit put off by the event tonight.”

She shrugged. “Who wouldn’t be?”

“Agreed. It does seem antiquated, as you said. Still, if I can help in any way, you’ll let me know? Perhaps we can have coffee, get to know each other?”

“Why?” Tarian studied him. Charisma dripped off him. This was a man used to getting his own way, probably by stroking egos of men and flirting with women.

Victor smiled, his lips moving in a seductive sort of way. “I’d love to get to know you under less trying circumstances. Even if I’m not a final candidate, you are my Scion. I would like to know my future leader better.”

The way he spoke, with his head tilted slightly and his shoulder squared, made Tarian think he had no doubt he’d be a finalist, and selected as one of the ones to take her to bed. He had power, status, and obviously money, everything needed to hold a leadership position and earn the right to argue with her mother about…whatever it was.

“You don’t seem to like how my mother runs things, Victor. What makes you think her daughter will be any different?”

Victor’s face clouded and cleared so quickly she thought she might have imagined it. “Parents always seem to think they know what’s best for their children, don’t they? But even parents can be wrong.”

“What about you, Victor? What were your parents wrong about?” She watched his face, but whatever had darkened his eyes was gone.

“They thought the status quo was good enough, that’s all. I’m much more forward thinking. Change is difficult but sometimes necessary, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Maybe. If it’s the right sort of change.” She found herself studying his lips. They were soft, but a bit twitchy.

“And just what sort of change would you like to see, Scion?” Victor’s voice, barely a whisper, drifted to her on the air along with his musky power signature. “Would you like to make a difference in the world? Would you like to have a child destined to rule? Or would you like to step back and let someone else take the reigns?”

The words hit home in so many ways. Tarian stared, mesmerized by them and Victor’s eyes. He’d struck a nerve at the very center of her doubts. She found herself leaning toward him, without consciously trying to. There was something very…interesting…about this man.

Movement behind Victor caught Tarian’s attention and broke the spell. The Receiving Hall doors, opened by two Sentinels, creaked loudly in the empty rotunda and broke the spell. Tarian blinked, then stepped back.

Victor glanced at the doors, then turned back with a hand outstretched. “Scion, I’m taking far too much of your time this evening. I know it’s been a stressful situation for you.” His smile stretched all the way to his hairline and crinkled his eyes as she shook his hand. He leaned in closer to her, both hands covering hers in a familiar, fondling grip. “Meet me for coffee. Perhaps I can help you with your situation.” His gaze flicked down to her arm, then released her.

Animated voices and the sound of chairs scraping against the floor drifted through the open doors.

She saw something flicker through his eyes. Anger? No. More like determination.

“I’ll show myself out. Tarian, it was a pleasure. Think about my offer. Contact me anytime.” Victor smiled, then turned and strode toward the entry.

Well, he certainly didn’t lack confidence. She stared after him. He was cool composure and fashion, bundled up with a magic string.

Voices behind her erupted into a flood of men. Dinner, it appeared, was over. They quickly engulfed her in small talk, each one trying to shake her hand and give his name. Faces, names, body scents, magical signatures and an undercurrent of desperation surrounded her.

It took a few moments to realize the desperation was all her own.

Every time she tried to escape, another man stopped her. She glimpsed Advisor Jonus in the crowd pushed her way toward him with the thought of telling him off. He had to have opened the doors on purpose. By the time she made it halfway to her destination, he was gone.

In exasperation, she planted both feet, crossed her arms and painted a “go away” expression on her face. She saw a few hesitate, but most weren’t deterred. She was the star of the moment, whether she wanted to be or not. All these men wanted a piece of her. Literally. Resentment burned in her chest. It was one thing to offer herself to a man in the heat of passion. It was quite another to be forced to procreate for the good of the masses. It was a violation. It was primeval.

It was really bad timing.

The tension in her shoulders reminded her of exactly what she should be doing, and it wasn’t fending off men rutting around for a chance to spread their seed.

As the crowd thinned, she caught sight of Daric Voltain. He leaned against the receiving hall door with that damn dimple displayed without shame or apologies. She couldn’t help looking at him in between each male body that demanded attention, or her hand, or a kiss. His eyes danced as he watched her fend off each suitor. When she finally managed to push off the last Potential, she confronted him with all the righteous indignation she could muster.

“I’m glad the whole situation amuses you.” She crossed her arms. Her forehead hurt from maintaining a frown for so long.

“You should see your face. You look like you just ate something sour. Then again, maybe you did. I take it from your display in the dining hall that the Call was not your idea.”

“Of course not. What woman in her right mind would have set up something like this?”

“I believe, if you check the histories, that it actually was set up by a woman. She had her reasons at the time, I’m sure.”

“I’d like to give her a few reasons why she can kiss my ass.”

“I’m not sure you appreciate the culture of this area. Years ago, women picked among multiple partners to join them at night. Marriage, commitment, is a modern affliction. I’m sure the current rules are nothing more than a reflection of every day life as it was then. Which doesn’t sound half bad, actually. At least from a woman’s point of view.” Daric paused. His lips twitched as he surveyed her outfit. “You clean up good.”

His eyes might as well have been lasers. They created heat as they studied her body until she was sure her face was scorching red.

“You clean up fast.” He did look damn good in the tux he wore.

“It’s odd timing, don’t you think? The Call, just after you’ve been injured?” Daric glanced down at her arm.

It wasn’t odd at all. The throne had reacted to the threat on her; that was all. But she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. “How did your visit to that family go?” Anything to distract him from the subject of that damn ritual.

“I was unavoidably delayed.” Daric moved until he stood close enough that she could feel the heat from his body blending with her own. “I found something that needs investigating. I was hoping you’d join me.”

“I have other things I need to take care of, Daric. Besides, weren’t you the one who left in a huff over my risk taking?”

“I’m asking for your help. I’ll be there to mitigate the risks, and I think I can help you formulate a plan of attack.” He simply stood there, his eyes burning a path into hers, his breath caressing her cheek and his body heat melting the tight knots in her stomach.

She put her hands on his chest to push him away, but instead of pushing she found herself leaving them there to absorb the warmth. He put his hands over hers, and the lower part of her body melted. She wondered if he could tell. She hoped not.

“I wouldn’t ask, because I know what it will cost. But I need to track a child who’s in danger, and you’re the only one I know with that talent. And I believe this is tied to your own issues. We might be able to kill a few birds, or maybe a demon, with one stone, so to speak. And save a girl at the same time.” Somehow, he made the entire statement sound like an invitation for something that involved sheets and low lighting.

A cough behind her caught her attention, and she looked back over her shoulder. Alex stood near the hallway, his gaze fixed on Daric in a stare full of malice.

Tarian pulled her hands back, but not before Daric pushed a piece of paper into her hand. She slipped it into her pocket without looking at it.

“Get something to eat because I’m pretty sure you didn’t bother in there. You need your strength. But don’t wait too long.” He took her hand and kissed it, keeping his eyes on hers the entire time. She found it strangely seductive and tried to ignore the warm wave traveling from the back of her hand and up her arm as she ripped her hand away.

“This outfit suits you a lot better than the leather pants, but I like the jeans the best.” He winked at her, then created a portal and stepped through.

Was he asking for her help with a case or trying to seduce her? Or both? She pondered what he’d said. He needed a tracker. And a little girl’s life hung in the balance. A little girl somehow tied to her demon problem. She wondered why he didn’t just come out and ask, and then remembered Alex standing like an overbearing chaperone. Daric didn’t want an audience for some reason.

Curiosity burned through her. Why keep something like this a secret when everyone kept telling her to accept help?

She turned back to give Alex a piece of her mind for being a jealous idiot. Clearly their little adventure had changed things, despite his promise to the contrary. But he’d been replaced by her mother and sister, with several Sentinels lined up behind them. She remembered what her sister had said about extra security and about Tarian not being allowed around the portals. It wasn’t going to be easy to get out of here to meet up with Daric, even if she wanted to. She was a prisoner in her own home.

Frustrated, Tarian turned her back on them and stormed down the hallway to her bedroom. Heavy boots followed behind her but no clickity clack of heels. She wondered if Calliope would tell her mother that she had a secret way out. When she got to her room and closed the door, she discovered Calliope didn’t have to. Her carefully constructed back door had been sealed.

Damn it! She kicked a chair, then hobbled to the bed to kick off her ridiculous shoes and nurse her injured toe. If she stayed here, the demon won. Sooner or later, he’d have her power and she’d be his. Didn’t they see that? She had to get out of here. She had to find the demon and stop this before it was too late. She had to help Daric save a little girl from the same fate as Chester. Nobody deserved that. Nobody. Well, maybe one person. The demon sure deserved it.

She paced over to the mirror. The girl she saw there was completely clueless. A trapped princess, all dressed up and ready for market. No, thank you. She ripped the sparkling beads out of her hair, then stripped off the outfit her sister had made. She wanted to rip it off, but love for her sister made her slow down and be careful with the buttons. Once she had it off, she threw it onto the bed.

A soft knock on the door followed by “Tarian?” made her clench her teeth. Calliope.

“Feeling guilty?” She shouted through the door on her way to the closet. She needed jeans. T-shirt. Denim jacket. She needed to be herself.

“Tari? Please. Let me in.”

“Go away.”

“I didn’t tell, Tari. Mother and Jonus found it while you were out.”

Like hell she didn’t. She pulled on her jeans, shoving one leg through and then the other as if the jeans were fighting back.

“I brought a cheesesteak.” Calliope’s tone was singsongy.

Tarian’s stomach growled in response and her mouth watered. Dammit, she really was hungry.

“Look, I know you’re mad. But I think you’re going to want to hear this. Don’t make me shout it through the door.”

Tarian snorted. What could her sister possibly have to say that she needed to hear? Unless she had another way out of the House. The thought made her pause. There was a serving entrance, used to bring in supplies, and food. The tiny entry behind the kitchens was usually guarded, but only buy one or two Sentinels. The kitchen always entertained a few people, even at odd hours of the morning. Surely the guard back there hadn’t been increased. She could sneak around one or two people, especially if Calliope helped to distract them.

She pulled on the T-shirt and crossed to the door and opened it, letting her sister in. She grabbed the plate Calliope held and sat down to eat the sandwich. She hadn’t realized just how hungry she was until this moment.

“Spill.” She took another bite, savoring the juicy beef. Heaven.

“When I left, the archivists were close to an answer. They seemed to be arguing about it actually.”

“They know where to find the demon?”

Calliope hesitated. “Not…exactly.”

“This is what you came to tell me?” Tarian took the last bite of the sandwich.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to rush out of here?”

“Maybe because I am. Daric needs my help to save a little girl, and thinks he might have a solution to my problem. Tonight. The longer I wait, the worse this is all going to get.”

Her sister frowned. “Why can’t you can take a team with you?”

“Nobody here would go with me, Calli. They’re only interested in incarcerating me.” She watched as her sister gently picked up the outfit she’d worn earlier and placed it on a hanger. It really had made her feel feminine and beautiful.

Or maybe it was Daric who’d made her feel that way.

“I don’t think you should go out alone, Tari. Forget the ritual and all that. I don’t want to lose my sister.” Calliope turned to put the clothes back in the closet.

“You aren’t losing me. And I won’t be alone. Daric will be there.”

“Can you trust him?”

Could she? She didn’t really know him at all but somehow, she did. She trusted him. “I think so. He seems…familiar somehow. Like I’ve known him for years.” She crossed to the door, but Calliope stopped her before she could open it.

“Tari, wait. I need to tell you this. I checked with the archivists after you left dinner, just to see if I could start them on another query. They told me to tell you ‘beware of danger from within’ and that you should ‘knowledge is key.’”

Tarian turned the words over in her mind. Danger from within. Within herself? As in the tracer? Like she needed a hint about that. Knowledge is key. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“No idea. They wouldn’t tell me anything else. They wanted to tell you directly. It sounded like they have to tell you, personally. I think you should go talk to them.”

“I will, but not right now. It’ll have to wait. I’ll go to them when I get back.”

Tarian pulled the paper Daric had given her out of her pocket and studied it. All he’d written was “PJ.” Well, that was easy enough.

“Let’s go get another sandwich.” She grinned at her sister.

Chapter 20

Tarian stood outside PJs, trying her best not to have flashbacks. The morning sun didn’t warm her skin, and memories of the demon struggle in the alley next to PJs tied her blood in cold knots. She’d never been timid, far from it, but she was a bit unnerved by being so close to the alley where she’d been attacked. Damn that demon for making her hesitate. She couldn’t afford to be weak. Not now.

Calliope hadn’t wanted to help her sneak out, but in the end she’d done it after Tarian explained what she’d seen in the basement, and how another little girl might suffer the same fate. Calliope loved children and her soft heart relented despite her misgivings. Her sister distracted the guards while Tarian made a portal in the entry off the back of the kitchen and popped through before anyone could stop her. She closed it as soon as her feet touched the sidewalk on the other side.

Her blood and power both trudged through her veins. Slow. Too slow. Maybe the demon had already stolen enough power to make a real dent. The thought chilled her.

She needed coffee, for the routine if not the caffeine. At least it would get her blood flowing in the right direction. She got in line and ordered her usual, then moved over to the condiment bar to stir in cream. A decent sized crowd filled the place, mostly tourists or people on their way to work. They filled most of the small round tables, but she spotted a vacant couch in the back.

“No sugar?”

The deep voice behind her sounded amused, and the touch of warm breath on the back of her neck sent shivers all the way to her groin. Damn the man!

“Definitely not.” She threw the stir stick away and turned. He had the same grin and dimple on his face he’d worn earlier, like she was a source of perpetual amusement. “So what’s the plan?”

“Sit with me for a minute. I’ll explain while you drink up.”

They moved to the empty couch. She sat in one corner so she could face the door to the place. Happy faces all around. No demons. Yet.

Instead of taking the other corner, Daric sat next to her so their thighs touched. It perked her up in a way the coffee hadn’t, and her groin pulsed in response, which she refused to acknowledge. Her hormones could just learn to take a back seat.

She raised the coffee to her nose and inhaled. One of life’s pure joys, this coffee. Not only did the smell promise the delights within, but it temporarily overloaded any magical signatures on the air that might be infiltrating her nose. It was a reprieve she loved, especially around the House filled with so many in a fairly small location. She sipped, and closed her eyes to savor it, and the short absence of Daric’s heady signature, for a heartbeat.

“You going to drink that or make love to it?” His eyes crinkled and his dimple deepened as he watched her.

“I might do both.”

He laughed, then his expression turned serious. He reached into his front pocket and pulled out a necklace, which he laid across her leg. It sparkled against the denim.

“What’s that?” She picked it up. A small blue crystal on a silver chain caught and held the light.

“I’m trying to find the girl who owns it. She’s about 12. Been missing for over a week, from Chester’s neighborhood. No registered magic talent in her or her family.”

“So no Sentinel attention.” Tarian nodded and ran her fingers over the smooth stone. It gave off a slight vibration, enough to tickle her nose. If the girl didn’t have overt talent, she certainly had some latent ability. This thing hummed with energy.

“And no police attention because of the neighborhood. She’s been written off. I’ve been able to follow her movements up until she was grabbed out of that park in the Mansion. She was walking with her cousin when two men pulled up in an old clunker and grabbed them. They must have used magic, because after the initial struggle both girls got into the car on their own. The description fits Mark Chester and his cousin, Kevin. Now that they’re both dead, my leads have run dry, and judging by what you found in that basement she’s running out of time.” Daric put a hand on her thigh. “Can you track her?”

Warmth ran up her thigh and onto her back from the contact, but she ignored that and stared at the necklace. If the girl was alive, sure. But she’d have to use magic. Magic that felt sluggish and somehow less than the day before. Not by a lot, but enough to make her uneasy. Just how many times could she use her power before the demon gained control?

“Why didn’t you say all this back at the reception? Why keep it a secret?”

“I figure they’re keeping a tight lid on you now. I knew if I asked through proper channels, they’d tell me to shove it. I wouldn’t blame them. I almost told myself.”

She nodded. “How is this related to my little problem?”

“It’s just a hunch. The girl who was killed in that basement, these girls, you…it’s a pattern. Your name on the floor. Call it a gut feeling.” He glanced at her arm.

“You think the demon is collecting blood from more than just me?”

“Can you track her?”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I don’t know. What I do know is, if he needs these girls, we might be able to use them to flush him into the open. If she’s still alive, then he’s not finished with whatever it is. He’ll have to come back to check on her or to finish up. We save the girls, then get backup and be waiting for him.” Daric squeezed her leg. “You, me, and maybe some of your friends.”

“You mean Alex.” It felt odd, talking about Alex with Daric. It also felt odd to realize how quickly she’d placed the “friend” label on Daric.

“And anybody like him. Muscle is always useful. So, can you track her?”

She thought for a moment. The girl in that basement, and the horror of what happened to her, still lingered. Now another girl, only 12 years old, was in the demon's hands. Her and her cousin and possibly even more. She couldn't just leave them there. Not when it might be her own fault these girls were being attacked. They'd done nothing to deserve this. Even if it didn't solve her own problem, she'd still do it.

She gently removed his hand from her thigh, and then took one last sip of coffee. “Let’s find out.”

Daric followed her out of PJs. Once out on the sidewalk, she hesitated. She didn’t want to use the alley where she’d been attacked.

“This way.” Daric led the way around to the other side of PJs, to a red door embedded in the brick. Inside, narrow stairs made a steep climb to the floor above the coffee shop.

“You live here? I’d drown in coffee if I lived here.” She could smell the aroma even here in the musty stairwell.

“But it’d be a tasty way to go.” Daric opened another door at the top of the staircase and led her into a surprisingly modern, updated loft. It was open, with bright wood floors and very little anything else. It’d do.

“Stand over there.” Tarian pointed to the corner of the room.

“Where’s the trust?” Daric moved to the corner, but she could tell by the slump of his shoulders that he was hurt.

“I can’t concentrate with you that close.”

He raised his eyebrows, and the dimple reappeared.

“I mean your signature interferes with the signal.”

If anything, his dimple got deeper.

“Oh, shut it.” She closed her eyes and folded the necklace in her fist. Deep breath in, then slowly out. In, then slowly out. She let her heart rate lower and entered a near meditative state. If she could do this naturally, she wouldn’t have to draw as much power. Her talent was slow to answer the summon and weaker than she cared to admit.

She pushed the thought aside. It didn’t matter. Finding this bastard and saving those girls mattered.

The hair on the back of her neck wiggled, and an ache immediately settled in as her talent focused on the necklace in her hand. Any use of magic seemed to speed it up or excite it. Her heart pounded at the thought. She’d have to make this quick.

It didn’t take long to get a lock on the girl who’d worn the necklace. “She’s alive.” She took a long, relieved breath. She'd been expecting the worst.

“Where?”

“Hush.”

She turned slowly, letting her magic drift out along the invisible scent in the air. Her nose hairs twitched and fought as her body rotated until she found the general direction of the source. “Not far. A couple of miles, I’d say. That direction.” She pointed at his kitchen.

“What, no address?”

“I’m a compass, not a road map. Let’s head that way, and I’ll take another reading when we get closer.”

“So we need to triangulate?”

She nodded.

Daric thought for a moment, then opened a portal right there in his living room. She could see a large old building in it.

“No security?” She was surprised. Living here, in the city, with a demon attack nearby and he had no shields on the apartment. Brave man. Or foolish.

“No need. Coming?” He stepped through ahead of her. She followed, her fist still tight around the necklace.

When they emerged, they stood in the middle of a broken sidewalk next to a park. Tarian surveyed the area. The park, the row homes…it was the same block she’d landed in earlier, looking for Chester. This time she stood in front of the larger of the abandoned warehouses.

The warehouse huddled against the sky, a stain on the night sky. It was a cozy spot, with graffiti on every surface and boarded windows with the boards half falling off. Weeds overshadowed the walk to the front door. Broken bits of glass littered the ground, along with empty syringes and unidentifiable bits of trash. A rat ran across Daric’s shoes as he walked toward one of the boarded windows. The whole thing shouted, “Go away!”

“You sure can pick the spots. First a dingy basement, now this.”

“Are you kidding? This is perfect for a first date.”

“Is that what this is?”

“Take another reading.”

Tarian glanced around. Even though a lot of the nearby row homes looked abandoned, she could feel eyes looking at them. “Why here?”

“Can’t you feel it?”

Tarian looked closer at the warehouse. “It’s subtle, isn’t it?”

“Easy to overlook, unless you focus up.” Daric pointed to the upper windows.

Tarian looked up. She opened her senses and felt a distinct magic trace coming from the upstairs window, along with a small illusion circling the perimeter. Someone had warded the building against any nonmagical intrusion. It wasn’t strong, but it would keep those with no magic out without even knowing they were avoiding the place. They’d simply walk on by. She didn’t feel any other magic trace. No demon. At least, not nearby.

“Hang on.” Tarian closed her eyes and focused once more on the crystal necklace in her fist. The signal rebounded on her, red hot, making her nostrils flare. She was as close as she was going to get without being right on top of the girl.

A pierce of pain hit her neck and traveled up into her scalp, where a headache bloomed. The demon made a grab for her along the open pathway of magic she’d used. A wave of nausea swept over her. She gasped and shut down her magic fast. Energy rebounded and nearly knocked her right onto her ass.

“What the hell?” Daric grabbed her arms to steady her.

She gritted her teeth, waiting for her stomach to stop flip-flopping. “Demon.”

“Shit. We have to move. I could put up a shield but no telling if it’d work.” Daric nodded to the building in front of them. “That’s made of steel and cinderblock. Natural signal blockers.”

Daric pointed to the side of the building. Tarian followed him down the tight alley between the warehouse and the home next to it. Glass and other debris crunched under her shoes. At the back of the building, a loading dock broke up the brick exterior. Metal steps led to a door to the left of the dock. Rusted locks remained firmly in place on both the door to the dock and the side door.

Daric placed his hand on the padlock hanging from the door. He grunted, and then Tarian felt a tight pulse of magic as the lock broke apart, raining pieces down on the metal steps. The clang rang through the quiet alley. Skitters and screeches answered it.

Inside, they found the entire floor gutted. Empty beer cans littered the floor, strange rusted metal pieces lay here and there at odd angles, and an old metal desk chair with the bottom gone sat alone in the middle of it all like a throne. The stench of decay and urine brought tears to her eyes. Even though they were cracked and filthy, windows set high in the wall let in enough light from the outside street lamps for them to see. One rickety metal staircase rose from the trash on the far right side of the vast space and disappeared through the concrete ceiling to the floor above.

“I’m not climbing that,” Tarian said.

“Well, you’re not making a portal here. You already have his attention, no sense sending him an invitation to the party. Not until we’re ready for him.” Daric opened a portal so they could jump to the level above without taking the rickety stairs.

She stepped through the portal, irritated that she couldn’t do it herself, but seeing the sense behind his words. The second floor housed derelict musty offices. Dust lay an inch thick on the floor. No footprints. No scuff marks. Still, Tarian could feel someone in the building. Several someones. She heard nothing, but the feel of a human presence was unmistakable.

Daric stepped ahead of her, checking each office as he went. They found the girls they were looking for in the last office, lying on the floor in a semicircle with their heads pointed toward the center. Duct tape kept their mouths shut and bound their hands and feet. None of the girls even twitched at their approach.

Red symbols covered all four walls. On closer inspection, she could see the red was dried blood rather than paint. “Scion” was written in neat red letters in the center of the circle at the girls’ feet. Tarian shivered.

Pulling out his phone, Daric snapped pictures of the walls. Tarian moved closer to inspect the girls. The youngest had to be the one who owned the necklace. The child’s chest rose and fell in a natural enough rhythm. They still lived, but a spell held them here. It might just be a simple sleep one. She was too far away to know for sure.

Tarian glanced down at the graffiti on the floor. It was old fashioned, archaic even, to draw a power circle. They weren’t really necessary. Magic was innate…something you were born with, like brown hair or blue eyes. Circles had been used a long time ago as a way to focus power, but it turned out it was more of a placebo effect. If you believed you could focus, you could, with or without the circle.

She’d been taught about them, of course, because it was a part of history. Everyone learned about power circles, and everyone created their own power symbol as part of their naming day. She’d drawn her own over the rune in the center of the receiving hall, the same rune that still glowed because of the Succession Ritual being in full swing. But other than that type of symbolic gesture, she’d never needed one to gather more power. She couldn’t imagine the demon did either.

So why draw one?

“These markings make no sense.” Daric snapped a few more pictures. “Some belong to a couple of different power rituals that I’ve seen, but some don’t. I have no idea what these are.” He gestured to the wall closest to him. “They look like gibberish.”

“Maybe it’s all for show?” She shrugged, and then pointed to the floor. “Why the circle? I don’t feel a lot of power coming from it. So what’s the point?”

“No idea. But clearly whoever it is values this location. It’s not a full circle yet, but when it is…” Daric’s voice trailed off.

“You think he’s coming back?”

Daric pointed at the girls lying so still on the floor. “There’s only three. This sort of thing needs five, I think.”

“What do you suppose he’s going to do with them?”

Daric met her look with a grim one of his own.

She thought of the girl in the basement and shuddered. There was no way she’d let the demon do that to these girls. “We have to get them out of here.”

“Agreed.” He turned to look at the circle. “He’s calling you out again.”

“I saw that. It’s just a taunt.”

“How’d he even know you’d come here?” Daric moved into the circle and knelt by the youngest girl. “I was on this case, not you.”

“Good question.” The demon could have a spy, but the idea didn’t sit well. It would have to be someone very close to her. Only Calliope knew where she was tonight. No way Calli would have told on her.

“Something’s wrong with this girl. She’s having trouble breathing. I can’t break the spell, either.” Daric bent over the tallest girl and felt her wrist, then her neck. “Her pulse is way too slow. Even in a sleeping spell, it wouldn’t be this erratic. He might have drugged them. We need to move them out of this circle and get this crap off them.”

He stood, and then pulled the girl up by the arms and dragged her toward the edge of the circle. Tarian stepped toward the youngest girl. She could carry her out to the hallway, and then help Daric with the last girl. They’d figure out a way to wake them up and get them home once they were out of this room.

“Tarian, wait!” Daric’s shout reached her as her foot crossed the circle.

She realized too late exactly what was going on. Old fashioned or not, this circle contained hidden power, and she’d crossed the line.

Chapter 21

A pulse of energy washed over Tarian. It radiated out toward her with enough force to lift the girls up off the floor as if suspended by invisible strings. Daric toppled as the spell surrounded him. It gripped Tarian with icy claws that scraped her insides, and the back of her neck exploded as though she’d been struck by a rock.

Pain reverberated through her body as the force, energy, spell, whatever it was, centered around the demon’s tracer and attacked the shield protecting it. She couldn’t move. The spell had her trapped. If she’d been able to breathe, she’d have screamed. As it was, all she could do was fall to her knees.

Frantic, she reached for her own magic to solidify the protection she had in place around the tracer. Mistake. Bad mistake. The demon latched onto her power from somewhere and wove it into his own spell.

In the next moment, she felt the outer part of the shield crack. The demon siphoned power through it at an alarming rate.

Something hit her on the head hard enough to knock her over. She struggled, and then realized Daric was trying to break the spell. He grabbed her feet and pulled her out of the circle.

Once they were near the wall, Daric raced back to the center of the circle. From her point of view, he looked as though he did some sort of jig or wild dance. It seemed absurd. Whatever it was, the girls slowly lowered back to the ground. The demon’s hold on Tarian evaporated. She gasped with the sudden release.

The outer layer of the shield around the tracer was gone, leaving the entire thing weak and hot underneath her skin. In those few seconds, he’d stolen quite a bit of her power.

Fear coursed through her. The deadline, it seemed, had been moved up. Just like that.

“Shit.” Daric stormed toward her. “Shit shit shit.”

“Yeah.” She couldn’t even get to her feet yet. She rubbed her neck and shoulders to soothe the cramped muscles but it did nothing to help the headache. Her eyesight blurred with each pulse of pain. “What the hell did you just do?”

He helped her up and kept her steady with his arms around her. “What did he get?”

“Enough.” She forced air in and out in an effort to slow her pulse. Panic wouldn’t help this situation. “He cracked the shield. Dammit.”

“I’m sorry, Tarian. I didn’t realize what your name in the center meant until too late. A targeted spell, a blind one. It would only be released by you. I didn’t think he could act through these walls.”

“I don’t think he was that close. This was nothing more than a well-placed trap, like hunters use to snare wild game.” She rested against Daric for a moment while she tried to get her breath, and wits, back. The warmth of his chest did more to calm her than anything.

“Can you seal it? The shield?”

“On my own? Probably not. It took three women and the Dolphin Throne to put it there.”

“You should get out of here.”

“Not until we get these girls out. He’ll kill them if we don’t.”

“He might kill you if we do.”

She pulled out of his arms and looked into his eyes. “He doesn’t want to kill me. He wants babies.”

Daric’s eyes widened. “The ritual?”

She nodded and tried to take a deep breath to calm her nerves. “I think so. It’s the only thing that really makes sense.”

“Exactly how does the ritual work?”

“It’s not rocket science.”

“I mean, the whole idea behind it is so that the father of the child is not known. What happens if you do know who the father is? What happens if there’s only one…”

“I have no idea.”

“You should probably find out.”

“What the hell could I do about it? If he succeeds, there’s nothing I can do.”

“There’s one thing.” Daric pulled her to her feet. “Move up the ritual. Do your part. Before he gets a chance to do his.”

She stared at him, stunned. He was suggesting she go ahead and have sex with random people just in case the demon was able to… She couldn’t wrap her mind around the thought.

“It probably doesn’t matter.” She’d already started the ritual. With Alex. But Daric couldn’t know that.

“What if it does?”

Beware the danger from within. Had they meant inside these warehouse walls, or within her own.

Tarian looked over at the girls. All three were now back on the floor, unaware that they’d been used. “Why did he need them? Were they just bait?”

“Not sure. The markings make no sense.” Daric stepped back from her but held his hands out as if he thought she’d fall right over.

“I’m fine. Go take care of them.”

“Look, we’re going to figure it out. Everybody has a weakness. We’ll find his.”

“So it’s ‘we’ now, is it?” She knew he was probably offering himself up as a contender for the ritual. She studied him as he moved around the center of the circle, releasing the spell on the girls. She had to admit the thought wasn’t all that unpleasant. She’d already had Alex. No reason Daric couldn’t be the second. That would go a long way to solving one problem, at least. She’d only have to figure out one more.

Groans from the girls pulled Tarian out of her circle of thoughts. With the spell released, all three were able to sit up, and the youngest started crying. They struggled against their bonds, terror in their eyes. The tallest gasped and hyperventilated. Allergies or maybe asthma was making it very difficult for the poor girl to breathe around the duct-tape gag. Tarian hurried to remove it but could do nothing about the labored breathing. Daric placed his hands on the girl’s back, and her breathing eased. Once again she wished she had that healing skill. Her sister had been the big winner in that department.

With the duct tape removed, the girls launched into a general chorus of “Where are we?”, “Don’t hurt me!” and “I didn’t do it!” The words tumbled over each other as the girls tried to gain an understanding of what had happened to them.

After a few soothing words and questions, it was obvious that the last thing they remembered was Kevin and Mark Chester talking to them, and climbing into a car. The oldest had used a fake ID to get into a local club and remembered dancing with him. He snatched the other two from the park a few blocks away. None of them remembered anything once they got into the car. Just as well. They probably didn’t want to know the details.

Tarian looked over at Daric. “It sounds like Chester's main talent was compulsion."

He nodded. "I can only imagine what he used it for."

"It’s not smart to keep them talking here.” She pulled one of the girls to her feet, and then helped Daric with the other two.

Daric coaxed addresses out of them, and then created a large travel portal while Tarian gathered them together and instructed them to hold hands. The travel experience was going to be particularly jarring on top of everything else they'd been through, but it couldn't be helped. She didn't want to call a cab, even if one would come to this forsaken neighborhood. They needed to get the girls out of here fast.

They stepped through as a group, with Tarian holding the older girls’ hands tightly and Daric holding the youngest girl in his arms. As they stepped out on the other side, all three girls gasped, and the asthmatic one coughed a loud barking sound sure to wake the neighbors.

Daric turned to her, rubbed her back soothingly, then set the younger child down to take the other’s face in his hands and stare deeply into her eyes. He looked like he was trying to hypnotize the poor girl. Maybe they'd have been better off leaving them in the thrall of the sleep spell until they'd gotten them home.

When Daric took his hands away from the girls' face, Tarian watched, dumbfounded, as the girl smiled, turned and walked serenely into her home.

Daric opened another travel portal next to the first, grabbed the smallest child by the hand and gestured for Tarian to step through ahead of him. She took the other girl’s hand and dragged her through the portal before any protest crossed her lips.

As they arrived on yet another squalid street, Daric put the smallest girl down to take her cousin’s face in his hands. Then she too smiled and walked into her house. Tarian could hear squeals from inside as the girl was greeted by her family.

That just left the third. She lived so close to her cousin that they walked her home. Daric held her hand the whole way.

When they reached her tiny row home, they stopped outside the rickety porch adorned with plastic Jesus statues. Tarian took in the decor of crosses, nativity scenes, and general religious paraphernalia with interest. She’d never understood the need for this sort of religion, but found it fascinating anyway. Her own beliefs centered on the power in all living things, not some mystical creature in the sky. Still, she supposed that to these people, her friends the dolphins or the archivists, with their ancient magic, would seem as gods.

Daric took the little girl’s face in his hands as he'd done the other girls. Tarian expected the same vacant smile and was ready for the little thing to drift off into her house, but instead, the girl giggled as he finished.

“Thanks for saving us. You don't gotta worry. I won’t tell.”

The startled look on Daric’s face made Tarian smile. So his talent wasn’t all powerful. The youngest didn’t seem affected at all.

“Promise?” Daric grinned at the girl.

She nodded. “You’re different. I like you. You gotta name?”

Daric laughed. “I do. It’s Daric. What’s yours?”

“Kia.” The girl nodded, then looked at Daric from underneath her eyelashes, a sly smile on her face. “You come around here often?”

“I might now I’ve met you. I like you too, Kia. Now be good, and no more walking through the park alone. Okay? Promise?”

“Promise.” She gave a solemn nod.

He gave her a hug, and Tarian handed the necklace she’d use to track her back to the girl. The girl took it and fastened it around her neck, then skipped up to the front door of her home. The girl turned. “Don’t forget to come see me.” She blew a kiss to Daric, then entered the house.

“I think you have a fan.” Tarian laughed.

“Well, I always did have a way with women.”

“What did you do?”

“A memory wipe.” He glanced toward the house. Screams filled the air as the girl entered. “At least, I tried to.”

“So that’s your talent.”

“Useful in situations like this. It’s not easy with this much trauma. I bet the others remember some of it. Hopefully it’ll just seem like delusions.”

“Would it work on me?” She didn’t like the idea. He could just stare at her and wipe her memory?

“No. You’re Society. It only works on nonmagical types.”

Good to know. “So I’m right. The girl has some talent. I felt it on the necklace.”

Daric nodded. “Someone should come back to see her sometime. She’ll need help when she hits puberty.”

“I’ll tell Frankie to keep an eye on her. What about the others?”

“Nobody would believe them if they described what happened anyway. I hope.”

“Any idea what those markings on the wall were? Or why the demon needed these girls in the first place?”

Daric took out his phone and displayed the picture he’d taken of one of the walls.

“Looks like an old-style focus ritual, but I have no idea which one. I’ve seen some of these markings before, but others make no sense.”

Tarian grabbed the phone out of Daric’s hand, but static obliterated the image before she could get a good look.

Daric snatched it back from her. “Hey, watch it! What are you doing?” He tapped the screen, and the static cleared.

“Let me see the picture.” She held out her hand, and her foot tapped a staccato on the sidewalk.

Daric moved the phone closer to her. The static returned. He moved it away. The static disappeared. He shook his head.

“Not a chance. You’re some sort of destructive force of nature. No way I’m letting you wipe these images.” He held the phone away from her.

“Oh, I am not. Don’t be ridiculous.” Tarian darted to the side and snatched it out of his hand. She managed to see the image for about two seconds before even the static disappeared. The blank screen glared in silent accusation.

“Well, shit.” Blood rushed to her ears. She handed the useless thing back to Daric without looking him in the eye.

“Great. Thanks.” He put it in his pocket. “You should go home and catch your breath while I go get more photos of the walls.”

“Catch my breath? Seriously?” She crossed her arms. “Is that code for something?”

“Like what?” Daric opened a travel portal. She could see it led straight to the rotunda.

“You trying to handle me?”

“You obviously can’t go back to the warehouse. At least, not until we have backup. Now that we’ve sprung his trap, he’ll be watching for you. And we need photos of those markings before he scrubs the place. So I’ll get the photos, you go home and get a group together. I’ll meet up with you once I get these markings analyzed.” He gestured toward the open portal. “After you.”

“I don’t know why we have to involve so many people in this. I’ve come this far just fine on my own.”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘fine.’ You have a demon’s tracer in you, and the shield created is cracked. You’re losing magic every minute that ticks by. And you need to complete the succession ritual before the demon gets a chance to do it on his own terms. Exactly what is it going to take for you to admit you have a problem?”

“If I find him, I can fix the problem. I have enough magic left to kick his ass.”

“Look, are we going to have foreplay all day? I can think of better locations.” Daric pointed at the portal.

“I got news for you. It’ll take a hell of a lot more than this to get into my bed.” She stalked over to the portal and stepped through.

Chapter 22

Tarian stormed through the entry and into the Rotunda, her thoughts in turmoil. The man was completely frustrating. And right. Dammit.

She nearly tripped over the small gargoyle-like statue in the center of the room, highlighted by sunbeams. The archivist sprung to life as she reached it. She’d never seen one move so quickly.

“Scion plays a dangerous game.”

“I’m not playing games. What’re you doing out here?”

Voices erupted to the point that she couldn’t make out any words. In defense, she pulled her hands away, breaking the contact. She waited for a count of five, then held her hands out again, and the daemon leapt up. When they made contact, the voices were jumbled but more subdued.

“I can’t understand you all at once like that.”

“Scion must know. Scion is vulnerable. Scion must beware of danger from within.”

“You know, that's pretty cryptic. If you're worried I'll somehow let that demon have his way with me, don't. There’s no way I’m going to have sex with that demon. Not happening.”

Voices jumbled again. She made out “sex,” “join,” “ritual,” but not a lot made sense. This time she waited for them to calm down.

“Scion must beware the ritual and the choices. No treasure is worthy.”

Why did they insist on repeating the same phrase? It wasn't helping her understand any better. She shrugged.

"What treasure?”

The silence that greeted her was deafening. Odd, after her head had been so filled with voices.

“Come on, speak up. What treasure are you talking about?”

The voices stopped. One continued in the silence. “One query at a time. Query is already running. Do you wish to abort?”

“It’s not a query. It’s just a question.”

“One query only.”

“I don’t care what your rules are. You brought this up; now explain yourselves.”

Indignation filled the voices. “WE are not servants.”

“No, you’re not. You live in the House of Xannon. That makes you family. And family helps each other out. Got it?”

The voices muttered. She heard the word “family” repeated several times.

“What treasure?”

“Scion asks the wrong question.”

“Scion thinks you’re avoiding the subject. Are you trying to say there’s something that will help me out of this situation?”

Mutters filled her head. Angry ones.

“But you don’t want me to use it?”

A long pause was followed by an actual verbal squeak from the creature in front of her. They seemed pretty upset for such a simple question. Interesting. Her pulse quickened at the thought.

“What is this treasure? You might as well tell me. If you don’t, how will I know what to avoid?” The argument sounded lame to her own ears, but still.

She waited. They seemed to be arguing. She caught flashes of images. An old woman. A book.

“What’s that book?”

Anger rippled through the thoughts in her head. The creature tried to pull his hands away but she held on tight.

“Oh, no, you aren’t running away that easy. You brought it up. Now you have to explain. What book is that?”

A single voice full of reluctance filled her head. “The Book of Daemon.”

She’d never heard of such a thing. “And what’s in it?”

“Knowledge.”

She rolled her eyes. Well, ask a stupid question. She tried again. “What specific knowledge does it contain?”

“Daemons. Demons. History. Spells.” The voice sounded defeated.

The word “spells” made her ears perk up. A book of spells, specifically for demons? Could there be a spell she could use to stop the demon stealing her power? Destroy him? Trap him? Something? The thought made her almost dizzy with excitement. Or hope.

“Where is it?”

“No treasure is worth the price.”

She let out a long sigh. “He’ll kill me if I don’t get it. He will destroy this House. Is that what you want? You live here too, you know. To me, some things are worth the price. Whatever that is.”

They muttered, then finally the one voice. “Current location is not definitively known.”

Of course it wasn’t. It would be too easy to think the book was sitting here in her own archives.

She had a solid lead to something that might help. Now all she had to do was find it. She could tell by their tone that the archivists had done all they were going to do. She dropped his hands, and the creature dissolved in front of her. Back to the archives, she assumed.

A book of spells against demons sounded like exactly the breakthrough she needed. She’d never heard of it, though she did know of one similar filled with Society information. It wasn’t surprising to hear the daemon had one of their own. She’d have to ask Calliope or Frankie for more information about a book. Except there was no way she would wake her sister right now, not with her so exhausted. She’d start with Frankie and his database.

Angry voices drifted through the partially open doors of the Receiving Hall, startling her from her thoughts. Surprised, she pulled one open further so she could hear better. Her mother appeared to have the upper hand in the conversation, but Advisor Jonus raised his voice and gestured with more animated than she’d ever seen from him.

“Absolutely not. She shouldn’t be anywhere near that woman, especially now. I don’t care what book she’s hiding.” Her mother stalked from one side of the platform to the other.

“Keeper, I understand your concern, but Tarian is the only one who is capable of reaching her. All other ways have been blocked. She won’t come to us. We must go to her.”

“Then I’ll go myself.”

“Begging your pardon, but that’s simply not possible. It will take someone with tracking talent, Air based talent, to get to her. Yours is Earth and Water based, and not compatible. And even if she is able to track the location, I’m not sure it’s possible.”

What’s not possible? Curious, Tarian pushed the door all the way open. “Did someone say tracking talent?”

Her mother paused mid-step. The startled look on her face would have been amusing in other circumstances.

“Who needs to be tracked?” Tarian crossed the room on a direct path for her mother.

“As I was saying to Advisor Jonus, it’s out of the question.” Her mother shot a look of pure poison at Jonus.

He cleared his throat but didn’t look away.

Tarian reached the platform and climbed the three steps so she would be on even ground with her mother. “Does this have anything to do with the Book of Daemon?”

Her mother’s eyes widened. Advisor Jonus coughed.

Her mother turned to Jonus, pure fury in her eyes. Tarian saw the Dolphin Throne begin to glow in response to her mother’s anger and spoke quickly to ease the tension.

“He didn’t say anything to me, Mother. It’s not his fault. Do you know who has the book?”

Jonus looked at her mother, the clear question in his eyes. When she turned away, he cleared his throat and muttered, “It was last seen in the possession of a woman named Sucole Poole.”

“Never heard of her. Do you have anything she’s held that I can use to track her?”

Her mother sat down in the Dolphin Throne and glared at the empty space in front of her.

“I…” Jonus looked from Tarian to her mother, clearly uncertain whether to continue.

Her mother closed her eyes, and a glow from the throne surrounded her. What the hell was she doing?

After a moment, her mother sighed and opened her eyes. The look she gave Tarian was one of exasperation and fear. “Is there any way you can do this from here? From this room?”

Tarian shook her head. “I can’t track from inside the House. Too much interference. And I can’t just give someone else an address. I have to go myself. It’s the only way it works.”

Keeper Marielle nodded, then sat staring at Tarian as if she’d never seen her daughter before.

Tarian took her mother’s hand and squeezed it. “I’ve been trained to fight. I control three elements of power, more than anyone has seen in generations. I can do this.”

“This woman is…difficult. No amount of magic will make her easier to deal with. The book itself is dangerous. I’m not sure the risk is worth it.”

No treasure is worth the price.

“I won’t point out the obvious.” Tarian put a hand on the back of her neck and rubbed at the knot there. Next to a demon, dealing with one difficult woman should be a lot easier. She needed the book. Screw the archivists. “Who is she? How do you know about this book?”

Her mother gestured at Jonus, who cleared his throat again and stepped forward. He held a coin out to Tarian.

“Sucole Poole was once a powerful member of Society, with a strong base in both Water and Earth. She loved research. One day, she followed her research down an unfortunate path with the consequence that she had to be removed from Society. She’s in self-imposed exile, but she left this as a way to find her in an emergency. I’m not even sure how it works. She has knowledge, and she was the last to see the book. If anyone knows where it might be, it’s her. No daemon would give us the information, even if we asked, since the book could be used against them. And if anything could help us in this situation, it’s that book.”

Tarian took the coin and stared at it. It was about the size of a quarter, but instead of a heads and tails it had raised bumps all over one side, and on the other words etched into the metal.

“There are none so blind as those who will not see.”

“Very philosophical.” Tarian ran her fingers over the raised bumps. Braille? “Is she blind?”

“She is…constricted.” Jonus sounded stiff.

“How strong is she?” Tarian looked at her mother, then Jonus. Her mother spoke first.

“It’s not a question of power or strength. She can’t use her magic to attack anymore, or I’d never let you track her down. She’s paying a high price for dabbling where she shouldn’t have.” Her mother’s lips quirked. “A lesson other people should learn.”

“I don’t dabble.” Tarian closed her hand around the coin and let her senses drift along it. A hint of a signal drifted back to her. Wherever Sucole Poole was, it was a long way from the Pacific.

“Tarian. If you do this, you should know she’s not the most reliable of people. She’s been twisted by life and by practicing things she didn’t understand. She can’t be trusted, even though she can do no direct physical harm to you. I’m just not sure the book is worth the price you might have to pay.”

No treasure is worth the price.

Her mother’s words echoed those of the archivists so closely, it gave her goosebumps.

“Does anyone have any clue where she lives?”

Jonus shook his head. “No, Scion.”

“Guess I’ll have to do this the hard way, then.”

“I suppose you’ll ignore anything I say at this point.” Her mother frowned.

“That all depends on what you say.” Tarian smiled. “If you tell me I should do whatever it takes to solve this threat to our family, then I’ll listen 100 percent. If you tell me I should sit in my room and wait for disaster to strike, then I’ll find another way out. Again.”

“Nobody is saying we should wait for disaster. But there’s a time for caution and prudence. A time to plan and strategize.”

“So I’ve been told. We’ve been formulating a plan, but this book could really be the key to success. Everyone else is doing their part to solve this. I have to do mine. You understand that, right?” She kept her hands pinned down by her side instead of rubbing her stomach. “I need to complete the ritual and find a way to stop the demon, or the Dolphin Throne is up for grabs. That’s the reality. And it’s all sitting on my shoulders. It’s not like you can complete the ritual for me, Mother.”

Her mother looked at her so long, Tarian’s face heated up under the scrutiny.

“You have help here, Tarian. Here, you are protected by the magic embedded in the very framework of the house. Here, you have a buffer against the threat. And the throne itself is not helpless. Neither is the person who sits on it.”

“I don’t have the right to call on the throne’s protection, and if I don’t solve this problem I’ll never have the right. Some puppet form of me will. And I’m not going to let that happen. I’m just not.”

“Neither will I.” Her mother leaned back into the chair. “Exactly what do you hope to accomplish with this book?”

“I hope it will show me how to contain this demon, if not completely destroy him. We know where the demon will be. The archivists told me the Book of Daemon has what I need. I believe them.”

Her mother narrowed her eyes. “Is that all they told you?”

She didn’t want to outright lie to her mother, but she didn’t want to tell her the truth either. She shifted from one foot to the other. “They seemed concerned about the ritual, more than anything.”

“It seems you have a plan for that too?”

“I’m working on it.”

Her mother’s lips twitched, but she didn’t say anything. Thank goodness. She didn’t feel like discussing her sex life with her mother.

Her mother nodded. “Tarian, you are my daughter. Your safety, above everything else, is my concern. Please don’t put yourself at risk by rushing in where you should pause and think. Sucole speaks in riddles. Be sure you’ve solved them before you move forward.”

“What harm could a riddle do? I’m not planning on doing anything but tracking her down, asking for the book and leaving. It’s as simple as that.”

“Life is rarely simple.”

Her mother’s eyes were so full of pride, frustration and concern that Tarian felt herself stand straighter. She wanted to be worthy of all of that in her mother’s eyes. “So I’m beginning to understand.”

She left her mother staring after her, Jonus beside her as the ever-faithful watchdog.

Chapter 23

Somehow, Tarian wasn’t surprised to find Alex hovering just outside the door to the Receiving Hall. The entry Sentinels probably snitched on her the second after she passed through the entry. She wasn’t surprised to see the over-protective look on his face or the crossed arms either.

“Where did you go, chica? You know the dudes in the kitchen are being disciplined now.”

“I didn’t mean to get them in trouble, Alex. I had to go out.”

“Out where? What could possibly be more important than your safety? Scion.” Alex stood in front of her, refusing to budge.

“How about a little girl’s safety, Alex? Three of them, to be exact. Three innocent, beautiful girls were ripped away from their lives and their families, because of me. How’s that for a reason?”

Alex shook his head. “What happened? That why Voltain was hitting on you?”

“He wasn’t hitting on me.” She caught the glint in Alex’s eyes and relented. “Not exactly. But yes, he asked for my help in finding these girls, so I helped. Just like I helped you when you asked for it.”

“Yeah, see how that turned out.” Alex puffed air out his nose like a rhinoceros getting ready to charge. “You shouldn’ta done it, chica. You shouldn’t be sneaking out.”

“I didn’t exactly have time to assemble an army, Alex. We had to move fast, and we had to be quiet. You know what happened to Chester. You know what would have happened to those girls. I couldn’t let it. It’s because of me they were even taken.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I really do, Alex.”

“Explain it to me, chica. Make me understand why your life was worth risking.”

“Daric knew Chester and his cousin snatched these girls, but he didn’t know where they were taken. When we found them, it was pretty damn obvious. The demon had them, spelled and ready, in an abandoned warehouse, surrounded by really old ritual markings, a power circle, and my name written in blood on the floor. Not sure what his plan is, but Daric is checking on it. This is good news, Alex. We saved them. They’re alive, because we found them fast enough. And now we’re one up on him. Don’t you get it? We’re a step ahead now.”

“No. I don’t get it.”

“We know the demon will go back there. He wasn’t done with…whatever it was. Now we just need a way to catch him when he shows up.”

“What you mean by ‘we’? You mean you and Daric?” Alex thrust out his chin. “You mean you and Calliope? You and the Keeper? ‘Cause I know you don’t mean you and me.”

Seeing the hurt look on his face made her pause. “You have a problem, Alex?”

“Yeah, I got a problem. My best friend ain’t including me, and she’s being stupid.”

“I had to go, Alex.”

“With Daric, you mean.” Alex clenched his teeth, causing a rigid line along his mouth.

“Dammit, Alex, you knew you wouldn’t be the only one. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You think I’m going to choose Daric and you don’t approve.”

“We don’t know him, chica.”

Tarian stamped her foot. “Hell, Alex, I don’t know any of the others either. I have to do this. I’m not going to keep apologizing for it either. It is what it is.” She blinked in irritation, willing her eyes to stop tearing up.

They stood in silence, glaring at each other. A Sentinel patrol stepped into the room, then quickened their pace when they saw the storm brewing between the two of them. Tarian waited for the echo of their footsteps to fade before she finally spoke.

“What would you have me do, Alex? Sit in my room? Wait it out? Refuse to do the ritual? What? If you were Scion, what would you do?”

Alex looked down at his feet. When he looked back at her, his face relaxed and his eyes softened. “I don’t have the right body parts for that job.”

Tarian thrust out her chest. “Boobs do help, I have to admit.”

Alex rubbed the scruff on his chin. “I guess I’d do same as you. But I’d take backup.”

She put a hand on his arm. “I didn’t go alone, Alex. I think that’s what’s bothering you most.”

“Maybe.”

“I like him, Alex. He’s a good guy. I think you’d like him too, if you gave him a chance. He’s a lot like you, actually.”

Alex squinted at her. “How so?”

“He’s sexy and a pain in the ass.”

They both laughed, the tension fully broken.

“Anyway, if you can handle it I need your help. If you’re willing.”

“You know you don’t even gotta ask, chica.”

“I need a team to help spring the trap.”

“How many we need?” Alex straightened his shoulders, making his white shirt ripple along the arms, every inch the Sentinel.

“I’m not sure. I don’t want to mess this up. There’s a lot riding on it. It’s not just some easy snatch and grab of a drunk who used too much magic in public. This is to protect my family. Somehow I don’t think flashing my boobs will get it done this time. This time, I think we need more…finesse.”

Alex flexed one of his arms. “You mean muscle.”

“I mean power. A lot of it.”

Alex nodded. “You want Me and Frankie, then. And some of his toys.”

Tarian smiled. “Any equipment that will help keep this demon occupied while I do my part is great.”

“What you mean, your part? What’re you up to?” Alex narrowed his eyes.

“For this, we need a little more…information. I’m going to get it. You’re going to get my backup ready. Daric is checking on the markings to be sure we know what we’re facing. When we all have our parts, we’ll put them together and the demon won’t know what hit him.”

Alex studied her face, then shook his head. “Something’s off. You don’t usually ask for backup. It gonna be that bad?”

Tarian moved past Alex toward the entry. She intended to get away from the house and then start looking for Sucole Poole. But she didn’t want to tell Alex that part. He’d want to go with her.

Alex stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. “Something you’re not telling me, chica. What happened when you snuck out? Was Daric a jerk?”

She paused and searched his face. Alex crossed his arms but didn’t look away, his jaw set in stubborn determination. He knew her entirely too well.

"I stumbled into a trap. The demon…" She swallowed, her mouth unexpectedly dry. "He cracked the shield I had around the tracer."

Alex nodded, a gleam of triumph in his eyes. “You should stay here. Let us do this. I promise to let Daric tag along. I don’t promise to save his ass though.”

She shook her head, exasperated. "Look, Alex, I know you want to protect me. But the demon isn't going to come out of hiding for you. He's going to come after me no matter where I am. He’s already proven he can get through the walls of the Cellar. Where the hell can I hide that he can’t find me?”

She put her hand on his arm and squeezed. “If we move fast enough, we can spring our own trap. Then it won't matter that he cracked the shield."

She surveyed his face. She knew that tight-lipped look. He didn't like what she just said, but it was more than that. “What’s wrong?”

“I was looking for you for a reason, chica. Before you rush into an attack, there’s something you gotta see. And something you need to hear.”

“I don’t have time, Alex.”

“You gotta see this.” The stubborn set of his jaw did more than his words to convince her to follow him. He wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. At least, she didn’t think he would.

She gestured for him to lead the way and followed him down the hall and out into the practice yard. A few minutes more wouldn’t hurt.

“They found him this morning when he didn’t report for duty.”

“Found who?” Alex walked so fast she had to double time her steps to keep up with him.

“The asshole who started all this mess. Daryl.”

The name hung in the air.

They entered the Sentinel’s quarters and stopped at the first small room. Alex gestured for her to enter and followed behind her.

Daryl lay on the bed. He looked as if he were in a deep sleep. She stepped closer to him and realized his chest wasn’t moving.

“How long?” She turned to Alex.

“Frankie found him like that an hour ago.” Alex shrugged. “He was checking into the whole Chester thing. When he didn’t show up for duty, Frankie started a search. That’s when I went looking for you and found out you’d skipped.” A bit of resentment hung in the air along with the words.

“So you never got to ask him anything.” She looked around the room. It looked undisturbed. Clothes hung neatly in the closet. The desk looked unused. Just a pair of shoes on the floor. No sign of struggle.

“Have the healers been in?”

“Yeah. They don’t know what killed him. No sign of poison, no bruises, no broken bones. Nada. They’re sending for the guy to check for magic overload or other things before they move him.”

She shook her head. “I don’t feel anything like I did in the Cellar. No red mist. No big magic trace. Just normal stuff.”

“Tari. The guys are getting anxious. That’s two in a week. Inside the house. And both connected to you somehow.”

She turned back to face him. “They think I did this too?”

“Well, Daryl was the one said you did Chester, so now some think maybe he was killed to shut him up.”

She snorted. “Well, he might have been, but I didn’t do it.”

“Most of the guys aren’t that stupid. You’re one of us. But they don't know about the other thing. They don't know about the demon attack on you. All they know is nobody should be able to get in the House and do this. It's making everybody edgy. Not sure what this means. Either someone inside the house is a traitor, or someone is able to walk through walls without us noticing.”

“Or both.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alex pulled her out of the room and back into the arena, which stood strangely empty. Must be mealtime.

“Nothing. Just thinking out loud.” A traitor inside the house. Once again, the thought made skin tingle as though dipped in ice. Daryl had to have had help from somewhere. He couldn’t access the database on his own. He’d obviously sent her out to be attacked. But he had no reason to. Not on his own. It had to be the demon. Somehow he’d convinced Daryl to do this.

Unless someone else inside the house had done it. Was the demon working alone, or did he have help?

Beware the danger from within.

The archivists had warned her. She just hadn’t understood the message. But now, with Daryl’s body laying in that room, she knew what it meant. The chill that settled on her refused to shake off with the warm sun which bathed the arena courtyard. Just the thought of someone she trusted cooperating with something like that… It made her sick to her stomach.

“I need that book.” She muttered the words, but Alex caught them.

“What book?”

“Keep the team small, Alex. Just you and Frankie. With Daric and me, that should be enough.” She didn’t trust anyone else. Not with this. The traitor could be anyone.

“What book?” Alex insisted.

“The Book of Daemon. The archivists told me it has something we need to catch this demon. We won’t win without it.”

“Where is it? How you gonna find it?”

When she didn’t answer, Alex’s shoulders sank. “You’re going out again. To search for it. Alone.”

“Who says I’ll be alone? I’ll take Daric with me. I need you here, getting ready.”

Watching Alex’s face cloud over with jealousy sent a stab right through her stomach. “Just because we had a moment together doesn’t mean I’m tied to you, Alex. You knew I couldn’t be. You said it wasn’t a big deal. It wouldn’t change things. You knew I couldn’t make promises. You knew there’d be others.”

Alex worked his jaw again. “Does it gotta be him?”

“What do you have against Daric Voltain, Alex?”

“Just seems convenient, him showing up at all the right times in all the right places.”

“He wasn’t in that hallway when you convinced me to pick you first.”

She watched the color brighten Alex’s cheeks. She should have known. He couldn’t help it. It was his Latino passion talking now. His brain might have understood that it was a one-time thing, but his heart didn’t agree.

“Dammit, Alex. You promised. You promised it wouldn’t change things.”

Alex ran his fingers through his hair, let out a growl, then sighed. “I know.”

“I need my friend to be a friend.”

“A friend wouldn’t let you rush off into danger without backup. Daric should respect that.”

“I think he respects it more than you give him credit for.” Even if she wanted Alex along for company, she wouldn’t do it now. The two men squaring off at each other would be too much of a distraction.

She watched his face. He understood, but he didn’t like it. The frown, the crinkled eyebrows, the set jaw, the stiff arms spoke far louder than any words.

“I don’t want to lose my best friend.” She whispered the words, because it hurt to say them. Her heart might break.

He surveyed her face, then dropped his defensive posture and relaxed. He swept her up in his arms in a giant bear hug that nearly crushed her rib cage. “You won’t. I promised, right?”

He put her back on her feet, and she pulled his face down to plant a kiss on his cheek.

His hand covered the spot, and he acted like he might faint. She laughed. So silly! That’s why she liked him.

“I hate to say it, but promise you’ll take him. Don’t go it alone, right chica? Take backup. It’s just smart.”

She punched him in the arm. “I’ll think about it. You and Frankie stay on the Chester and Daryl train. Something shady is going on. I need all the eyes I can get.”

“On it.” Alex ruffled her hair, and then took off for the locker rooms.

She watched him go. Men. She’d never understand them.

Chapter 24

Back in the entry alcove, Tarian opened a portal lost in thought. The tracer in her neck bumped against her internal shields and pushed at the weak spots, sending tiny shoots of pain up the back of her head. The constant reminder of the demon’s hold on her was really starting to get on her nerves. Her power drifted away each time she used it. If she focused on the implications, she’d lose her mind long before the demon had a chance to steal her body. She took a deep breath and stepped through to a small beach on the island of Kauai, just across from their island home.

She stood for a moment on the black sand and looked back. At this distance the House of Xannon looked small and insignificant, more like the abandoned military compound it pretended to be, just a series of rocky caves, than a home. She wouldn’t trade it for anything, even PJs coffee in Philly. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the salt air. The scent of flowers, a roasting pig somewhere in the distance, and the unmistakable tang of ocean filled her with contentment for that brief moment. She let her senses roam. Waves rushed the shore to greet her, and a slight breeze played around with her hair while she let the sun warm her face. Accepting the sun’s rays always lifted her mood. For the moment, here on this secluded beach with the sea wind caressing her skin and the ocean licking at the shore, she could forget almost anything. Almost.

The image of the dead girl from the basement flashed through her mind and her serenity shattered. She opened her eyes and stared at the water as it moved in and out. The girl had been young. Probably full of hope and plans and dreams. She’d most likely had a family and friends and people who loved her. The demon should pay for destroying her life. Even though he’d killed Chester too, it was the girl that bothered her most. Chester had been in on the whole plan, and he’d not been the nicest of people before that. Most likely nobody missed Chester, or his low life cousin.

But someone, somewhere missed that girl.

Tarian studied the coin she still held in her hand. Sucole Poole was so far away she couldn’t even determine which direction to travel. Getting to her was a risk. A huge risk. Every use of magic would send more of her power to the demon. She’d have to make each use count.

Don’t go it alone, right chica? Take backup. It’s just smart.

Alex’s advice still echoed in her ears. He was right. She’d had no intention of bringing the two people she trusted most along for this part of the plan. If something went wrong looking for Sucole, really wrong, she needed him and Frankie to look after her mother, Calliope, and the house. She’d tried to explain it to him over the years but he didn’t seem to hear the words. He thought those words included her. Usually, they did.

But not today.

If you decide to climb down off that pedestal and admit you need help, give me a call.

She should swallow her pride and ask Daric to join her. Just as backup. Not as foreplay, despite what he thought. She kicked the sand and watched as a small piece of lava rolled drunkenly along the beach.

Daric could make the portals for her, which would conserve her energy and make it harder for the demon to follow her or siphon any more than he already was. Alex was right. It was just smart.

Of course, first she needed to find him. The last two cell phones Frankie had forced on her both died in a few short hours. She’d have to track Daric, rather than call him.

She fished his business card out of her back pocket and closed her fist around it, letting her mind focus on the lingering scent and signature of his talent. Her nose filled spice as she pictured him in her mind. His eyes, brown and full of heat. His arms, which folded around her as she thought of them. The warmth he generated down her spine when he spoke. His signature, strong and sure and a close match for her own.

Tarian stood on the beach, the wind whipping her hair, and simply drank in the vision of Daric she’d created.

When it felt so real that she thought he stood beside her, she let her mind drift out along his wave, an almost palpable, tangible, string in the atmosphere which attached her to him. She fixed on Daric’s location within seconds, and breathed a sigh of relief. Everything seemed to be going so haywire lately. It was nice to have something work like it should, for once. She knew where he was from the direction. He was either in PJs, or in his apartment directly over it. She could almost see what he saw, so strong was the connection.

Before she could change her mind she opened a portal. Ignoring the throb in her neck as the tracer reacted to the power, she stepped through to Daric’s apartment.

It didn’t surprise her to find him sitting on the sofa, watching her arrive. It did surprise her to find he had two cups of coffee from PJs on the coffee table. She raised her eyebrows at the sight of them.

“I’m that obvious?”

“Maybe this is for someone else.” Daric picked one up and sipped, then leaned back. He wore jeans, a black t-shirt, and a grin. Her pulse throbbed, along with other body parts, at the way his body owned the couch. The thought of the two of them on that couch naked rushed blood to her cheeks. She coughed, then took the other coffee to distract herself.

She took a sip. Her favorite blend, cream, no sugar. Just the way she liked. How the hell had he known she’d be here? She glanced at him and found a look of satisfaction. She focused back on the coffee.

“You didn’t risk making a portal just to have coffee, did you?” Daric took a sip himself.

“I need to track down a woman who might have a book I need.”

“What book?”

“The Book of Daemon.” Another sip. Another glance up. He looked intense. She looked back at her coffee and kept her tone casual. “You know it?”

“My mother is a teacher.”

“Have you seen it?”

Daric put the coffee cup down on the table and leaned forward, his arms resting on his thighs in a way she found extremely seductive. “Not personally. But I know it’s a very dangerous book. Not one humans are meant to have. Why do you think it’ll help?”

“The archivists told me it would. I think there’s a spell, or power of some sort, which will trap the demon. If I can do that, before he does it to me, then problem solved.”

“How will you know which spell?”

She didn’t have an answer, so she deflected. “Does your offer still stand?”

Daric stood up and ran a hand through his ruffled hair. She could almost feel the silk against her own fingers, which twitched in response. The dimple reappeared on his cheek. “Are you asking me for help, Scion?”

“I’m asking you to join me. And I’m going to smack you if you call me ‘Scion’ one more time.”

Daric laughed. It was a deep, rich laugh that made her grin in return.

“We’ll save the smackdown for later.”

“Jerk.” She took out the coin and showed it to him. Daric reached out to take it. His body radiated heat in a way that made her want to snuggle. Damn the man, how was she supposed to concentrate with him doing that?

“Braille?” He examined both sides of the coin before handing it back to her. She might be imagining things but she could swear his fingers lingered on hers.

“No idea why. Nobody could tell me.” With the coin folded into her fist, she let her senses drift out along the signal Sucole had left on it. She’d jumped from Hawaii to Philadelphia, and Sucole remained the same distance away as she’d been on the island.

“Have you ever been to Europe?”

Daric’s eyes held confusion and amusement. “I have family in Ireland I visit from time to time, but if you’d like to meet my mother she’s in Boston. Why?”

“Sucole isn’t anywhere near us, and she wasn’t near Hawaii either. We need to start further away. If you know a place?”

“One portal coming right up.”

The portal he created shimmered in the living room. Tarian could see a lot of trees in it. Daric gestured toward it. “After you.”

Tarian stepped through and out into the most lush rolling hillside she’d ever seen. The islands around Hawaii were mystic and beautiful, but they also had their desolate, barren sides. On most of the islands, including hers, one side got all the rain and active plant life, the other side held scruff weeds and dirt. She avoided those parts.

There was certainly nothing desolate as far as she could see here.

“Get anything?”

“You have family here? It’s gorgeous.” Her heart felt full as she looked at the landscape. A tree nearby, limbs so heavy with leaves it threatened to fall over, leaned into a babbling stream. The air smelled rich with grass, and earth, and a bit of manure. Somewhere in the distance a cow called out for food. They stood at the edge of a meadow so full of flowers it made her eyes hurt. It was breathtaking. It felt strangely like home, even though she’d never been. She could see a house nestled among trees in the distance. Peace permeated everything. She could die happy, right here.

“I have family scattered all over, but my grandparents live just over there.” He pointed to the house. “I’m sure they’d love to meet you, but now’s not the time. We go now, we’ll be there for weeks.”

“Right.” Tarian gripped the coin and searched. Sucole remained the same distance away. How was that even possible? “I think we over-jumped. She’s still the same distance away.”

“Not very precise.”

“I told you, I’m a compass, not a map.”

“Let’s try somewhere in the middle.” Daric opened another portal and gestured for her to step through.

She emerged onto a beach and glanced around. They stood on an isolated stretch of beach, bordered by palm trees and low brush. The ocean smelled different here, somehow, though the calm in and out motion of the waves was the same as home. One thing, though was very different.

“I need to get out more. Pink sand?”

“Bermuda. Great place for a vacation.” Daric took her hand and wrapped his around it.

Deep inside, something tingled and lurched. It wasn’t the tracer. Her neck remained still. She stared at her hand encased in his. Warmth spread from his touch up her arm and into her chest. Her body reacted to him without her mind even being engaged. It wasn’t like with Alex. Alex was comfortable, friendly, safe. Daric was new, exciting, dangerous, raw heat, and something else she couldn’t define.

He looked into her eyes. His breath joined the warm breeze across her cheeks. She could smell the traces of coffee, and the spice she’d come to associate with him. Her lips parted, ready for the kiss she was sure was coming. She leaned toward him.

“Try to track her again.” His whisper caressed her ears and cheek.

It took her a moment to process what he’d said. Her body was so ready for a kiss. She quashed the flare of disappointment. Now was definitely not the time, even if the place was definitely very right.

She tried to pull her hand away but he held tight.

“I want to see if I can follow along, or maybe amp up the signal. If you don’t mind.” Daric’s lips twisted in a half smile.

She nodded. It was a good idea. It would be better if her body weren’t betraying her with all kinds of signals she didn’t need right now.

Damn the man, why wasn’t he affected the same way she was? He might as well be holding hands with his sister, if his expression was any indication.

She licked her lips, then closed her eyes. It enhanced the warmth of his hands on hers. The feel of skin to skin. The thought of her flesh touching his. Focus. She needed to focus.

“Relax.” His whisper sent a thrill of anticipation down her spine.

He squeezed her hand, and then sent a surge of power into her. She took it and blended it with her own, as she would with Calliope, only a little surprised that he could do it too.

The knot in her neck turned into a jumping bean of frenzy, and her shoulder muscles tensed.

She swallowed, and did her best to ignore the churning in her stomach. Her senses drifted out along Sucole’s signal once more, buoyed by the influx of power from Daric. Once again, she remained the same distance away.

Frustration built up inside her and made her head hurt. Or maybe it was the demon deposit in her neck doing that, or the muscles along her back as they cramped. She tore her hand away from Daric and backed away to sever the link-up. He shook his head.

“I have no idea how you do what you do. I got nothing.”

“That makes two of us.”

“You didn't get her?”

She sat down on the beach. “No.”

“The demon?” Daric sat next to her.

“I don’t think so.”

She picked up a rock and threw it, missing the water by at least three feet.

How was it possible? Usually she could triangulate fairly quickly to narrow in on her subject. The way this was going, she was aiming blind. She’d clutched the coin so tight it cut into her palm.

There are none so blind as those who will not see.

See what? What was she supposed to see? She knew who she wanted to see. But obviously Sucole did not wish to be seen. She rubbed the coin, willing the braille to make some sort of sense. The raised dots pushed against her fingers. A blind person would understand, but for her they might as well be pebbles on the beach, for all the meaning it held for her.

She watched the ocean, wishing the waves would send her an answer. They rushed in and out, oblivious. “I don’t suppose you read braille?”

“No. I’m sure we can look it up.”

“No time.” She’d left the house thinking she had the answer to all her problems when really all she had was another problem.

Daric nudged her with his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out.”

“It’s as hard to figure out as this beach. Why the hell is the sand pink?”

“No idea.”

“Why is there braille on this coin? I don’t get it.”

“Maybe she only wants blind people to visit.”

“Blind people.” Tarian repeated the words. There was something to that. It had to be important. Why else would it be on the coin? Why would she even give the coin to someone as an emergency way to find her, if it couldn’t be used somehow? Who, exactly, did Sucole expect to come looking for her?

There are none so blind as those who will not see.

“Maybe I should pretend to be blind.” Tarian held the coin tightly in her hand, and closed her eyes. Once again she rubbed the raised dots with her thumb, and tried to understand what they meant without actually being able to read them. She slowed her breath to match the rush of ocean waves and emptied her mind, allowing a calm to permeate her senses. Birds in the background sang a lullaby that lulled and soothed. The warm salt breeze played with her hair.

Keeping her eyes tightly closed, she focused on trying to see Sucole, rather than track her. It was hard, not knowing what the woman looked like, but she allowed an image to form in her mind anyway. A dumpy, graying older woman, with milky blue eyes covered in cataracts and long claw-like fingers. She wore an old-fashioned flower patterned dress with a filthy apron over it. Her fingers were caked in what looked like fungus or something equally foul. She seemed familiar. It was the image she’d seen when she talked with the archivists.

She repeated the name Sucole over and over in her mind as she pictured every detail of the woman she wanted to meet and set her senses adrift on the air. She added in the phrase on the coin for good measure, and continued rubbing the braille with her thumb.

Nothing happened.

After a while she stopped, feeling ridiculous.

“This isn’t working. You’re right. Maybe we should find a real blind person.” Tarian opened her eyes, and was startled to see her surroundings had completely changed. The pink sand was gone. The birds were gone. Daric was gone.

She was alone.

Chapter 25

Tarian sat on a patch of soggy ground about 10 feet around, bathed in gloomy twilight. Ancient trees loomed over head. Moss dripped. Small bugs floated through the air, and slimy water lay in somber stillness all around her island, disturbed only by some sort of insect which skated along the surface. The stench of mold, mildew, and saturated earth permeated her nose and made her sneeze, and her butt was already wet from the soggy grass.

Where the hell was she? Where was Daric? A rush of fear pushed her heart up into her throat as she stood and spun around, expecting to see Daric just behind her. She jumped when she saw the woman she had pictured so clearly in her mind. Sucole Poole herself, she assumed.

She stared, at a loss for something to say now that she’d found the woman. The old woman’s eyes were glazed over, making them look like whitish blue marbles.

“Sucole Poole?” The woman didn’t answer. She didn’t move either.

“Ms. Poole?” The old hag didn’t nod or even blink. Tarian looked closer at her. Something else was missing. Sucole Poole wasn’t breathing, either. Moving forward, Tarian reached out to touch her on the shoulder and felt her hand pass right through. Either a ghost stood in front of her, or this was an image or reflection. Not real.

“Sucole, I need your help.”

For reply, several frogs started a chorus and a mosquito bit her on the neck. She looked down at the coin. It lay there, lifeless. It didn’t offer advice or anything else useful, like an explanation on exactly how she’d arrived in this place and how she could leave, or how she could speak to the image of a blind woman.

“Can you see?” A geriatric woman’s voice sounded all around her. Startled, Tarian looked around. Nothing moved except the wildlife.

“Can I see what?”

“Can you see?”

“I can see a swamp and an image of an old woman.”

“There are none so blind as those who will not see.”

Frustrated, Tarian stared around her. The water, the little patch of dirt she stood on, the frogs, the bugs, it all seemed normal if you were expecting to be in a swamp. What else was she supposed to see?

She’d arrived her by closing her eyes. Maybe she had to go in blind. Maybe that was how Sucole was able to stay hidden for so long.

She closed her eyes, and inched forward with the coin in the palm of one hand and the other outstretched.

“Sucole, Advisor Jonus sent me to you. He said to show you this.” She held her hand out for the air to inspect. Her eyes registered a change in brightness, but she kept them tightly shut. It wasn’t easy, when every instinct in her body screamed at her to see what was going on.

Warmth on her skin told her the sun had come out. A bird twittered nearby. There hadn’t been any birds in the swamp. Then she felt the coin snatched from her hand.

Pulling her hand away, she started to open her eyes but found that she couldn’t. Frantic, she tried to pry them open.

“Do you see?” The old woman’s voice was close to her ear.

“No. I can’t see anything.” Panic started to creep in.

A wrinkled hand pulled her own hands down from her face. Suddenly, even with her eyes shut, she could see. She stood in a beautiful garden. The dirt patch now floated in the middle of a pond, rather than a swamp. Trees and flowers turned toward the sun and birds happily tweeted. Beside her, a beautiful young woman with long flowing blonde hair and gorgeous blue eyes held her hand.

“Sucole?”

“Do you see?” The woman’s voice was a whisper that blended with the chirping birds.

“I see a woman and a beautiful garden. What else am I supposed to see?”

“You do not see.” Sucole shook her head, dropped her hand, and turned away.

“Wait!” Tarian followed after her. “Please, I need your help. I need to know about the Book of Daemon. I need to know how to stop this demon from draining my power.”

Sucole stopped, but did not turn around.

“You look. You do not see. You ask wrong questions. Twenty-four years. You are still a child.” The voice never rose above a whisper.

Irritated, Tarian struggled to open her eyes. She pried them apart, then wished she hadn’t. Everything was pitch black. She blinked, and realized with that the only time she could see anything at all was when her eyes were closed. It made no sense, but then neither did Sucole.

“What the hell is this? What have you done?”

“You look. You do not see.” Sucole started to walk away again.

Keeping her eyes firmly shut, Tarian followed her. Sucole kept walking, winding her way through flowering bushes.

“What question should I ask?”

Sucole stopped and turned back toward her, a slight smile on her face. “Better.”

Tarian thought for a moment. What question did Sucole want to hear? She really needed to know how to stop this demon. But more than that, a part of her suspected there was more to this puzzle than just a demon’s quest to turn her into a puppet. People usually had reasons for their actions, justifications, excuses. This demon shouldn’t be any different. Maybe the real issue here wasn’t what the demon was doing, but why.

“Why is this demon taking my power?”

Sucole smiled, then beckoned for her to follow.

As Sucole walked away, Tarian hesitated. She couldn’t feel the tracer here, but she couldn’t feel her own magic either. Not that she’d tried, but it was something that circulated constantly inside her and at the moment it was gone. Or subdued. She didn’t like the feeling. And it didn't seem like a bright idea to follow a complete stranger, blind, into someplace she didn't know. She felt like a tasty fly buzzing straight into a spider’s web.

"If you would see, you must follow.” Sucole continued to move away. She didn’t so much walk as float, with her long blonde hair billowing behind her.

Taking a deep breath, Tarian followed.

She walked with her eyes closed, even though every impulse told her to open them. Every time she did, a black void greeted her. She stumbled, and tried her best to keep her eyes closed. With them shut, she could see Sucole on the path in front of her. It was like a giant spotlight lit the inside of her eyelids.

The path led into heavy undergrowth. The bushes gave way to tall trees, which seemed to get progressively bigger the further they went. Sunlight filtered through their giant leaves, creating patterns on the path. The earthy smell which permeated the air reminded her of a place she used to visit often as a child. She called it her fairy garden. Odd, to remember that now. She hadn’t visited the fairy garden in years.

Sucole stopped in front of the biggest tree Tarian had ever seen. The trunk was larger around than a lot of apartments she'd seen in Philly. A car could pass through one and not touch the edges. After pausing a moment, Sucole stepped forward and faded into the tree.

“To see, you must follow,” Sucole whispered.

Exactly how was she supposed to follow that disappearing act? Tarian stepped over to the tree and pushed against the rough bark on the trunk. It was solid. She felt along the bark for any clasp or hinge or hint of a knob. Nothing.

"I don't know how to merge with a tree.” Silence met her complaint.

“I don’t get it. Why are you making this so complicated?”

“Don’t look. See.” The woman’s words drifted on the air.

How was she supposed to see, if she didn’t look?

Maybe that was the point. Maybe Sucole didn’t want someone coming into her home with any advantage. Maybe she wanted any visitor to come in blind. A safety measure, most likely, for a woman who could do no magic.

And a leap of faith, for Tarian. She had to trust that she wouldn’t run into anything, trust that Sucole wouldn’t attack her immediately, and trust that this decision wouldn’t lead her somewhere she couldn’t recover from.

It seemed a lot to ask. But, really, what choice did she have?

Tarian opened her eyes, and faced the black nothingness. Holding her breath, she put her hands out in front of her and took a giant step forward. Then another. Four steps later she still hadn't hit the trunk of the tree. She closed her eyes again and discovered she’d passed through the trunk and now stood in the middle of a good sized round room.

Sucole, looking like the young beautiful blonde of the vision above ground, sat in a chair on the far side, teacup in hand. A cheery fire burned in a pit in the middle of the floor. It smelled like incense, although there wasn’t a lot of smoke in evidence. Everything around her, shelves in the wall, a table, the chair Sucole sat in, looked as if it had grown there. Even the fire pit looked like a rock bowl that had simply formed there over centuries. The only thing she didn’t see was a door.

Tarian blinked, and her sight righted itself. She almost cried with relief and rubbed her eyes just to be sure they still functioned like they should.

Sucole rocked, teacup in hand. Tarian looked for another chair but saw nothing, so she sat on the floor by the fire pit. She felt like a child waiting for a ghost story.

“Do you know why the demon attacked me?”

“A good question.” Sucole smiled.

“Does it have an answer?”

“A stupid question.” Sucole snorted.

“You’re right. Obviously it has an answer. What I meant was, will you tell me why the demon attacked me?”

Sucole smiled and took another sip of tea.

Tarian took a deep breath. She summoned every ounce of patience she possessed. It felt like a game, but she didn’t know the rules.

“Why aren’t you talking to me like a normal person?”

“You look. You do not see.”

“I really don’t have time for these games.” Frustration drove Tarian to her feet. This was a stupid waste of time. This woman didn’t know anything and even if she did, she didn’t seem willing to talk. Tarian paced to the edge of the room before she realized she had no idea how to get out.

“You wander a blind woman.”

“That’s why I came here to get help. So I wouldn’t go in blind. But all I get from you is riddles.” She clasped her hands together. The urge to hit something nearly overwhelmed her.

“Life is a game.”

Giving in to the helplessness of the situation, Tarian sat back down on the floor and started a meditative pose. Ignoring Sucole, she focused instead on her breathing. In. Out. In. Out. With her eyes closed, she let her surroundings fade away as she focused. She found calm somehow in the repetitive nature of her breath. She’d need a lot of it to figure out exactly how to communicate with Sucole.

“That is better.” A voice whispered in her ear. She saw Sucole in her mind as the beautiful young woman. In the vision, the two stood in a grassy meadow. Sucole smiled and sat in the grass facing her. Tarian joined her on the ground. A cool breeze gently moved Sucole’s flowing blonde hair in a soft swirl around her face. Funny, the same breeze didn’t move Tarian’s ponytail at all. Then again, she would be the last one to describe her own hair as “gently flowing.” “Bushy mess” was the term she used most often.

“I thought you couldn’t do magic. Is this real?” Tarian looked around her.

“Magic is. Real is subjective. Can you see?” Sucole stretched out her hands.

Tarian took them both, and the two started to spin. The meadow leapt around them and soon it was a blur of color, blue up top for the sky, green below for the grass with dots of color that were flowers whipping by. The colors blended together, then Tarian watched as an image of herself formed in front of them. She stood outside the door to the cell where Mark Chester had been placed. She saw Alex walking away.

Then she moved closer to peer into the door and saw a red blur streaking around the room. Chester cowered on the floor, still incredibly drunk. The blur dodged this way and that, in and out, and as it went, chunks of Chester simply went missing. His mouth was open to scream, but no sound came out. She wondered if that happened in reality, or if this vision simply didn’t include sound. Flesh flew everywhere, until just the core of his body writhed on the ground. His stomach and intestines formed a grotesque trail across the floor of the prison. A giant hole gaped where his heart should have been. Empty eye sockets stared blankly out at her.

She felt like throwing up but forced calming breaths instead. The red blur stopped moving for the briefest moment, and she caught a glimpse of the lizard man from the alley. The demon. He spun around the room, faster and faster until there was some type of explosion that looked like it rocked the cell, shaking the door. Even here, Tarian could see the pulse of magic. Then it was gone, and the blur dissolved. The mist remained in the air, tainting everything it touched.

Exhausted, she dropped her hands and the vision ended. The calm meadow surrounded her, and Sucole sat opposite her once more.

“I see.” Tarian took several more deep breaths of the sweet air.

“You are not a child.”

“No. Not anymore.” She thought for a moment. The demon could easily have done that to her in that alley. Eaten chunks of her flesh until nothing was left. Torn her arms off, like that girl in the basement. But he hadn’t. Instead he’d stolen her blood and now siphoned her power. It made no sense. He was stronger, faster and filled with a power she didn’t understand. Why did he need her?

Whatever the reason, she had to stop him. Because his reason must mean something far worse than simply ending her life.

“I need the Book of Daemon to catch this guy. Do you know where it is?”

“A good question.” Sucole held Tarian’s gaze. She seemed anxious to say more. Why wouldn’t she just speak?

Her mother had called the woman “difficult.” This was more than difficult. It was impossible. Tarian was beginning to sense a pattern to the answers, though. Perhaps “a good question” meant “yes.”

“How do I get the Book of Daemon?”

Sucole sighed. Tarian couldn’t tell if it was from relief or anxiety or something else entirely. Sucole squeezed Tarian’s hands, then once more a vision filled her mind.

Tarian stood…somewhere. At first, the place was a void of white nothing. Then it slowly filled with grass, trees and a twilight sky. It felt familiar, though she’d never been here before that she could remember. Something pushed her from behind and she fell forward into the grass. It was warm, springy, and very real. She marveled at the detail in this vision as she stood up. Sucole had vanished, even as the trees appeared.

“Is this real?” Irrelevant question, really, but she asked it anyway. Her words drifted away on the air, unanswered.

In the distance, a dark shadow appeared, at first just a spec, then larger as it came near. For some reason, the shadow didn’t frighten her, though it should have. Somehow, this place felt safe. It was just a dream, anyway. Nothing to fear from dreams.

The shadow resolved itself into a tall, thin, dark-skinned man with deep black eyes. There was something enticing and seductive about him. It might have been the five o’clock shadow along his chiseled jawline, or his fit, slim waist, or maybe it was just the way he held himself. Relaxed, at ease, both feet planted as though he owned the ground he walked on. Confidence permeated everything about him from his hair down to the way he held his arms…one loose by his side, the other casually holding a book. Her heart raced. It was The Book of Daemon. It had to be. She stared at it, her mouth dry in anticipation.

The man’s lips turned up in a smile, and a gleam of triumph filled his eyes. He nodded, a slow movement that barely dipped his head and never moved his eyes.

“Scion.”

“Who are you?” She took a step back. His hungry eyes fastened on her.

“I have what you seek.”

“I see that.” But what did she have to do to get it? Her first thought was to fight for it, but somehow she knew that wouldn’t work. She couldn’t feel her magic. This place operated under rules she didn’t understand and couldn’t control. Her mother couldn’t have anticipated this. Marielle would never have let her come here, if she had.

The man raised an eyebrow. “Will you exchange?”

“Exchange what?”

“Join with me, and you may have the book.” The man held out his hand to her.

Chapter 26

The words tied her in knots. Join. He probably wasn’t asking her to join a softball team.

“Join as in…”

“Exchange energy. Life force.” Steffahn’s eyes smoldered as they drank her in.

Sex.

Steffahn’s lips twitched.

“You are a demon too?”

Steffahn frowned. “I am not. I am daemon.”

“I don’t understand the difference.”

“Daemon is the root of all power, the old blood, the old way. We are ancient, existing long before this world came to be and will exist long after its demise. Demons are not part of those things, though they pretend to be and have much power.”

“They aren’t part of the old blood? What old blood? What old way?”

“Such information is in the book you seek, Scion.”

Something was going on here, something she struggled to understand but couldn’t. Pieces of the puzzle had been stolen. She had a feeling those pieces were vital to her well-being.

“The archivists? Which are they?”

“They are daemon. A noble race, prized for knowledge. Good allies. You have chosen your friends well. The question remains, Scion. Will you reach agreement with me?”

The man didn’t make a move while she thought it out. He stood there, the book in one hand and the other held palm up.

The book had the spell she needed. All she had to do was…she shuddered. Her stomach flip flopped, and her chest tightened. She’d stopped breathing. She gasped and forced air in. Sweat beaded along her forehead and dripped down her face. She ignored it.

Join.

Mate.

Sex.

No treasure is worth the price.

What, exactly, was the price? Sex with a daemon? He wanted her to sell her body for a book?

The man laughed, and the sound filled the air before fading away into the trees. "I am not seeking sex as you would define it, Scion. I am seeking a joining. It is a commingling of magic energy. It is how daemon recharge and revitalize themselves. I think you'll find it does the same for you. I sense you are in desperate need of an influx of energy.”

“If I…join with you, will I end up like Sucole?”

The man lowered his hand. “You will not. I offer a simple exchange. The book, for one joining with you. You will leave here with that which you seek.”

“And what about you? What do you seek?” She watched his face for any sign of dishonesty. His gaze never left hers.

“I seek only to join with you.”

“Why?”

He spread his hand out in the universal gesture of “it should be obvious.”

Of course, she supposed it was. He got the chance to be a Potential, to join with the Scion during the Succession Ritual. If that sort of energy commingling, as he called it, even counted.

Was this real, or was it a dream? Would it be such a bad thing to give in to a man in dreams so that she could get the one thing she needed to solve this mess? It might be, if this man were a demon in disguise. For all she knew, he could be the demon she fought.

“Who are you? How do I know this isn’t a trick? How do I know you aren’t the one I’m trying to fight, in disguise?”

The man’s expression changed to one of complete disgust. He wrinkled his nose as if something smelly had just passed under it. “The one you fight is an aberration who shouldn’t have been allowed to exist. His very presence causes great pain to all around him, a drain on life forces. My blood is ancient and far greater than something like him.”

“Ancient? I feel no magic from you.”

“In this place, Scion, we are protected. In this place, such as he may not enter. In this place, magic is not sequestered. It surrounds and binds. Lives and breathes. It does not belong to one or the other. All are equal, here.”

She realized for the first time that she felt no pull at all from the demon. An unexpected bonus, granted in an unexpected place. If only she could wrap the magic of this place around her and take it with her.

“The Between can’t be moved, Scion. We stand between your plane and mine, protected from magic on both sides. Signals are muted. Here, we are able to join. It would not be possible, otherwise. I may not cross the Between to your plane. I offer this information freely, so that you may enter into agreement with me.”

This all explained why she couldn’t just track Sucole. How she’d managed to travel here remained a mystery. She wasn’t sure she could repeat the journey, even if she wanted to. This was a one-time shot at the prize, so to speak. This man, this daemon, held the thing she needed to solve her problem, and he demanded payment for it. She’d never get this book any other way.

She studied him as she worked it through in her head, wondering how the hell she’d go through with it. Sex with a complete stranger. Someone she held no feelings for at all, the consequences of which she didn’t come close to understanding. The feeling that she was being tricked was so strong she could taste it. But she needed that book.

“You are worried. I see images in your thoughts. Scion, joining for my kind is not the same as it is for yours. We shall exchange life force, not body parts.”

"So you're saying it's not sex. If it's not sex, what exactly is it?"

"If you agree, you’ll experience it yourself. Both parties are left with more than they give away. Energy is strengthened, power infused. I sense a surge of energy is something you could use in your current struggles. I cannot remove the tracking the demon placed on you, as it is bound to your blood and can only be removed by the issuer or by his death, but I can offer the means for you to fight it a bit longer.”

Hope rushed through her. If she did this, she'd have the book she needed, plus enough power to defeat the demon. And it wasn't sex.

She thought of Daric. How pissed off he must be right now. She’d disappeared right in front of him, with no way for him to follow. Was he waiting on that beach? What would his reaction be if she made this deal? He was a Potential himself. He knew the rules, and he knew what was at stake. Still, she was sure he hadn’t envisioned this scenario when he’d suggested she speed up the timing of the ritual.

Don’t go it alone, right chica?

She didn't have a choice. She stood here alone, forced to a decision, without backup. Even if she had it, what would they say?

Could she trust that this man in front of her told the truth? She’d leave here, intact, with the book? She wouldn’t end up like Sucole? Why had Sucole become so twisted in the first place?

“She had no agreement.” The man smiled.

A chill ran up her spine at his words. He could read her thoughts. Well, why not? This was a dream, after all. Of sorts.

“And we do?”

“We will.”

Why did this feel like a deal with the devil? Maybe it was.

“Such a creature does not exist.”

“You sure about that? I don’t know you, I don’t know who or what you are or where you came from, and yet you’re asking me to trust you with everything I am in the hopes that you follow through on our little agreement.”

“If you agree, Sucole will witness and ensure both sides are met. She will see your safe passage from this place. Agreements are binding for both sides. Consequences for breaking one for such as I are severe. You need not fear. I do not enter into agreements I intend to break.” His words rang through the air around them. She felt the truth of them somehow. She also felt there were layers of hidden meanings that would take her a long time to decipher.

“Neither do I.”

Tarian studied him. His dark eyes consumed her. His confidence and surety overwhelmed her. Yet something else in his eyes grabbed her attention. Maybe it was the twist of his lips, or the tilt of his eyebrows or maybe the way he held his shoulders. She sensed…determination. He wanted this agreement as much as she wanted that book. But why? Was it a trick? A trap? Something more than that? Could she afford to figure it out?

“How do I know I can trust Sucole?”

He shrugged. “The choice is yours, Scion. I have that which you seek. You will not be forced to deal. All parties must enter by choice, not by coercion.”

His voice held the ring of truth. His body language showed sincerity. It seemed so simple. A few minutes with this man, and she’d have the book she needed.

No treasure is worth the price.

The archivists didn’t know the full stakes. The treasure was more than just the book. It was her own magic, her talent, the very core of her being, which was slowly drifting away into the hands of that demon. It was the Dolphin Throne, which protected her family. It was her sister, who would be left vulnerable if Tarian failed. It was her mother, who belonged to the throne in every way and was the heart of their Society and way of life. It was the House of Xannon, which would crumble without her family there to protect it.

Some things were worth the price.

The man smiled. He gestured, and Sucole was standing beside him. She took the book, a stare of longing in her eyes as her hand lovingly caressed the cover. She glanced at Tarian.

“Do you see?”

“If by that you mean do I agree…” Tarian swallowed. She had to say the words. “Yes, I agree. I will join with this man before me one time, in exchange for safe passage from this place and possession of the Book of Daemon.”

Sucole turned to the daemon man. “Do you see?”

“I agree to the stated stipulations.”

Sucole blinked. The book in her hands glowed, then vanished. In the next moment, Sucole was gone too.

Tarian took a deep breath and held it. How was she going to do this? She had to. She needed the book, but more than that she’d agreed. He’d mentioned consequences for himself if he didn’t keep the agreement. They had to extend to her as well. Whatever they were. She let out her breath in one long sigh, in an effort to relax.

The man held out both hands to her. She couldn’t seem to make her feet move. In the next moment, he stood in front of her, although she hadn’t seen him step forward. She could feel his breath on her face. It smelled of fresh, mountain air. The kind generated by the movement of cool breezes through pine trees, drenched with sun.

He took her hands. “You fear. There is no need.”

“Easy for you to say.” She took another deep breath and realized she’d been doing that a lot. It didn’t help. Her nerves vibrated. No amount of yoga or meditation was going to calm them now. “Can you at least tell me your name?”

“You should have stipulated that as part of the agreement.” His smile depended, bringing life to his eyes. His thumbs caressed her hands, a soft movement that did little to relax her.

“Really? It’s going to be like that?” Her hands tensed around his fingers.

“I merely instruct for the future. I suspect, before long, you’ll need more knowledge of agreements.”

She frowned at him. Now he lectured as though she were a child? Who the hell did he think he was anyway?

“My name is Steffahn, of the Mayfanata.” He inclined his head slightly, a soft chuckle dancing in his throat. “I do not wish to be your parent. Far, far from it.”

He squeezed her hands. Power cascaded from his hands into hers and traveled up her arms. She’d never felt anything like it. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized just how far away her own magic was in this place. Time, space and talent held no meaning here. His power surged into her.

The tracer inside her neck lay dormant, uninterested. Her shoulders relaxed, the muscles at ease for the first time since the demon attack. The rest of her body responded to the additional power by raising goosebumps all over. She shivered. Tingles traveled up and down her arms and legs and settled somewhere in the center of her chest.

Tarian closed her eyes. Whatever he was going to do next, she didn’t think she wanted to see it coming. She expected to feel his hands explore her body or his lips touch hers, and braced for it.

Instead, magic forged a way through her entire body, but his hands never left hers. With her eyes closed, her other senses heightened and took charge. Every pulse and trickle of power permeated her skin and entered into the core of her being. Her groin pulsed with it. Her body filled with pure, raw, power, like sunshine on her skin.

It came from all around them. From the trees. From the grass. From the very air. And from Steffahn. It heated her blood, played with the hairs in her nose and the back of her arms, and made her toes dig into the ground. Enticing. Exhilaration. Exhaustion. As if she dove into deep water and drifted there. Surrounded. Pressure building. Unable to move. Unable to breathe. Yet filled with life, teaming with power, encompassed by energy.

Deep inside, her own power responded. Weak, at first. Then stronger, until it surged toward the influx of power from Steffahn. The two powers met, collided, merged. A lightning show erupted behind her eyes, providing a kaleidoscope of color with forks of white that danced and played over her eyes. Electric pulses covered her body from head to toe, prickling the skin as if a thousand tiny gnats nibbled around and inside her. Her skin, on fire. Her eyes, blinded. Her mind, filled and overflowing with the immensity of it.

She gasped as the pulses reached her groin, her uterus, her heart. Powerful. Omnipotent. Amazed, her heart soared. She could do anything. With this much power, she’d never fear anything, ever. Half of this force was hers. Even after the demon had stolen so much of it, she held plenty in reserves. Somehow, Steffahn had known.

She sensed he gained as much as she did by this joining of power. This was what he had meant. Not sex. Not as she thought of it, anyway. This was something different. Intimate, but more than that. Her spirit opened…a flower that had never truly seen the sun.

Tarian ached for more. She groaned with need, but heard no response from Steffahn. No moans or whispers of her name as a man in passion might make.

On instinct, she tried to draw more power, to pull from him the essence he seemed to be taking from her. She thought she heard him chuckle, but no extra surge greeted her. She couldn’t pull more than he allowed. He tugged on hers, and she blocked it. They joined as equals, just as he’d promised.

Power built, cascaded, ascended. Her pulse throbbed as it raced through and around her. Her heart felt as though it would explode, and her head filled with pressure. She sensed overload. It was an orgasm created entirely with magic, and it wouldn’t take more than a tiny shove to push her over the edge into burnout. She’d heard of something like that before and wondered briefly if that was what had happened to Sucole. Was this why the archivists didn’t want her to join with a daemon? This surge of power might burn her out forever?

“Stop.” She gasped the word. Fear and panic set in as she realized just how close she was to losing it.

“Your side of our agreement is complete.” Steffahn dropped her hands. When she opened her eyes, he was gone. She stood alone in the meadow, trembling, panting for breath, reaching for control of emotions she didn’t understand.

So much energy. She’d never known it existed. Not like this. It scared her, how badly she’d wanted more. In the middle of what was more power than she’d ever held in her life, she’d still wanted more. Nobody should have that much. If the demon got as much from her as she’d just experienced with Steffahn…so much in one person couldn’t be safe. Add that to the Dolphin Throne’s power, and nobody would ever be safe again on the Earth plane.

She rubbed her neck. The tracer was still there, but quiet. Her stomach, though, shifted and complained. Her uterus too felt oddly raw, and a bit crampy. The ritual. If this counted as one of her Potentials…

She closed her eyes again. If this counted as sex, and if she could get pregnant from this sort of joining, she needed one more donor. If it didn't, she needed two. How would she know?

This was getting her nowhere. Focus. She had to focus. One thing at a time. The book. Where was the book?

“Sucole?” She turned to look behind her and found Sucole standing there. Her eyes, dull and lifeless, looked anywhere but at Tarian, and her shoulders drooped. She held the Book of Daemon in her arms as if she cradled a baby.

Tarian extended her hands to encourage Sucole to turn over the book. After hesitating and working her mouth up and down as though trying to spit out words that refused to come, Sucole held the book out to Tarian. Tarian took it and heard a voice say, “The agreement is fulfilled.”

So that was it. It was over. She had what she needed. She took several deep breaths, but it didn’t help. She struggled to create a calm void around her, but it eluded her.

The meadow dissolved around them, and the tree room formed once more. Sucole sat in her chair with the cup of tea in her hand, staring at Tarian as if that was where they’d been the entire time.

“That…was joining?” She hugged the book to her chest, her prize for sacrificing…what, exactly? It had better be worth it. “Which spell in here will help me destroy the demon?”

“A good question.” Sucole smiled a small, sad movement of her lips. Placing the teacup on a table next to her she stood, Sucole joined her on the floor.

Tarian examined at the ancient volume in her hands. It looked like it might have come from the House archives. It smelled old, musty and cloying in an odd, sweet way. Sucole placed her hand over the book and the pages turned themselves, settling on one near the center. Tarian felt a rush of power rise up and wash over her. Not enough to do anything specific, but the book obviously held potent energy.

“Will this catch the demon?” Tarian studied the page. The spell was in an ancient, dead, magical language. She’d had lessons on it from tutors, but not enough to read this.

“Banish.” Sucole winced as though the word caused her physical pain.

“Thank you.” Tarian rose, and then on impulse gave Sucole a quick kiss on the cheek. As her lips touched the cheek, she could swear she felt something old and leathery, but when she moved back, all she saw was the beautiful young face surrounded by flowing blonde hair.

She started to make a travel portal but found she couldn’t. Closing her eyes, she pictured the clearing where she’d first met Sucole. The swampy one, with the old woman.

“You do not see.” The soft whisper followed her as she left.

Chapter 27

“What don’t I see?” Tarian asked the empty air in the swamp. Silence greeted her. No frogs, no birds, no flies. Nothing. The swamp was a dead, empty thing, except for the trees and the gross water and the tiny island she stood on. After a moment, she gave up waiting for an answer and turned her attention to the book in her hands.

She needed a quiet, safe place to study the ritual Sucole had indicated. A good, strong cup of coffee to chase away the feelings left behind by the joining would be nice. And she needed to find Daric. He must have gone crazy when she disappeared right in front of him.

She had no idea how long she’d been gone, but surely he wasn’t still waiting on that beach. She’d try him back at PJs. It was turning out to be their own special meeting place. She smiled at the thought. She’d never given much thought to having something special with a man. Her position didn’t really leave room for that sort of thing. Not many men wanted to have a relationship with a woman who was in a power position and couldn’t marry them, and who would be having multiple partners in order to have a child by someone else. Despite the bravado they displayed in bars, most of the men she knew wanted something steady. A partner they could share their life with. It was one thing she couldn’t give. All she could offer was a one-night stand and a promise of friendship in the morning. Most of the men who didn’t mind that sort of thing weren’t the kind of men she wanted to be friends with anyway.

She tried to open a portal but found her ability still blocked. Since she hadn’t arrived here in the normal way, maybe she had to leave the same way. Worth a shot, anyway.

Tarian closed her eyes and pictured the alley near PJs in her head. She constructed every detail of it, from the dumpster to the smell. Opening her eyes, she found the stink was real, and she stood beside the dumpster. She looked around to be sure no demon lurked in the shadows and put her hand on the dumpster just to be sure it wasn’t a dream or vision.

She’d give anything to know how she’d managed to travel without a portal. For one thing, it was a lot more comfortable than spinning through freezing white non-space. For another, it seemed a lot more efficient, and it hadn't set off her tracer at all.

It was late afternoon, and the rush hour traffic filled the air with noise which made her smile. It was familiar, expected. Normal. She held the book close and went into PJs to place her usual order, then took a seat on one of the cushy chairs inside the tiny shop. She had no doubt Daric would show up here sooner or later.

The place smelled of rich, freshly ground coffee and hot fresh pastries, and helped dispel some of the tension in her shoulders. After several sips of coffee, she turned her attention to the book.

The cover of dark, ancient brown skin released a musty odor into the air, which she tried to avoid by alternately sniffing her coffee and holding her fingers strategically under her nose as she leaned against her hand. Engraved runes on the front announced a title she couldn’t read, since she’d pretty much slept through runes class.

A ringing bell caught her attention, and she looked up expecting to see Daric walking through the door, but instead a tall, thin, very tanned man in black slacks and a blue-striped shirt sauntered in. His eyes flicked over the crowd as he made his way to the counter. They were an odd shade of grey and stood out against his sun-darkened skin.

The back of her neck tingled a bit as he passed behind her. He was Society, but he didn't feel very strong in power. He barely registered on her radar. Not surprising, for a man. Women generally held a lot more power.

Except for Daric.

Her pulse picked up at the thought of how Daric’s personal signature had traveled up and down her spine. He had been equal to her in raw strength. Not as immense as Steffahn, but more than a match for her. She could tell by the way it tickled all her senses and made the tiny hair on her arms stand up. Or maybe that was her hormones talking.

Tarian watched the stranger order coffee and then take a seat at the back of the shop. He never glanced in her direction, even though he must have felt her own power. She never bothered to hide it, not here in the city. She watched him open a newspaper and start to read, and then she looked back down at the book.

Inside, the pages were extremely thin, like onion paper, and each was hand lettered in what looked like several different handwriting styles. Gold, embossed drawings decorated pages here and there, as well as full-color illustrations of things she quickly hid. Naked bodies, burning animals…all the sorts of things you really didn’t want anyone seeing you studying. At least, not in Center City, Philadelphia. This sort of thing caused the witch hunts after all, and even though society had progressed since then, she had no desire to start up something like that again, or attract attention from some random Goth person here in an innocent coffee shop.

A shadow crossed the table just as the scent of spice reached her nose. She smiled and looked up.

Daric didn’t look happy. The hard line of his lips and the crinkle in the middle of his forehead made her think he was, in fact, livid.

“Explain.” He pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. He radiated anger from the whites of his eyes, which practically bulged at her, to the twitching muscles on his arms.

“I found Sucole.” She closed the book and pointed to the title. “I got what I needed.”

“That’s not an explanation, Scion.” He crossed his arms.

If he kept this up she was going to get pissed off. Fast.

“If you mean my abrupt departure, I didn’t plan that. I asked you to come, didn’t I? How was I supposed to know she had some sort of travel spell on that coin?”

Daric looked down at the table.

“Look, believe me or don’t. I didn’t do it on purpose. I was just as shocked when I opened my eyes and I was in a swamp as I imagine you were to see me vanish.”

“Shocked is not the right word.” With one finger, Daric doodled on the table. At least he’d uncrossed his arms.

“You were worried?”

“Worried isn't the right word.” He looked up and offered her a ghost of a smile.

She leaned closer to him. “What’s the right one?” She grinned, and stared straight into his eyes. It sent goosebumps down her arms.

“Frantic.” Daric put his hand over hers where it rested on the book. He frowned and pulled both of their hands away. The crease in his forehead deepened as he looked at the cover.

“She had it, then?”

Tarian hesitated. She didn’t want to tell Daric about the joining with Steffahn. Not yet. Not until she sorted out what it meant and how she felt about it. But she didn’t want to lie. She settled for a portion of truth.

“She showed me the spell I need.”

Tarian flipped the pages until she located the spell Sucole had indicated. Daric turned the book to face him and studied it.

A tingly, creepy crawly sensation chased up and down her spine, like someone was watching her. Tarian turned in her chair to see who might be looking in their direction.

The tall, thin man remained at the table in the corner, absorbed in his newspaper. A few groups of students pretended to study, and a couple of business people chatted over a laptop. She turned back to Daric.

“See the word here? ‘ Decipi’? I’m pretty sure that means ‘entrap.’ Are you sure this is the spell?”

“I’m positive. Look at the diagram. She told me this would banish the demon, and the picture looks just like that. This has to be what I need. If he’s banished, he can’t steal my power, right? He can’t do anything at all.”

Daric grunted and continued studying the page. She moved her chair around so that she could study it too.

According to the diagram, she needed an object that had been personally touched by the demon. She rubbed at the back of her neck, this time searching deeper for the tiny knot she’d come to think of as a real, physical, implant of some sort. The tracer was her link to the demon, but it was a two-way connection. He’d feel her the minute she started this ritual because she’d have to open herself up to use it.

Behind her, a loud scream of laughter, followed by a loud thud, jolted Tarian nearly out of her chair. She looked around the shop. The students in the front must have told an excellent joke, judging by two of them doubled over in laughter and more off to the side giggling. Out of the corner of her eye, she could swear the stranger watched her every move, but when she looked directly at him, he had a newspaper up in front of his face.

“Something wrong?” Daric put a hand on her arm, concern in his eyes.

“Just paranoid.” She went back to the book. After a moment of staring at her, Daric did too.

"We should get this translated first. It's no telling what those words are really saying." Daric pointed to another one. "Like that one. If I remember right, that means ‘void.’ But does it put the demon in a void, or does it do something else?"

"I don't know anyone who can translate this, do you?"

He shook his head. "Not fast enough. I'm sure my mother could work it out eventually. But it could take weeks."

"We don't have weeks."

"I know, Tari, I know."

She smiled at his use of her nickname. It made her feel warm in a way it didn't from anyone else. She forced her attention back to the book.

So, she’d need an old fashioned circle of power drawn, of course, with blood. Lovely. She hadn’t done one of those since she was about 17, but she remembered it being messy and a bit painful. It was the old way of doing things, but the instructors had insisted she be well versed in traditions. She’d done it, but it felt clunky and inefficient. It was so much easier just to focus on your inner strength instead of finding it from an external source like a circle. Still, if that’s what the spell required, so be it.

“We need a container. What kind of container?” She glanced at Daric.

“Anything will work, but metal or rock is best.”

“How do you know that?”

“My mother is a teacher, remember?”

Feeling the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, Tarian looked up quickly. At first glance the man in the corner had vanished. Adrenaline surged for no reason. She was being ridiculous. The man was no threat here in this coffee shop surrounded by people and with Daric beside her.

She looked around and saw the stranger behind her, pouring sugar into his coffee at the condiment bar. He was close enough to see and hear what they were doing, and he felt…wrong somehow. Spooked, she hastily put her arms over the pages to block them. She sensed Daric’s body tense, and he formed a fist with both hands.

“Excuse me.” The man’s accent sounded vaguely British. “I couldn’t help but notice that remarkable book. Is it rare?”

“I really don’t know.” Tarian shifted the book so she was able to cover more.

“I ask because I deal in rare books, and I’ve never seen such an amazing specimen before. I could see the gold tipping from across the room. It’s extraordinary, as is the drawing on this page.” The man gushed the words, his dark eyes intense. “Would you be interested in selling?”

“It’s not mine to sell.” She offered him a huge dose of curtness with a side of “go away” irritation.

The stranger leaned in a bit and tilted his head to read the title on the page they studied. "A ritual entrapment?"

Tarian studied his face. His eyes lit up as they traveled over what little of the page he could see. He looked enraptured and maybe a little greedy. She felt his magic tickle the back of her neck again. He was Society, so it wasn't out of line to talk to him about the real nature of this book.

"You can read this?" She pointed to the page.

"Of course. I've spent a lifetime studying the histories, the ancient philosophies and, of course, the language that went along with them. Such a pity it was abandoned, though I do appreciate why. In my line of work it pays to be well versed in the ancient ways. I own an antiquities store for our Society, you see.”

"Can you translate this for us?" She didn't need a history lesson right now.

The man pulled a chair from a neighboring table and sat down, his eyes glowing with excitement. She noticed he was very careful not to touch the pages.

"I haven't seen such a detailed account in all my years of study. The ritual words themselves don't really need translating. They are power words, used to focus magic. Which I'm sure you already know." He pointed to the paragraph at the top. "This is a brief description of the law. A very old, very specific law. Although I suppose all laws are specific.”

Tarian shared a frustrated glance with Daric. He had scooted back a bit to allow the man to sit down, and now he sat with his arms crossed and simply watched.

"What's it say?"

"Well, in English it's a bit rough, but essentially it says:

'In accordance with policies established among the Ancients, and by the Benata and Mayfanata Courts and the Court of Balance, be it known that any Being, magic or otherwise, whose source of power includes absorption from another, shall henceforth be entrapped in half-earth until such time as there is balance among the Planes, and the Courts deem the aforementioned being no longer a threat.'”

The man looked up at Tarian, his eyebrows crinkled. "Are you having trouble with a demon? This is from the high daemon Courts of ancient Earth. No demon has been seen on Earth in over a thousand years. That I recall. And even then, it wasn’t truly a demon.”

"It reads like something out of Law and Order.” In fact, it sounded a lot like something Steffahn would have said. She searched her memory for anything she knew of Benata and Mayfanata Court systems. It was politics, something she tended to avoid. All she could really remember was that they kept to themselves and that they weren’t able or allowed to enter the earth plane of existence. They lived sequestered, though the reasons why were fuzzy in her memory. She knew they’d not always been separated.

"You aren't far off. The modern court and judicial systems were founded on many of the Magic Court principals. In particular, both the British and American systems are firmly based in those traditions. Even lawyers owe their beginnings to the ancient magical court system and the code of honor, if such a thing exists among daemon, which governs their kind. Agreements or Bargains were struck between individuals or even groups for everything from land rights to slave rights to who would use a certain water well, and it was all enforced by inherent magical power and the Balance Court. It was said to be quite dangerous to enter into a pact without a lawyer, though they weren’t called that then, present, due to the convoluted nature of the bargains. Our modern contracts derived from the practice of getting it all down on parchment and signed with blood, so that both sides were bound. Of course, magical penalties were forged instead of monetary ones, but the principle is the same. And truth be told, the agreement doesn’t even have to be written down. It’s sealed the moment both sides agree to terms, as a verbal contract is just as binding, magically speaking, as a written one.” The man studied her for a moment, his gaze lingering on her in a way that made her twitch. “I apologize, I do tend to go on when confronted with history. It is my passion, as you see.” He leaned forward and looked at the page again.

"This text…I would swear this is from one of the Laws of Species tomes, created to solidify decrees and impose binding laws. Would the title of this be the Book of Daemon, by any chance?"

Tarian stared at him, unwilling to give him more information than he needed.

Daric leaned in, his eyes flashing dangerously. "All we need is a little help with this particular spell. Like the lady said, the book isn't ours."

The stranger stared back at Daric for a moment, then blinked and looked back down at the page.

"Yes, well. If it were, it would not remain so for long. Species tomes were meant to be held by the species themselves. Which I'm sure you already know." He glanced up at Tarian. Once again she was struck by a tingle of magic along her neck. The hungry look in his eyes unnerved her. He struck her as some sort of manic history professor.

“What do you mean?”

A flash lit up his eyes and disappeared almost before she saw it. “Each species has ultimate control of their own laws, you see. If the laws for one species ends up in the hands of another, the consequences could be severe. So much knowledge is contained there, you understand. I would imagine, were this truly the Book of Daemon, that there are many in the daemon realm who would like to gain possession and would do practically anything to get it. You have a very valuable object here. You will not possess it long, as it’s nature is to seek out the species for whom it was written. That is, if it really is the Book of Daemon.”

“We’re only interested in this one page. Does it say anything else?" She pointed at the page, trying her best to keep her tone polite. She needed the information, but the lecture was starting to grate on her nerves.

The man glanced back down at the book. "The summary at the bottom of the page merely gives a few more details. You'll need a lot of power for this one. A circle of power, with a personal symbol worthy of this level of law, drawn by blood of course as that’s where the power comes from. And a close personal connection with the demon. He'll put up a fight. I'm not sure I'd attempt it, were it me. Perhaps you should appeal to the Keeper. Unless you really do have a close, personal connection. With the demon, I mean."

Tarian smiled at him. "Thanks for your help, Mr.?"

He returned her smile, but his body stiffened at her rejection. "Rasmussen. Nicholas Rasmussen." He held out a business card, which Daric took.

An awkward silence among the three of them was punctuated by continued laughter from the students at the front of the cafe. She didn't want to talk to Nicholas Rasmussen anymore and didn’t want to show him any more of the book. If it had attracted his interest, there was no telling who else it would attract.

She stared at his odd gray eyes, hoping he’d take the hint. He held her gaze for a moment, then glanced at Daric, then back down at the book. He licked his lips, as if preparing to argue his case further, but after seeing her expression he stood and cleared his throat.

"Ah, yes, well, if you think the owner would like to sell, I’m extremely interested, and I know a buyer who will pay top dollar. Contact me anytime.”

“Fine.” Tarian nodded. "Thanks again."

The man hesitated for a moment, his eyes lingering on the book and then on her. He licked his lips, then smiled and left the shop.

“Maybe I should be studying this in private.” She turned back to Daric. “Who was that guy?”

Daric handed her the business card.

Nicholas Rasmussen, Antiquities and Rare Books

She felt the faintest hint of magical signature emanating from the card. He had a unique texture to his power. His particular talent or skill must surround books or maybe language, or perhaps his dabbling in the old histories made him quirky. Maybe that’s what had set her nerves on edge.

Or maybe she was just being paranoid because of her recent trip into the swamp with Sucole. Most likely, Rasmussen had sensed the power emanating from the book she studied, or her own which she didn’t mask. Power called to power. Anyone with talent could probably sense it. She just didn’t expect to run into anyone who could in the middle of Philly.

“I shouldn't have come here with this thing.”

“Then why did you?” Daric grinned. “Were you looking for someone?”

“Maybe.” She grinned back, then picked up the book and hugged it close. “I need to study.”

“We can go to my place.” Daric started for the door.

“I have a feeling I won’t get much studying done if I do that. I’ll take it home.” She needed some time to process things, and a shower. She could still feel the joining all over her, and not in a good way. So much power. How she’d love to have more of it. Just how much she wanted it scared her. She’d never felt that…intense…about anything before. It wasn't right.

She didn’t want Daric to know how she’d managed to get this book, at least not yet, and if she spent much more time with him, he’d find out.

As if on cue, he narrowed his eyes. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“The same could be said for you.” She held her chin high. “We all have our little secrets. We all have our own personal demons to chase.”

“What happened with Sucole?” Daric crossed his arms. She was beginning to notice the body language he used. Crossed arms equaled pissed off.

“Nothing. She gave me the book and showed me the spell.” She avoided his eyes. Those things could drill for oil, they were that sharp.

“Just like that?”

“Basically.”

“Tarian.”

She shifted the book over to one hip. “Look, Daric, I’m exhausted. I’ll be up all night studying this thing. You heard Rasmussen. If he’s right, I won’t have this book very long, so I need to learn this while I can. You say I need a metal container. I don’t have anything and don’t want to spend time looking for one. Can you find one I can use?”

“I'll find one we can use. But when I deliver it, I need a full explanation. It’s important, Tari.”

Her heart jumped again at his use of her nickname. And at the emphasis on the word “we.”

She nodded her agreement, but it didn't make her happy. It set her stomach on edge. His opinion of her might change once he found out what she'd done to get the book. She was absolutely sure she'd made the right decision, but somehow telling someone else about it made it feel dirty. Like she'd given away something precious. But what, exactly, had she given away? It's not like it was really sex. And she felt so much stronger now that she'd had that exchange of power. She'd needed it. To fight this demon, it was worth it.

Daric seemed to accept that he’d get the full story eventually and led the way out of the shop and into the same alley she’d been attacked in. She let him make a travel portal to the rotunda.

“Tarian.” Daric held her arm to stop her before she stepped through.

She waited for him to ask for details again.

Instead, he moved in close enough that his chest brushed her arms as they clutched the book. She looked up into his eyes. Desire flared in them, which made her heart thump extra loud.

“Daric?”

He leaned down and brushed his lips on her forehead in a gentle kiss that melted every muscle in her body. She still tingled from her joining with steffahn, and the blend of her hormones for Daric and the left over power filled her with delicious longing. It was all she could do not to tackle him right there.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

He spun her around and gently directed her into the portal.

Damn the man, she’d rather he kissed her lips. Or maybe other body parts. That kiss on the forehead made her feel…protected. It was nice. But not enough for the rest of her.

Chapter 28

Tarian took dinner to her room so that she could lie on her bed and study the words in the Book of Daemon while she ate. She propped up two of the six pillows she normally used behind her and leaned against the ornate headboard, her knees bent to hold the book. Every piece of wood in the room held power, and it always helped her relax knowing she was surrounded by energy meant specifically to protect her.

She didn’t understand the words on the page Sucole had indicated, and wasn't entirely sure how they should be pronounced. It made the task difficult, and it made her feel like she was back in school.

She went over them until they were ingrained in the core of her being. Whatever the words meant, she could recite them, which was all she needed. Her intention was the important thing anyway. Her eyes burned and started to tear. She pushed the book to the side of the bed, let her eyes close and continued to recite the words. Over and over and over. After a while, they took on a natural rhythm, like some sort of singsong chant.

Somehow, Steffahn drifted into the words, his face and strong arms filling her head. He smiled, but his cold eyes and haughty expression made it look smug and strangely satisfied. She sensed him gathering power, but it didn’t touch her. Then she realized it wasn’t him at all. It was Daric. He folded her into his arms and kissed her so deeply she couldn’t breathe. She protested, but he just grinned at her, the dimple on his cheek making him adorable and impossible to resist. She kissed him back, and then they were tumbling into her bed, hands all over each other, breathing heavy, sweating, pulse out of control.

She jolted awake to an orgasm so powerful her body shook with the force of it. She’d woken in a passionate moment before, but never like this. Her groin pulsated, and the wave of pleasure that swept over her strained every muscle.

She ran her hands over her body, encouraging the feeling to linger, but the images faded and took the sexual tension with them. Her muscles relaxed, although her lower parts still hummed.

What a delicious way to wake up.

She lay for a few more minutes, enjoying the sun streaming in through the window and the soothing crash of waves on the rocks below, and savoring the sensations that were quickly becoming a faint memory. Her hand stopped on her stomach. For all she knew, a child was on the way. She felt a light cramping, as though she were getting her period. But it wasn’t nearly time for that. If anything, she was mid-cycle.

Somehow she'd thought this day was far off in the future. She'd spent most of her life avoiding the entire idea of succession and motherhood. Her value lay in her tracking ability, not in babysitting. She'd prevented magic abuse, saved countless people from tangling with Society members run amuck and even found missing children, when her mother didn’t have her in meetings or tutoring sessions. Other people's children. She'd never wanted to deal with having her own. The responsibility was too intense.

The thought of bringing another life into the world, and being tied to that life forever, terrified her. What if she screwed it up? How could she ever live up to the ideal her mother had set? Keeper Marielle: the ultimate woman. Leader, mother, guardian. Always calm, always collected, always firmly in control of every situation.

If Tarian were honest, she was more than a little intimidated with the idea of even trying to live up to those expectations. Her temper was short, she hated studying and meetings, couldn't stand politics and would rather be outside or in a city absorbing the sounds and smells than holding court.

She let her thoughts drift a bit more in a basic meditation so she could connect with her power. The tracer in her neck, now that she was out of the Between, invaded her body and stole her energy bit by bit. Her power slept.

It was a shame she couldn’t create a cocoon around herself like the Between had done for her and Steffahn. The demon wouldn’t be able to touch her, and she’d win this little fight.

Her pleasure from the dream evaporated. Why, exactly, had Steffahn wanted to join with her in the first place? Her mother would never have rushed into a decision like that. Her mother would have gathered all the evidence, weighed all the facts and then made a rational judgment.

I’m not my mother.

Tarian sighed and pushed the pillows she’d cradled in her sleep aside. Her hand hit the Book of Daemon, and she moved it closer to stare at it. The raw power that emanated from it unsettled her. It probably hadn’t been smart to sleep with it, but where could she hide it that it wouldn’t be found? Her bedroom was one of the most secure places in the House, aside from the Cellar or her mother’s private suite. Perhaps she should hide it in the archives. It would probably be impossible to find among all the other books.

The archivists might have something to say about it though, if Rasmussen was right. They were daemon, and this book rightfully belonged to their kind. What would she give away, if she took it there? Maybe it was smarter to ask her mother to hold onto it. For now.

She pushed the book out of the way and dragged herself to the shower. Cold water assaulted her skin, but the shock worked better than coffee to wake her up and dispel the dream. She plotted her next move as the water cascaded over her.

She knew the words. She needed the container from Daric. The warehouse in Philly would be a good spot. It blocked magic by virtue of the concrete and steel walls. The demon’s signature was all over it, making it easy to connect with him. Plus, the demon was probably watching for her return. She’d be able to entice him there, and then before he knew what hit him, she’d have him locked up. The thought filled her with satisfaction.

She finished the shower and got dressed as fast as possible. She needed food if she was going to have any magic power worth using. She’d lost so much already that even with the bonus Steffahn had given her, she’d have to do everything she could to maximize what was left.

She stopped off in the kitchen for coffee and an egg sandwich, lost in thoughts of exactly how the ritual would go. She sat at one of the smaller tables in the dining hall and tried to work through every possible scenario and anticipate any need she might have.

“Something wrong?” Her mother, dressed impeccably in a cream pantsuit, her hair up in her traditional bun, sat down next to her, a cup of tea in her hands.

"Good morning." Tarian offered a brief smile to her mother, and then took a bite of the sandwich to hide her scrambled thoughts. She hadn't planned what to say, about the book or her mission today. She wasn't ready for the conversation.

However, by the look on her mother’s face, the Keeper had obviously already planned on having one.

"How was Sucole?" Her mother's eyes searched her face.

"Every bit as annoying as you anticipated." Tarian looked down at her coffee.

"Did she have what you needed?" Marielle took a sip of tea, her voice so casual they might have been discussing the weather.

"Yes." She hesitated.

"What did she ask for in exchange?"

Tarian looked up into her mother's eyes. How had she known?

Marielle smiled and took another sip. "Tarian, nobody lets go of something that valuable without getting something in exchange. The question is, what price did she demand?"

Tarian looked back down at her coffee. She took a sip. Then another.

How was she going to say this to her mother?

"I take it the price was…steep?"

"You could say that. It…" Tarian swallowed. "It wasn't her price. It was someone else's."

"Oh?" Marielle held the teacup like this was just two girls enjoying a chat over their morning breakfast.

How could her mother be so calm?

"It turned out the one holding the book was a daemon named Steffahn, of the Mayfanata. I…dealt…with him."

Marielle set the cup down. "Steffahn." Her voice was flat. "Well. I certainly didn't anticipate that."

"You know him?" A quick survey of her mother's face told her not only did Marielle know him, she knew him well.

"We've met. You would have too, eventually, when you first visited the Balance Court during the yearly gathering. It’s the only time the daemon ever meet with our side. He is the current leader of the Mayfanata. Very powerful, very important and extremely dangerous to deal with. Every word he utters is full of double and triple meanings. He's worse than Sucole for riddles. If he was with Sucole, I hate to think what that means." Marielle leaned in close, her eyes searching Tarian's. "What was the price?"

She sighed. There was no way she could hide this from her mother. "One joining."

"Oh." Marielle leaned back, her face now an impenetrable mask.

"It probably wasn't the smartest move. But I needed that book, and some things are worth the price. It's not like I really had sex with him." The words came out in a fast tumble as she scrambled to justify her choice, to make her mother see that it had been worth it. To make herself believe it, too. "Now I have it, and the spell I need, and if all goes well today, the demon will be history. We'll be safe. I'll be safe."

"Oh, Tarian. If only things were that simple."

Marielle put a hand on her arm. "You do realize that for daemons, the joining of power is more potent than sex? And that it comes with the same consequences as intercourse does for us? Here, you must use protections if you don't wish to get pregnant. The same is true for daemon joining. I'm sure he didn't mention that part. He never volunteers information."

A lump formed in her throat as her mother spoke, which she tried to swallow away. It wasn't like she hadn't thought about it, but she'd hoped it was more like a dream. More like a power exchange, not a life exchange.

"So, what happens if…" She couldn't finish the sentence.

Marielle sighed. "I don't know. It's happened before, of course, in other families. Even in our own, truth be told. But I question his need for this sort of action at this time, with you. He gained something. Most obviously, he gained the chance to add his essence to any child you might carry from the Succession Ritual. What he hopes that child will do for him in the long run remains to be discovered."

Ice formed in Tarian’s veins as her mother spoke. Chunks of it broke away and started stabbing her in the heart. She'd been so worried about the demon stealing her will, and using her power as his own, that she'd overlooked what might be an even bigger threat in the future. Her own child, part daemon. Tied to the Mayfanata. She'd not only gambled with her own body but with her future child's as well.

Her hand pressed on her stomach. Was a child coming already?

"Should I…is there any way to stop…" She couldn't voice the words.

"There is always a way to stop pregnancy. But if you do, the Ritual won't be fulfilled. We take a risk either way. Were I you, I'd choose the future over the present. This child, should one result from this Ritual session, will be more than just Steffahn. She or he will be a blend of all of your choices. She'll be you and a part of every Potential you join with, to use Steffahn's term. He plays a dangerous game, one where he cannot control the outcome. It's unusual for him. He must be desperate." Marielle took Tarian's hand and squeezed. "The important thing is for you to not react in kind. Desperation seldom leads to smart decisions."

Tarian nodded. Maybe all was not lost. Her child would, after all, carry Xannon blood. Steffahn wouldn't own the child, after all. He just hoped for some sort of advantage. Though she’d love to know what, exactly, would make a daemon like Steffahn that desperate. He hadn’t seemed like a man on the edge. He’d seemed in perfect command, if a bit determined. She’d ask him why, but this time the price for such information would be too high, she was sure.

After another few sips of coffee, she couldn't help but turn to her mother. "How did you do it? How could you stand this?"

"Meaning?" Her mother held her gaze without flinching.

"What was this whole archaic ritual like for you? Did you like it? Did you like the men? Did you have any choice at all?"

Marielle set her cup back down on the table and took a deep breath. She took another, then smiled. "In all the years we've argued over this, you've never once asked me how it was for me."

"I suppose I was too busy resenting the situation to worry about it."

"You do realize that had I not participated, most likely you would not be here? Knowing that, how can you doubt that I made a good choice?" Her mother put a soft hand on her arm. "To answer your question, yes, I had a choice. All of life is a choice. Every single morning you make a choice to face the day. You make a choice to use your tracking ability to help your friends, and for the good of our Society. You made a choice to participate in the Ritual, even though you hate the very idea of it. You made a choice to accept a joining with Steffahn, and with whoever the other men are or will be. Because you know the consequences if you don't. And, apparently, you deem the outcome worth the cost."

Her mother leaned back and folded her hands in her lap. "When I first approached the ritual, I was younger than you. I'd been raised for that moment, and it was something I approached with anticipation and excitement. I'd always wanted to be a mother. I used to volunteer in the nursery, and I helped with the healers during childbirths. I found the start of a new life fascinating."

Marielle smiled at her. Tarian was startled to see moisture in her mother's eyes. “The beginning of your life to be the most amazing thing I'd ever experienced. I could feel you growing. I felt connected with you in a way I'd never been with anyone or anything else. I wouldn't trade it for anything. Ever. And once I had you, I knew exactly why I put up with the tedious parts of the job, and of life. You and your sister are worth the price. For me. And I'll admit, I found the ritual itself to be a life-affirming, fun adventure." Marielle smiled again, but this time her eyes danced.

Tarian had never seen her mother's eyes dance. Her mother had enjoyed the sex. The knowledge stunned her. She'd never thought of her mother as a young girl. As a person, really. She was…her mother. But she was also a human with drive and ambition, desires, passions, longings. All of it.

Tarian realized her mouth was hanging open and hastily shut it, then picked up the coffee. It was cold, but she sipped it anyway.

“Now that you have the information you sought, what do you intend to do with it?” Marielle studied Tarian over her coffee cup. Her casual tone spoke volumes.

“You sure you want to know?”

Marielle waited.

“You’ve really perfected the power of silence, haven’t you?”

“I find that it’s often best to let others fill the void, yes.” Her mother smiled.

“Alex, Frankie, and Daric are going to help me banish this freak. I’m not going alone. I have everything I need now, plus an infusion of energy from Steffahn.”

“And where do you plan to do this?”

“Not here. No way I’m bringing him here.”

“The House is powerful, Tarian. The Dolphin Throne can help. I wouldn’t even attempt something like this without it.”

Tarian shook her head. “No. The best thing to do is split up. I don’t want him getting both of us into the same room, near that medallion. I want him far away from here, and far away from you and Calli. Just in case.”

“If we try together…”

“Don’t you see? That’s what he wants. I’m not going to give him the chance to take us all. He already took my blood. That’s all he’s getting.” Tarian leaned back in the chair, her arms crossed in front of her body. “You have to agree it makes sense. Don’t they say never put all your eggs in one basket? Well this House is the basket. And this egg is not staying here to do something like this.”

Marielle nodded, slowly. “I don’t suppose someone else can do this? A team of Sentinels perhaps? Our best people?”

Tarian shook her head. “No, mother. It has to be someone with a close personal connection to the demon. And I’m pretty close to him wouldn’t you say? He doesn’t have anybody else’s blood. Any other living person, anyway.”

Marielle nodded slowly again, but didn’t say anything else. Tarian picked up her cup and sipped at the cold liquid that failed to soothe like it normally did.

Marielle cleared her throat. “You know, I’m surprised you’re here right now.”

“What’s so special about right now?”

“The Potentials are here for the vetting. They’re all in the training yard. I suspected you would avoid this particular exercise. With everything else going on.”

“Oh.” She swallowed the rest of her coffee, the bitter taste burned her tongue. It struck her that Daric might be in the training yard waiting for her. He was, after all, a Potential who had to be vetted.

“I suppose I should go check it out.” She kept her tone casual.

Marielle smiled, and it warmed her face and eyes. "Choose well, Tarian."

Chapter 29

Tarian entered the Arena with her thoughts in upheaval. She tried to process her conversation with her mother but most of it felt ripe with hidden meaning she couldn’t quite grasp. What she knew for sure was her mother enjoyed the Ritual. Her mother had once been a young girl with hopes, dreams, and a need for sex.

Her mother had gone from parent to person in one conversation. It was unsettling and liberating at the same time. What other secrets was her mother holding on to? When this whole demon thing was over, she looked forward to finding out.

Tarian paused and looked up at the glorious Pacific sky. It always made her heart sing to be in the Arena, with the manicured grass lawn and flowers around the edges, all of it open to the endless sky and boundless sun, but surrounded by the rock and earth which formed their home and protected all of them.

Today, it was crowded with men all wanting a piece of her.

The stench of sweat permeated the air. Society leaders from all over the continent watched from the spectator stands with clipboards and pens. It felt like something Olympic judges would do. Why it mattered if the men could fight she couldn’t fathom. Were they expected to hold her down or something?

Two men in the middle of the arena caught her attention. One had his shirt off, and the muscles along his back rippled in a delightfully tasty way. He had dark blonde hair, and his movements were like a cat, practiced and graceful. He boxed with another who poured sweat and radiated tension.

She noticed Alex watching the fight from one of the stands and crossed the open grassy area to join him. He wore training pads like he had just come from a boxing match and a glum expression on his face.

“Morning.”

He grunted in reply.

She nudged him. “Seems like a waste of time to me. By the time they get around to deciding anything, I’ll be done with it.”

Alex glanced at her, his cheeks already red. “So you finished already? With who else? Daric?”

She smiled. “Maybe it’s better if we pretend it was just you and me.”

“Thanks, chica.” He shifted his feet. “But you don’t gotta spare my feelings. I’ll get over it.”

“Thanks for being first, Alex. Really. This whole thing is a lot easier because of you.” She felt like she was thanking him for advice on how to play chess. No matter how they tried to ignore it, getting naked with someone mattered. It mattered a lot. Maybe that’s why they used to make the guys wear masks for the ritual. She pictured a man in full head mask entering her bedroom, with Alex’s full muscled torso, then grinned. She’d know him even if he had a paper bag over his head.

Was it better to know who the guy was? Or would it have been easier if she didn’t know?

“Seriously. At least I got to choose. You were there for me when I needed you, and I’ll never forget it.”

He nodded. With his back tense and the strained look in his eyes, he looked the picture of stiff-upper-lip syndrome.

“You wanted more.” She kept her voice neutral.

Alex shrugged.

“You’ll get it, someday. Just not with me. Any girl would be thrilled to have a man like you.”

She couldn’t think of any words that would soothe this heartache in her friend. Her own heart remained distant, a spectator. If she were honest with herself, it was otherwise engaged with thoughts of Daric.

Problem was, she couldn’t have a relationship. No man really wanted to sit around on the sidelines and watch while his partner did it with strangers. Or sit idly by while she got pregnant with a stranger’s child. Not in today’s society, anyway. Maybe thousands of years ago when this stupid ritual was conceived it was normal for a woman to have a different partner every night, and to not know who the father of her children was. But these days a real man wanted more. At least, Alex did. He came from a region strong in Catholic religion and family. He wasn’t part of the old culture or old ways surrounding the House itself. He was very much a modern man, with modern needs for attachment and bonding with both his mate and his children. He wanted to be involved in all of it, the day to day leadership, the raising of his child, everything. He wanted her heart. As much as he tried to deny it, she could see it written in the lines around his eyes and the way he held his shoulders slumped, his gaze avoiding hers. He wanted something he couldn’t have, and he knew it.

Some girl was going to be very, very lucky one day. This man would give her his entire being. She’d be his everything. Her heart ached for the loss of such a thing for herself. Something she’d never had in the first place. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she quickly looked up to the sky to stave them off. This was a no win situation. She knew it. He knew it. But damn if it didn’t hurt. She’d been a fool to think it wouldn’t.

“You got what you needed, then?” Alex glanced at her, then down at her arm as if looking for signs of a struggle.

“Yes. I’m as ready as I’m going to be.”

She turned back to the arena to look closer at the two men fighting. Well, well. Victor Aiello.

Alex grunted again. “The second there is a spare. Aiello is a finalist, no doubt.”

“You’re probably right." She paused for a moment. Victor's back muscles glinted in the morning sun. He was tan, fit. Somehow every movement he made was familiar, as if she'd known him a long time. She felt a flare of magic occasionally, but not enough to make a difference in the fight. He was toying with the guy. It made her feel sorry for his opponent, who was obviously outmatched. "I don't get why this is part of the vetting. I was just kidding about making everybody fight me in the arena.”

“It’s tradition. The announcement says all this is to make sure they got the right guys. There's three phases to the vetting. Physical, mental, magical. Only the best at all three get through, I guess, so there's good genetic material to work with. Or something." He cleared his throat.

"Really." The lengths they were going through just to pick out a few men for her to mate with was astonishing. Maybe she should stop them.

Glancing around at the yard, at the men getting ready to compete and the Sentinels watching the matches, the Society leaders judging them, all of it for her benefit. She didn't have the heart to tell them she'd already picked her final match. Unless she should pick one more, to override Steffahn's influence even more.

They watched the fight in silence. Victor danced around his opponent like a cat playing with a mouse. A nip here, a scratch there. Just enough to show he had the complete upper hand without actually pummeling the guy. As he moved, she saw him glance her way. Holding the opponent at bay, he bowed his head slightly to her, smiled, and then quickly moved in for a chest shot. The guy crumpled to the floor. At first she thought he was dead. After a moment she saw his stomach and chest rise in a slow ragged motion and realized he’d just had the wind knocked out of him. With a smile and a bow in her direction, Victor exited the arena.

“Well.” If Alex had been fighting Victor, she wasn’t sure who would have won. Probably Victor. Alex seemed to know it, too.

"Yeah." They sat in comfortable silence for another minute, absorbing the morning. Alex seemed to be relaxing. At least his shoulders were no longer tense. “What's the next move?"

"A banishment. I have the spell. Daric is bringing something to use for a container."

"Where?" At the mention of Daric's name, Alex stiffened again and stood a little straighter.

"Probably the warehouse he used for those girls. I figured it would work the best, all things considered."

Alex nodded. “Think me and Frankie will be enough backup? We could bring more.”

She shrugged. “Not sure I trust anyone else.”

“Most guys here would lay down their lives for you.”

“Most isn’t all. Someone killed Daryl, after all. You find any more about that?”

Alex flicked an imaginary piece of flint off his arm. “Nah. Trail goes cold. So cold it’s spooked Frankie.”

“So I’m right. Someone inside these walls is a traitor.”

“Looks it.”

Tarian glanced around the Arena. A lot of visitors, but a lot of Sentinel’s in their white uniforms, too. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, thinking one of them might have betrayed her. She just couldn’t risk it. They didn’t have time to figure out which one had done it.

“You, Frankie, Daric, and me.”

Alex turned to face her. “That's four. Five would be better, so we could cover all corners and still have someone to stand next to you."

“Can’t risk it. Whoever the traitor is, they’re well hidden. The only other people I trust need to stay here, just in case.”

Alex grunted.“When we doing this?”

“As soon as Daric brings what I need, and you two are ready.”

Instead, he gestured at the training yard. “I gotta go help Frankie. He had to modify a few toys for this. You sticking around?”

“Think I’ll go stretch. My muscles are tight.”

Alex put his hand on her arm and then gave her a soft kiss. She froze, not sure how to react. He pulled away before she had a chance to kiss back or do anything else. “I’m here, for whatever, whenever.” He patted her arm and then left.

She watched him go, confused. It was just sex. But somehow it had changed things, and she couldn’t figure out exactly what had changed. Yet.

Her best friend hurt, and she was the cause, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. She couldn’t offer him the one thing he wanted: her undivided attention. She kicked at the bench in front of her. When she got the chance, she’d change the damn rules to the ritual. At least she could spare her future daughter from having to deal with this same situation. It wasn’t fair to anybody. Whatever the beginnings of this ritual were, they didn’t apply now. Times had changed, and the ritual hadn’t changed with them.

She’d enjoyed the moment with Alex, but that’s all it was. A moment.

She thought of her deal with Steffahn and flushed. She’d had a moment with him too, in a completely different way. It hadn’t been about sex, it had been about power. Maybe that was all sex was to a daemon like Steffahn.

When did life get so complicated?

She needed to clear her head. She was in the training yard, so she might as well do a bit of yoga while she waited. She'd need every ounce of focus she could muster for the upcoming fight. She simply couldn’t afford this overload of emotion at a time like this. She needed to get a grip. To emphasize the thought, she shook out her shoulders and arms, then looked around for Daric. He wasn’t in the Arena.

Disgruntled and restless, she turned her back on the dueling men and headed for the matts.

Chapter 30

Tarian entered the stretching area and gently stretched major muscles in her legs, torso, back, and arms to calm her nerves. It was difficult to find a good balance. Her mind raced from Victor Aiello to Mark Chester to Alex to Daric to Steffahn to the demon to the archivists to the Book of Daemon and back again.

She performed sun salutations, at first in jerky motions but soon managed to smooth them out into a liquid flow. She continued to do them until she her breath became one with the movements. Her mind and body connected and flowed from one pose to the next. Her body took over, her pulse lowered and tension melted away as she went through each posture, and the sun warmed her and melted the stiffness in her muscles. Sea air tickled her nose, and joined with the sweat on her skin. The muted crash of waves on the rocks outside the arena soothed her, and grounded her in a way nothing else did.

When she felt more like herself, she finished with a sitting meditation. She opened herself to the world around her, extending her senses beyond her immediate surroundings to encompass the island and beyond. It was blissful, drifting like this. Her affinity for air and water combined allowed her to dance on air and water with her mind, to travel beyond her physical self. Outside, playing in the waves, her dolphin friends giggled and danced in response to her mental visit. She couldn’t connect with them this far away, not really, but they responded anyway. Their power, in their element, held an intensity hers never would, and it connected with her own as good friends greet each other, with warmth and happiness. She smiled, letting it filter her thoughts and senses so they’d know she greeted them in return.

“If you find the meaning of life, will you let me know?” The deep voice behind her made her heart jump.

She didn’t even turn around. “Took you long enough.”

“I like to make an entrance. Plus, it took some time to locate just the right gift for such an occasion.”

She stood up to face Daric. “You brought it?”

His smile warmed his eyes and the dimple winked at her. “I checked with an expert on ritual markings. The ones on the wall in the warehouse create a Sanguine Circle.”

“Those were used for almost anything. That doesn’t do us any good. We can’t unravel a static spell if we don’t know the intention.”

“This one appears to be leaning in the direction of a Dominion spell. But he didn’t complete the circle, and he used some gibberish markings that mean nothing. Some of it was for show.”

“For who?”

“Not sure. I have a hunch, but that’s all it is.”

“Are you going to share with the class?”

“Not yet.”

“Look, this is my life we’re talking about. Spill it.”

“If I give it a voice, then the hunch becomes a theory and if I’m wrong, we’d be heading in the wrong direction.” Daric shook his head. “When I have more to go on, I’ll share.”

“I sprung the trap. You destroyed the symbol. Why is my power still dissipating?”

“I don’t know, though I can guess. He may not really need it. I did find out that once this particular ritual is complete, it can’t be reversed. Transferred to another, yes, but not reversed, not even by the one who casts it. Banishment or containment can, dominion can’t. Unless the holder of the spell dies.”

An urge to run filled her, but she kept her feet still. Her hands twitched, and she crossed her arms, tucking them inside in a self-hug.

“It’s not going to get that far.”

“No, it’s not.” Daric’s steady gaze did more to calm her than the meditation. He nodded toward the Arena. “I’m up. But we need to strategize.”

“You have time. Alex and Frankie are gathering supplies. They’re joining us.”

Daric nodded. He smiled, and then walked into the arena, leaving her staring after him. He strolled like a man perfectly comfortable with his surroundings. It was sexy as hell.

He took up a stance and waited for his opponent to make the first move. She’d never met the one Daric sparred with. After only a few minutes, it was obvious that Daric outmatched his opponent, who already breathed hard and carried a crease between his eyebrows from the constant frown. The fight didn’t really seem fair. Daric needed a worthy adversary. Someone with fighting skills, magic to back them up, and boobs.

Almost before she knew what she was doing, she’d entered the arena and joined them.

Daric saw her coming and held his hand up to stop the fight. The other guy bent over double to catch his breath.

She smiled, then took a stance. He winked, then took up a stance as well. The gathered onlookers muttered and someone protested, but she blocked it out as she started to dance around him with a few probative kicks and jabs here and there, to feel him out. He responded in kind. Assertive, but not aggressive, matching her step for step. She tried a harder kick and to her delight he blocked her. He wasn’t going to lie down and take it. She smiled, elated.

A crowd assembled as they sparred. Sweat trickled down her face, and her shirt started to cling. Sweat poured down Daric’s face as well, and his shirt darkened under the armpits and along the neckline.

Daric added a small pulse to his next kick. She blocked the pulse and the kick, then sent one of her own, just a small one. He grinned and pulsed back. It wasn’t soft either, the bastard. It almost knocked the wind out of her, but she stayed on her feet. She sent an equally strong answer, along with a jab to his head. His head rocked back from the blow, although not as far as she’d thought it would.

Each kick and jab included magic now. She could feel the bruises mounting on top of the ones she already had along her arms and legs. The workout felt good, and it matched her mood. Her power responded to her mood and mixed with Daric’s. For a moment she felt strong, like herself again.

The next moment her neck seized in a throb of pain which bloomed over her entire skull and into her eyes, and she doubled over, her hands clutched to her head. The tracer tore at the crack in her shields.

She dropped her focus, and dissipated her focused energy into the air around her. She struggled to let it go and get her breath, all at once. The Arena, with no roof overhead, was the most exposed part of the house. The walls couldn't protect her as well here as they did in the Receiving Hall. She forced herself to stand and run for the door.

Chapter 31

Heavy footsteps pounded in the hallway behind her, but she didn’t stop until she reached the Rotunda. Her first thought was to get close to the Dolphin Throne, where she’d be even more shielded. But her mother might be in there. She didn’t want to risk that.

Daric caught up, only slightly out of breath. “Tracer?”

She nodded. Fear gripped her in the center of her chest and tied a knot that almost stopped her heart. She waited, as her neck throbbed with residual pain, and the muscles around the now dormant tracer reacted to the overexertion. The protection of the House surrounded her. The demon’s pull on her vanished.

“It’s okay for now. I think.”

Daric reached over and brushed a loose piece of her hair out of her eyes. The warmth of his fingers against her skin sparked a fire somewhere in her stomach. His eyes met hers, and she found herself unable to breathe for a second. Fear heightened every sensation.

But it wasn’t fear that warmed her body.

She’d already joined with two people. The pressure in her lower belly for the past 24 hours told her she either had, or was about to, ovulate. She had to find a third donor. It couldn’t wait until they’d caught the demon, and Daric stood right in front of her. Prime candidate number three.

Tarian grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hallway and through the door to her room. She slammed it shut, and then turned to face him.

His eyes burned a hole right through her. Her heart thumped inside her throat. Fear left over from the demon’s drain on her heightened every sense until a furnace burned inside her. The demon, the throne, they could both go to hell. She’d have done this even without those things.

Maybe not this fast.

She pulled him toward the bed. When they reached it, she pushed him onto it. He sat, but he seemed reluctant to do more.

“You sure about this? The timing seems a bit odd.” He studied her face.

She pushed his legs apart so she could stand in between them.

His eyes smoldered. She could see desire there. He wanted her. A thrill raced through her at the thought. Anticipation and fear blended together until she couldn’t sort out exactly which caused her to press in closer. Warmth radiated out from his legs and chest.

Still, he didn’t move a hand.

She tilted her head. “No?”

“Why now?” A slight frown forced his eyebrows down.

“Why not?”

He shook his head. “Answer the question.”

“Because I damn well want to.” If she was going to donate her body for the good of the throne and the region, she was going to enjoy it. She’d already been with Steffahn. She needed this. She needed another partner. And she needed it to be with someone normal. Someone she trusted and liked.

Now, this moment, might be the only one she’d ever have. There was no guarantee that the demon wouldn’t kill them all when they tried to trap him, or drain her before they could even attempt to kill him. And maybe, just maybe, this would keep the throne safe. At least long enough for her to banish the demon.

She pulled back far enough to get her hands underneath her shirt, then she lifted it up and over her head. His nostrils flared as her shirt hit the floor. His hands twitched against his thighs. He wanted to touch her; she could sense it in the way the muscles on his arms tensed. What held him back?

She put her hands on the button of her jeans and worked the button, her fingers sliding easily underneath and pulling the zipper down. His eyes widened at the sound of the zipper. He put his hands on hers, holding them in place. She could feel the heat from him against her bare stomach. She was anxious for him to do more than just sit there.

“Tarian, wait. Not like this. It shouldn’t be like this.”

Her shoulders slumped. Obviously she needed lessons in the seduction department. Usually all a girl had to do was flash a little skin and a willing smile. Damn the man for being more honorable.

“Don’t you get it? I need this. I need you. I only have right now, this moment. Tomorrow might never come for me. You answered the call. Now you’re telling me you don’t want this? That you won’t…help me?” Anger flooded her. “What was all that earlier, a tease?” She stepped back from the comfort of his thighs.

Daric grabbed her hand, preventing her from getting very far. He pulled her back until she was close again, and his hand cupped her face. She saw compassion, lust, and uncertainty in his eyes and the worried way his eyebrows joined together. Her anger evaporated.

“That’s what this is? Part of the ritual?” His thumb gently caressed her cheek. “I’m going to help you get rid of this demon, Tarian. You don’t have to do this now. Let’s wait until after we’ve solved your problem, and then if you still want this…”

“If you’re trying to save my virtue, don’t worry about it. I never had any. My family doesn’t work that way. It was up for grabs the minute I was born.” She didn’t want to go into the physical reasons why it had to be now, this moment. More than anything, she wanted this to satisfy a need to live dangerously. Just in case tomorrow never came. Fear, the great aphrodisiac.

She traced the side of his face with her fingers. Rough stubble gave way to the smooth scar. Battle wounds, or childhood trauma. She’d love to know. She’d love to find out more. But she couldn’t. “Look, I realize this isn’t ideal. I can’t marry you. I can’t promise you a relationship or a long-term commitment other than friendship. I can’t even promise you I’ll be faithful, because we both know that’s not in the cards for me. But I can promise that I want this. With you. Right now.” She moved her face closer to his with each word. “Can you please just kiss me?”

She waited, her lips an inch from his, for his answer.

He quirked a grin. “Yeah, but will you still respect me in the morning?”

“That depends.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Are you going to kiss me or not? A girl’s got standards.”

He smiled and caressed her cheek with one hand while the other brushed a stray hair away. Then he leaned toward her and brushed her lips with his own. Every nerve in her body tingled as his lips traveled, leaving behind a gentle caress of her mouth and cheek.

He shifted his hands from her face to the small of her back and draw her in closer. His fingers fumbled at the clasp on her bra, and then it was free. He slid the straps over her shoulders and down her arms until the bra fell away.

She held her breath, willing him to explore further. She wanted to feel his hands on her breasts, his lips on hers, his body pushing into her. She wanted it with an urgency that wasn’t completely sexual. She wanted to feel. Not just an exchange of power that left her wanting more, but to really feel a connection. A physical, emotional, psychic connection.

His lips brushed against the top of her left breast. She threw her head back, presenting her chest for him to play with. She thought she heard him growl, but it might have just been her imagination.

His lips trailed along the top of her breast and over to the other. Her nipples hardened as his mouth teased first one, then the other. His tongue flicked the tip of one, and then he locked on, tongue seeking, sucking, kissing and massaging while his hand caressed the other. He explored each nipple in turn.

He tortured her with the slow, methodical movement until she couldn’t stand it.

Impatient, she shoved him onto the bed and crawled up beside him. She lowered her body onto his, relishing the soft touch of his knit shirt against her nipples and stomach.

Daric watched her as if half afraid she would do something dangerous to some part of his anatomy. She couldn’t take it anymore. She put her lips on his. His touch was soft, pliable in return. She moved into it, drawing his lips apart with her tongue.

His tongue met hers, and they tasted each other in a delicious quest of exploration. This close, she could smell spice and musky sweat and fresh shampoo. She smiled against his lips.

Daric drew back from the kiss, a question in his eyes.

“You smell good.”

He laughed, and then rolled her over until he had the upper hand. She lay back against the bed, delighted. She could see she didn’t have to convince him to play along anymore. Whatever his objections were, he must have decided they didn’t matter.

“You’re overdressed.” She tugged at his shirt.

Daric shook his head. “No, no, Scion. Ladies first.”

His hands made a slow, exquisitely soft trail down between her breasts, her stomach, before moving further down to the open top of her jeans. He pushed the zipper the rest of the way down, and his hand snaked inside.

She lifted her hips to make things easier for him, helping him push the jeans down past her butt and to her knees. Cool air greeted the heat on her inner thighs and made her shiver. Or maybe it was his fingers as they explored their way down her legs in an effort to get the offending piece of cloth out of the way.

By the time he pushed the jeans down to her ankles, it was all she could do not to touch herself. She vibrated in all sorts of fun places.

He took one boot off, then the other. She heard them thump to the floor; each thud made her veins pulse. The jeans followed, inched slowly off her calves and over her foot by his determined, slightly calloused hands. She lay there, exposed, aching and more than ready for those hands to find their way back up her body.

As if he read her mind, his fingers traced a path up her calves. His lips followed, soft, warm with his breath, gently exploring inch by inch. When he reached her thighs, she groaned. This was torture. She willed his hand to stop on her crotch, to caress the mound there and relieve the pressure that he’d built. She moved one leg to the side, a clear invitation.

His hand brushed her panties exactly where she wanted him to be, but he didn’t linger. He continued on up to her breasts.

“Daric.” She grabbed his head and pulled him up for another kiss.

This time, he took command. His tongue explored every inch of hers. One hand formed a fist with her hair, while the other massaged her breast. Her lips tingled with the force of his efforts. Somewhere in the kiss, her panic left, to be replaced by intense longing for more. More kisses, more of him touching more of her…just more.

She raked her nails along his back. His muscles were tight and powerful, and for the moment she felt safe. There was no demon, there was no ritual, there was no responsibility. There was only this, and as far as she was concerned it could last forever.

Daric lifted from her and cold air rushed in. Her nipples stood at attention, excited by the sudden chill.

“Are you ready for me?” He smiled, and his hand moved slowly down her stomach to her panties. His fingers pushed them aside and slid between her lips.

She could have told him she was more than ready, but she enjoyed the rush that went with the flare of lust in his eyes when he discovered she was wet and more than willing for him to explore every inch of her body, inside and out.

He kept his eyes focused on hers, a deep connection that shook her, as his fingers worked their way inside her. He dipped into the liquid that had pooled, then moved up to stroke her at the very tip of her clit. Her back arched, and she couldn't stop the small sound that escaped her throat.

The dimple appeared on his cheek. He stroked again, and then his fingers worked at her in earnest. She pushed her hips against his hands. Her eyes closed. His breath warmed her face. His lips kissed her mouth, her nose, her eyes. The pressure of his hand on the groin and his finger inside her took her breath. She was so close to the edge…

He stopped and moved away.

She groaned and opened her eyes. What now?

The look she saw on his face should have been accompanied by devil horns. He’d stopped to tease her. Make her wait.

“Daric.”

He stood and took off his shirt, tossing it aside like a rag. The pants came off a bit slower. She could wait; she wouldn’t have missed this show for anything.

She couldn’t stop a grin when she saw he wore boxers. That convenient hole in the middle left little to her imagination.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“Not yet.” His voice, and his eyes, held promise. He pushed his boxers off without ceremony.

She couldn’t help but stare. She’d seen men naked before. Alex in particular was a fine specimen, one any woman would find worthy of excitement. Alex hadn’t been her first, either. She wasn’t innocent. But this felt different. She wanted Daric on a deep level she couldn’t even explain to herself. Maybe it was the fear and uncertainty of what lay ahead. Maybe it was the remains of her power mingle with Steffahn. Maybe it was something else all together. Whatever she told him, this felt like a commitment. More than her little stunt with Alex. More her deal with Steffahn. She licked her lips.

Daric must have noticed the shift in her mood, because concern replaced the delight and lust in his eyes. A crease formed in the middle of his forehead.

“Tarian?”

She held out her hands. When he took them, she pulled him down next to her.

“I don’t want to think. Don’t think.” She took his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. The warmth there banished all butterflies in her heart and stomach. She pulled his face to hers and kissed him softly. “I want you.”

His hand on her hip tightened, and he responded by kissing her quite thoroughly.

Daric shifted until his body was over hers. His hand gently moved her legs apart, wider, until he slipped between them and then moved so his hard-on brushed against her. Her mouth watered. No more nerves. Just longing and need.

“Don’t tease.” She moaned.

He grinned, then reached down and let his fingers play with her once more. She felt them, slick against her skin and her clit, which jumped at his every touch. She was right back on the edge of the cliff so fast she gasped.

He slipped inside her, warm, hard, demanding, possessive. She arched her back to receive him, and then wrapped her legs around him to keep him anchored there inside her. He filled her so completely.

For a moment, he didn’t move. She closed her eyes and took in every bit of him. His scent, the feel of his arms beside her shoulders holding himself above her. Her hands drifted along his biceps and then to his back. It felt so right. He felt so right. She squeezed, and he shifted his hips slowly, pushing further inside her.

She opened her eyes to look at him. He watched her, his eyes traveled over every inch of her face as if reassuring himself that she was ready and not regretting her actions.

She tightened her thighs around his hips and pulled him deeper. He didn’t hold back any longer. His hips started to move in, out, in, out. Her breath matched the rhythm and then her legs joined in, helping him move.

If she thought she’d been at the cliff’s edge before, it was nothing compared to what she felt now. He moved faster. Her heart raced to keep up.

He shifted again and his motion quickened. Her body responded, every nerve in her groin tingled. She couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. She let go and lost herself in the moment and the rhythm of two bodies, joined as nature intended. A soft moan from Daric blended with her groans. More. More. Faster.

Take me there, dammit. Now.

When she climaxed, her magic joined in to push her out into a void of nothing but pure sensation and energy. His mixed and blended with hers. More than the raw strength of Steffahn, this time power mixed with passion, lust, trust, and a blend of fear, and sheer unvarnished need.

Her body shook with release, arms and legs trembled, head exploded. The tracer stirred in her neck. Energy from it raced along her own magic, buoyed by Daric’s, out of her body into the void.

She tried to pull it back but it was too late. The tracer established a solid link, and she couldn’t sever it. Desperate, she pulled herself back from the brink of climax and opened her eyes.

Chapter 32

Daric’s ragged breath and sweaty body hovered over her. His arms shook with the last of his own climax. His eyes opened and fixated on her. She couldn’t tell if he’d felt the demon or not.

She grasped Daric’s arms and tried to steady her breathing.

“Tarian?” He moved off her. She instantly missed the warmth of him inside her. Why did that demon have to intrude now?

The blend of power had called him to her. Even here, protected by the House. She’d ignored the fundamental rule. Power called to power. With every bit of magic he stole, he solidified his link to her and his ability to sense even the slightest magic use.

Part of her slipped away, already owned by the demon.

“Talk to me. What’s going on?” Daric stood up and picked up his pants, shoving his legs in them so fast he nearly fell over.

The demon tugged at her. With the solid link, the connection felt intimate. Almost like they shared a body. He was doing…something. Whatever it was, it took a lot of energy. She wasn’t even sure he was aware she’d connected to him at last.

"It's time to trap a demon, that's what's going on." She put on her shirt and stood to get her pants. "So did you bring it or not?"

Daric let his shirt fall to the floor again. He took hold of her arms and pulled her close so that she was forced to look him in the eye. "We can't go into this with less than all the facts. What happened just now?”

She closed her eyes so she didn't have to see his expression while she explained.

"Just at the end, the tracer joined us and linked to the demon. I can still feel him, but I don't think he's aware of me." She didn’t like the way her voice quivered and cleared her throat to make it stop.

Daric squeezed her arms. "You're tracking him right now?"

She opened her eyes so she could glare at him. "Not on purpose. I don't know why it happened. But now I can feel him. I can find him. He's doing something that takes a lot of concentration and energy. If we do the ritual right now he'll be easy to find, and easy to catch."

She pulled away and finished zipping her pants. "I have the words. You have the container. Alex has the backup. Let's do this."

Daric picked up his shirt and put it on, then pulled a small box out of his pocket and handed it to her.

"This is it?" It fit neatly in the palm of her hand and looked to be made of silver.

"It's steel. It'll block just about any magic signal, and this is a case where size really doesn't matter."

"Amazing." An entire person, or demon, shoved into something this small? She couldn't picture it.

"Will the ritual work better if we're closer to him?"

"Yes. Power can only stretch so far. But I don't think we should be right next to him. You're still vulnerable."

"Yes, but I have big strong men to protect me." She smiled at him.

He snorted. “You’d be better off with women. They have more power for this kind of fight.”

“If this doesn't work. If he gets control of me anyway." Tarian swallowed. Her mouth was suddenly bone dry. “If that happens, I need you to promise that you'll end it.”

Daric crossed his arms. "Exactly what do you mean by that?"

"You know what I mean." She couldn't look at him.

"If you mean you want me to kill you, forget it. Not happening."

"I need to make sure my family is protected. You can't let that demon send me back to this house under his control. The throne will fight back. Or worse, it'll let him take over. I can't let that happen." Her pulse throbbed along the side of her neck. It all seemed overwhelming. "You can't let that happen. Promise me."

Daric shook his head. "I won't make that promise."

"If you won't, then I'll ask someone else."

"I doubt you'll find anybody who would agree."

Her instinct was to say Alex would do it. He'd do anything for her. Anything. Except that.

Daric took her in his arms. "It's not going to come to that, Tarian. This will work, and if it doesn't then we'll think of something else. I won't abandon you. You aren't alone."

"I should be." She buried her face in his chest. "I should have run the second that demon got my blood."

Daric hugged her, his hands soothed and comforted. "If the demon wants the throne, he'd find another way to get it. One thing I've learned in my job is that there's no good way to stop someone who is willing to risk their life for something, except to end them before they succeed. You didn't do this, Tarian. It's not your fault."

"It is. I was sloppy."

"Someone betrayed you. That doesn't make you sloppy."

She pulled away. “I just can’t believe someone in this House would do that.”

“Betrayal only works if it’s someone close to you. Who knew you'd be in Philly?"

Tarian thought about it. "Alex. Frankie. Daryl. That's it."

"There's your answer."

"There is no way Alex or Frankie would do something like that to me. No way." Anger at the thought rushed through her. He didn't know Alex. If he did, he'd never accuse him of something like this.

"You said another name."

"Daryl? He wasn’t the one. He’s dead.” She thought about it. He was a junior Sentinel. Not even full yet. He was nobody. She shook her head. "He was silenced. A bit player. Someone else is pulling the strings. So to speak."

"Everybody has their button. Everybody has their price. If he’s dead, it’s because he knew something he shouldn’t. And someone else was having their button pushed.”

“Maybe the demon is the one pushing the buttons?”

She noticed the slightest hesitation before he answered. His eyes shifted away from her.

“Maybe.”

"But you don't think so. You think someone inside this house is in on this…whatever this is. You think there’s more than just the demon.”

Daric nodded, looking her in the eye. "I think a plan this elaborate has a lot of hands."

“You’re hiding something, I can tell.”

“Not hiding. Just not certain of facts.”

She nodded. “Next time you think I'm holding back something, just remember you said that. Come on. Alex and Frankie are probably waiting."

She put the container Daric had given her into her pocket and opened the door.

Chapter 33

Tarian led the way to the rotunda, listening to Daric’s boots as they pounded the floor. His stride created strong, sturdy beats that echoed off the walls until it sounded like an army followed them. Funny how two people could make so much noise.

Alex and Frankie stood waiting in the Rotunda. Both wore guns, daggers, enough gear to take out a small town, and grim expressions. As she approached, she watched Alex’s eyes flick from her, to Daric, then down at the floor. A flush rose on her face. He must know by now that she’d run out of the arena and that Daric had followed her. News traveled fast in such a confined location.

“Can you track him from here?” Daric surveyed the room.

She closed her eyes and concentrated. She could feel the demon as an extension of herself. It wasn’t tracking. It didn’t involve her power at all. His link to her prickled her skin as if stabbing it with a thousand tiny toothpicks. It was all over, as though the signal were confused or blocked. She couldn’t tell what direction she should go.

"Not without shouting to him that we're coming. He feels it every time I use magic, and he steals more each time I track someone. In here, he’s blocked a bit by the walls.”

Alex frowned. "I don't think we should be handing him any more weapons than he’s already got. What happened to drawing him into that warehouse?”

Tarian crossed the room toward the entry. “That’s plan B now. If he’s this distracted, we should go to him. He won’t expect it, he won’t be ready for it. He’s entirely focused on…something. Now’s the time to jump.” Tarian stopped, and looked back the men.

Daric nodded. "Agreed."

“How you gonna track him when every time you do he steals power?” Alex spoke with patience, as though pointing out the obvious to a child.

Tarian glared at him. “How else are we going to find him? None of you can track." Still, it was a problem. The last time she'd tried to find someone who couldn't be tracked, she hadn't had to use magic at all. At least, it hadn't felt like it. As a matter of fact, her tracking skills hadn’t seemed to help whatsoever.

"I'm going to try something. All of you stay close.” She glanced around. "Maybe we should hold hands, just to be sure."

She took in the perplexed looks from all of them. “If we travel the same way I did to reach Sucole, he won’t feel us coming. The last time I used it, the tracer didn't even jiggle.”

“The last time you used it, that didn't work out so well.” Daric looked at Alex and Frankie. “She disappeared right in front of me, left me standing there feeling stupid.”

Alex snorted.

Frankie held out a hand. “She’s right. If we're touching each other, we should travel together. That happens even in portals.”

Tarian took Frankie’s hand. "It's worth a try." Daric took her other hand immediately, but Alex crossed his arms instead.

"What if it don't work? What if you disappear? How we gonna find you?"

"If we don't go now, it might be too late. He has a direct line to me. Every minute we wait is a minute I no longer have. If I end up there without you, I'll portal back immediately."

Frankie held out a hand to Alex. "It should work. From everything I've read, it should work."

Alex uncrossed his arms and slowly walked around Tarian until he stood behind her. He placed both hands on her shoulders, and squeezed.

"I got your back." He whispered in her right ear.

She felt Daric squeeze her left hand, so she knew he'd heard. But he said nothing. Thankfully.

"Okay, boys, here we go."

She closed her eyes and concentrated once again on the connection with the demon. Without using magic, she tried her best to picture him. The image she came up with matched the one she saw in the alley, but she didn't want to travel to the alley. She let her mind drift. Where was he? What was he doing? What could he see right this moment?

For a heartbeat or two, all she saw was the lizard-man. His claws extended toward her as they had in the alley. Then a room solidified around him. It looked like a living room of a typical house in the suburbs. She grabbed the image and focused on it, willing it to appear around her like she'd done with Sucole. She painted every detail of the room in her mind. Curtains with ruffles around a picture window, a rug made of some sort of rags on the floor, a fireplace with a marble mantle. A smell greeted her, one of must or mold, and something metallic. Wet. Acrid.

She opened her eyes.

She stood in the middle of the scene she'd imagined. In front of her the demon, with his half-man, half-lizard body, loomed larger than life. His eyes blazed red, his claws dripped with blood and a human arm dangled from one of them.

Time faltered, slowed down and circled the room. The demon's eyes widened and lit up with recognition.

Tarian sucked in a quick breath and squeezed the two hands she still held. Their answering squeeze told her all she needed to know.

Time snapped back and rushed forward. Daric stepped in front of her, his arms thrust out wide in some sort of manly display of chivalry. The demon responded by throwing the arm at them. She and Frankie both ducked, leaving Daric to take the brunt of a swipe from the demon. The force threw Daric across the room and into the marble fireplace, and knocked Tarian off her feet. Frankie drew his gun and fired powered bullets at the demon.

The demon deflected each bullet sent his way. Ricochet sent them careening around the room, igniting bits of wallpaper or collapsing furniture.

Tarian tried her best to stay low while gathering her focus to her. With Daric down, she wouldn't have time to draw the circle. How well the spell would work without the power circle she didn't know, but she had to try. Frankie couldn't hold the demon off forever.

In the back of her mind, she realized something was missing. Something important. But she couldn't take time to figure out what.

She started to recite the words she'd memorized, adding her magic to it.

The demon growled, licked his lips, then flicked an energy bolt that knocked Frankie back across the room and into the window. Glass shattered as Frankie sailed through it and out of sight. The demon flicked again, this time toward Daric.

She watched as it struck him and he slid down the marble fireplace. Daric collapsed, his body slack. Then the demon turned back toward her. His eyes gleamed with triumph, or maybe he was just hungry. Whichever it was, she wanted no part of it.

Tarian backed away from him, her feet scrambling to get a grip on the slick floor. She managed to stand, and then run from the room. She could at least lead him away from Daric, Frankie and Alex.

Alex.

Where the hell was Alex? He wasn't with her, and he wasn't in the room. She hadn't felt him behind her when they arrived, either. The realization hit that he hadn't come along for the ride. Her heart pounded. Without Alex, without the guys to contain and distract the demon, there was no way to get the ritual done.

Alex and Frankie were unconscious. She had to do something, or the demon would have all of them. She had to lead him away from the men and get far enough away to gather her magic and finish that ritual, even if it meant he could siphon more. Even if she had to do it alone.

She ran down the hall. A door stood open in front of her and she raced for it, not caring where it led. Anywhere that gave her half a second to gather her power was fine.

The door turned out to be to the kitchen. As she reached it, every window in the room shattered. Glass shards tore at her clothes. Something sharp smacked her in the cheek, and blood oozed down. Something else slammed into her back and she landed on the floor, the breath knocked out of her.

Before she could get her bearings she heard a low laugh, then a kick sent her skidding across the floor. She slammed into the cabinets and felt one of the handles crush into her back. Gasping, she managed to look up. The demon's tongue licked out in serpent fashion and he hissed, then started to advance on her. His arms flexed, and she felt a pull on the tracer.

She pushed to her feet. She had to distract him from taking more of her power. She sent a kick to his chest, along with the strongest magical pulse she’d ever managed in her life. It was enough to push him backward, colliding with the wall with enough force to knock a hole in it.

It didn’t slow him down. He seemed more eager to get to her than he had been before. She knew she’d never get in another kick. He was in fighting stance now and ready for it. Instead, she sent another pulse, this one aimed at his head. It glanced off him and ricocheted, shattering another window behind her.

She had to do something different. Something unexpected. She laughed, a loud raucous noise that sounded foreign to her. Then she said the first thing that came to mind.

“You think you have me exactly where you want me. You’re a fool. You can’t kill me. You need me.”

It was all bluster, but the demon paused. Sweat poured across the scales on his hands and face. He seemed almost disoriented. His reaction surprised her, but she wasn't going to waste the moment. She gathered a combination of energy and sent fire toward him while she pulled on the wall behind him. He was covered in an avalanche of daggers made of wood. His clothing caught fire, fueled by her magic. Backlash from that much power hit her and she staggered. Her stomach boiled and her head swam through thick, stifled air.

For a moment the demon stood watching her, his clothes in flames, shards of wood sticking out of his body everywhere that wasn’t covered in scales. Then he disintegrated into a puff of smoke and ash just as he had in the alley, blown away by a wind she hadn’t created.

Tarian doubled over in pain as her neck and shoulders seized against the tracer. Her power flowed out at an alarming rate. Not in damage spells or protective spells. Pure power, pulled along an invisible cord to the demon.

If it were a rope, she’d have clutched at it. But she had no idea how to combat this. She tried frantically to cut off the flow, but in the end all she could do was try to solidify the cracked shield around the tracer. Eventually, the flow slowed to slow stream. It was the best she could hope for.

She stood in the ruins of the kitchen and gasped air. Why had the demon left so quickly? She'd like to think she had the upper hand, but she knew that wasn't true. He'd been kicking her ass. Again. He had to have known he would win this fight. He could have had her right then. Something she’d said seemed to startle him, but she couldn’t fathom what it was.

She could see bright daylight through the hole in the wall. She waited, ready to strike at anything that moved.

Silence.

As she released her muscles, both physical and magical, parts of her body started to protest all the abuse. Her back stung, and she'd definitely twisted her ankle. She glanced down and saw new scratches along both of her arms. Blood dripped from them, and she could still feel blood on her cheek. Her eye felt swollen.

Cold rippled through her. It wouldn’t be long now. The demon would control her soon.

Chapter 34

A distant whimper grabbed Tarian's attention. Daric. Or Frankie. She couldn't tell which. And where the hell was Alex? She limped down the hall as fast as she could manage.

A lingering trace of red mist drifted from the living room to greet her. She stopped at the entrance and leaned against the wall. She hadn’t really seen the room before. All she’d noticed was the demon with a body part in his claw. Now she had a chance to survey the situation.

It was pure hell on Earth. A nightmare. Small chunks of human flesh coated the room from floor to ceiling. Body parts littered the floor. She saw a finger here, a toe there, so many it had to have been at least a dozen people. An eyeball stared at her from the middle of the room. It still had the ligaments attached to it. Bile rose from her stomach to coat her throat.

Daric balanced on his hands and knees by the fireplace. Relief surged through her as she realized he was alive and moving, even if he was badly hurt. She limped over to him and helped him stand. He looked dazed, but he wasn't whimpering or even moaning. So what made that noise?

Another whimper drew her attention to the far corner. She left Daric to see if she could help whoever it was. A naked girl, or what was left of her, lay at an awkward angle with her head shoved into the corner and her once pretty blonde hair now dripping with blood. She must have been the last one to join the party, as she still had most of her body parts attached. Her entrails spread across her stomach, and her legs had been ripped off at the knees. Her eye sockets were both empty, wide, blank holes. Her arms lay at awkward angles, and her hands were missing.

As she watched, the girl's body twitched. One final convulsion, and it lay still.

Tarian turned her back on the room and threw up.

She heard footsteps, and then felt a hand on her back.

"You okay?"

She wiped her mouth and turned to Daric. He had an impressive bruise already blooming on the side of his face.

"I'll live. You?"

“Better than her.” Daric looked around the room, his mouth set. “Where're Frankie and Alex?"

"Frankie went through the window. Alex…I don't know."

Daric started for the window, but seemed to think better of it and turned for the front door instead. She couldn't blame him. Tiptoeing through the bodies was not high on her list of things to do.

She followed Daric out, anxious to get away from the room of horrors before she threw up again.

Frankie lay on a small section of grass in front of the window. One arm was twisted underneath him, and one leg lay at an awkward angle.

She stood on the front step and watched as Daric assessed the damage.

"Might have a broken leg here and a dislocated shoulder. I can do minor stuff, but this is going to need a real healer. "

She nodded, numb.

"Where's Alex?" Daric looked around.

"I don't know. I don't think he made it through with us."

Daric stood and opened a travel portal right there in the front lawn. Tarian winced with each breath as pain shot down her back and around her ribs.

That poor girl. Those people. The vision of that room was too horrible to contemplate, and yet it was burned forever in her mind.

The demon could just as easily have torn Daric and Frankie apart right there in front of her. He hadn't, but he could have. He outmatched them in every way.

“Why didn’t he kill me?” Her voice sounded weak and hollow. She cleared her throat and tried again. “He could have. Why didn’t he?”

Daric shook his head. "I don't think he wants you dead. Not yet, anyway."

She looked down at her arms. More scratches. More blood lost to the demon, although this time it was probably mixed with others. She was beaten, battered, and bruised, and the demon had more of her blood.

She had no choice.

Her magic drifted away, and now he had the means to take it even faster. More blood meant more of a link to her, more ability to perform a bigger ritual.

Unless she did hers first.

Tarian knelt next to Frankie and pulled one of the daggers free from his belt.

Daric grabbed her hand. "Tarian, where are you going?"

"We have to do this now. Right now."

"We’re in no kind of shape to do a ritual right now. Look at you. Look at me and Frankie. We're wasted. We need to regroup."

"Look." Tarian thrust her arms out at Daric. The claw marks glared out, still wet with blood. "He has all he needs. Between this and the amount he siphoned away while we tangoed in the kitchen, I’m screwed. It has to be now."

"We need a strategy, Tarian. A plan. Rushing in is the last thing we should be doing." Daric's voice took on a pleading tone that wasn't a bit like his usual teasing. "Please, wait. You need a healer. It won't take that long."

He reached out to take her hand. "Those people need to be seen to. Frankie deserves healer attention. You need to be thinking clearly before we attempt this again. Sometimes it's smart to pause and catch your breath. You don't always have to rush in. I guarantee you the demon is already regrouping. We gave him the advantage just now. Let's not do it again."

She nodded, still numb. Her first attempt at leading the charge, and she'd failed miserably. He was right; a real leader would regroup. Her mother certainly would. She tucked the knife back into Frankie's belt.

"Can we manage him, or should I go for help?"

"We got this, if I boost a bit. You keep him steady; I'll lift." She felt Daric gather power and levitate Frankie off the ground. Between the two of them, they got him into the portal and out the other side, into the rotunda.

Alex looked so angry it was almost comical. Almost. If she hadn't just seen a girl gasp her last breath and two of her friends get the crap kicked out of them.

She held up her hand to stave off the rant she knew was coming. "I didn't know you wouldn't come with us, Alex. Save it. Frankie needs help."

"What's going on?" Calliope's voice echoed down the hallway. She ran up to them and immediately knelt next to Frankie. Her eyes closed, and she began to hum a tune. It sounded suspiciously like "I've been working on the railroad."

Tarian watched as her sister worked. Alex uncharacteristically stayed silent. It took a moment to realize Daric had disappeared.

Frankie groaned and opened his eyes just as her sister sat back, a smug look on her face.

"He'll be fine. Just a clean break."

"When did you learn to heal?"

Calliope grinned up at her. "I've been studying for years with Chloe. It's why I can sew so well. A body's not so different from a dress, really. Who do you think healed your arm before?"

"I thought it was Chloe."

Calliope shook her head.

"Wow. Nice work." Her little sister certainly was growing up. Somehow in the last few years her sister had become a fashion designer and a healer. She wondered what other talents her sister had tucked away.

Daric returned a few moments later with healer Chloe and two other healers. Among the three of them, all of their bodily wounds were patched up in a matter of minutes. The mental ones, she had a feeling, would take much, much longer to heal. Chloe's magic hands couldn't fix the psyche. Only time could do that.

Time was something she just didn't have.

"We can use the house. We can pull him there; his essence is all over it. If we pull him, then we'll be better able to complete the ritual." Her words echoed off the rotunda walls.

"What are you talking about?" Calliope stood up and frowned at her.

"The demon. I have to complete a banishment spell on him, but obviously we can't just show up and do it."

"Yeah, because that worked out perfectly." Frankie muttered. He ran a hand through his hair. "Our brilliant plan wasn't so brilliant."

"This time, we portal there. All of us." Tarian turned to Alex and gave him a stare. "I draw the circle, we get ready and then we'll pull him to us."

"How?" Daric's eyes narrowed as he looked at her.

"We'll have to use his link to me." She shrugged. "I can feel him. All the time. The power loss is more than just a trickle, now. Even here. I don't have any more options. It has to be now."

"And this time you take a little more girl power." Calliope stood up straight, her shoulders square.

"No way." Tarian and Frankie both spoke at the same time. She had to grin at that.

"You need me. I can help you pull him, Tari. I'm better at the internal stuff. And I'm the strongest in this group, except for you. Well, usually. Today, I might just be the strongest. I don't have a demon sucking at me." Her sister crossed her arms and thrust out her chin. "Plus, I can heal. You need me."

"We can't risk both of you. We shouldn't even be risking one of you." Frankie pointed at Tarian. "You, Scion, should stop putting yourself in harm's way. Send the troops in. That's what the Sentinels are for."

"The Sentinels won't be able to get anywhere near this guy." Calliope stomped her foot. "I've been studying demons. I know what to do. They don't. We aren't helpless little girls, Frankie. And you can't tell me what to do."

Well, well, well. Little sister was definitely not so little anymore. Tarian couldn't help the little swell of pride she felt. Even if she agreed with Frankie, and the last place she wanted her sister was anywhere near the demon…if they did it the way she planned, the demon would be trapped before he had a chance to breathe. It would work. With Calliope's strength and the spell, it would work.

"Daric, please open a portal. I don't want him to feel me moving until absolutely necessary. Let's go to the backyard." She hoped he'd understand that she didn't want her sister seeing that room of horrors. He nodded and did as she asked.

"Tarian, you can't be serious." Frankie looked more frantic than she'd ever seen him. His eyes darted back and forth from her to her sister and back.

"What about you? Aren't you going to protest?" She turned to face Alex, who'd remained strangely quiet.

"I know that look. I ain't even gonna try to stop you. But I got your back. This time, I go first." Alex brushed past her and into the portal before she could stop him.

She turned to Daric. "Together?"

His eyes danced in the way they had when he fought her in the arena, and the dimple flashed at her in a way that made her want to run with him to the bedroom. He took her hand, and they stepped through the portal together.

Chapter 35

Alex stood at attention in the center of the backyard, his weapon drawn and his magic focused more than Tarian had ever felt from him. "All clear. For now."

She held out her hand to Alex. "Can I borrow your dagger?"

He handed it to her slowly, as if trying to come up with a reason he shouldn't. She smiled as she took it from him, and then ignored the hiss of breath as she drew it across her wrist. Blood bloomed, then run down her arm to drip on the floor. Pain blossomed a moment later.

Tarian traced the outer edge of the circle first. Memories of school lessons flooded back to her. Even though she hadn't practiced this in years, it felt natural. She'd certainly done enough of them. She wondered if her tutors would be proud. She tried to get the edges exactly right, but noticed the circle wasn't exactly perfect. It would work, but it wasn't pretty. The real power lay within her and her blood anyway, not the shape of the circle.

When she finished the outer edge and the five pointed star within it, she etched her personal symbol in the center with the dagger. Once the tree with three branches and two leaves graced the dirt, she added her own blood to the tree trunk and branches. The tree symbolized the Xannon family bloodline and her mother, the solid base of the tree, and the branches represented her and her sister. Around the tree, a shield…a special touch she’d added as an inside joke. Not many knew her name, Tarian, meant shield.

Alex and Daric waited outside the circle. When she finished, Alex nodded his approval, and Daric flashed a grim smile. It would do.

"Where are Calli and Frankie?" She glanced back at the portal. As if on cue, the two stepped through. Both sported flushed faces and guilty expressions, and Calliope's lips glowed suspiciously red.

"Ready?" Tarian grinned at her sister, who nodded.

Tarian turned and stepped into the circle. Power vibrated when she crossed the line. A ripple of wind lifted her hair slightly. It reassured her that she had the strength necessary for capturing the demon, no matter how powerful he was. No matter how much of her own magic he’d stolen. This time, she’d prepared. This time she held the boost from Steffahn and Daric, and she’d used her own blood to seal it. The spell she’d studied was meant for exactly this. It would work. It had to.

"Everyone take a corner. Calliope, I'll need you to help pull him. Be ready to cage him, guys. A strong stasis should work long enough for me to finish."

Tarian waited as they spaced themselves out within the circle. Everyone stood with their feet spread slightly, hands to the sides, palms out. Each focused power and radiated it outward until the circle contained a combination of all four. Earth, Air, Fire and Water - all were represented in some way. They were ready.

Tarian placed the container on the ground near the center, then stepped forward and stood on her power symbol. Her body responded both to the circle and to the joined energy of the people who stood with her with a rush of adrenaline that made her skin crawl and the tiny hairs on her arm stand on end. Power swirled around her, blowing her hair with an invisible wind. She closed her eyes, and cast through the air for the demon. Her link to him glowed, inside the circle a vibrant, glowing thing which snaked away from her. Through it, she felt him, tense and ready. He knew.

Tarian said the first line of the ritual, first just a whisper, then louder. She cleared her throat, held her palms out, and said the next line strong and firm. Power from the circle swirled around her and through her. The tracer in her neck squirmed, her shoulders tensed and her head ached. Through the connection, the demon squirmed too. He moved and pulled on the link as he went. His abrupt movement made her stumble. She worked to get her feet back under her before she crossed outside the circle.

Through the link, thoughts invaded her mind. She didn’t need to stand right here. She should move. So easy to drift away. She didn’t have to fight. Everything would be all right.

Tarian stomped her foot and screamed in frustration.

He. Will. Not. Have. Me.

She marched back to the center of the circle and gathered the power around her like a cloak. She used every spec of power in her body, latched onto the link with the demon and said the third line of the spell, gasping with the effort. She and the demon played tug-of-war with their connection a taut rope between them. Neither gave an inch.

Sweat beaded up on her forehead, ran down the sides of her face, and pooled at the small of her back. Flecks of multicolored light darted through her vision.

She forced the air she’d been holding in her lungs out, then took another deep breath and shouted the fourth line. The rope gave a bit, then the demon struggled harder. Tarian leaned on the power inside the circle. She needed more. Much more. She reached a hand toward Calliope, who understood and shifted so she could direct hers more toward Tarian. Dust motes rose into the air. Panting, Tarian screamed the fifth line.

The demon slingshotted through the ether toward her. She stumbled from the sudden release of force on his side. She screamed “watch out” and braced herself on her symbol as she said the sixth line of the ritual. Only four to go.

With a roar, the demon appeared in front of her. But here, in the power of the circle built by her magic and that of her friends, he looked like a man instead of a lizard. A man she'd seen before. Her mind fought to remember the name.

Rasmussen.

Startled, she forgot the next line of the ritual. Frantic she said the sixth again, then memory took over. Words tumbled out even as the demon tried to hit her. Calliope set a shield to surround her before he struck, his spell and hand bounced off it.

Tarian’s skin sang with the concentration of energy her sister generated. Calliope was right. Today, her sister was the strongest. Tarian continued, bolstered by Calliope’s power and confidence, and as she reached the last line of the ritual, the dust on the ground swirled around until it created a black mist, obscuring everything, even Rasmussen.

At the very last moment it dawned on Tarian that it should be him surrounded by black, not her. The thought flitted through her mind, impossible to hold as she felt herself sucked down into a vortex that spun out of her control.

Chapter 36

Musty, black, nothingness. Pain. Throbbing. Pounding. Insistent. Pain reverberated through her skull and behind Tarian’s eyes. Something sharp and hard poked at her back. She blinked several times to clear her vision. It didn’t help the pain at all, so she closed them again and waited.

Soft skitters to her right popped her eyes open again. A faint red light flickered in the distance. She tried to force the room into focus, but there was nothing to see except the wobbling red glow that did nothing to illuminate her surroundings.

Tarian struggled to sit up. Black dust fell like a veil to the floor around her, which turned out to be some rough type of rock. The walls curved in on her. As she blinked, tiny pinprick glowing bulbs danced in front of her. Her head would split in two if this pounding kept up.

Looking at the wall sloping upwards and the faint outline of rough rock, she realized it was a cave. A cave created out of black and brown, musty, dusty, cold, sharp, unfriendly rock. Soft drips made her instantly thirsty. She licked her lips. They still tasted like vomit. The heaviness of the air made her want to vomit again. She gulped back the urge. Bile sat at the back of her throat and taunted her.

Her eyes adjusted enough to the dim light to make out sharp rocks jutting out at odd angles. The glowing bulbs resolved into eyes that seemed to absorb the red light and reflect it back like a cat. The bodies attached to the eyes were familiar. The archivists.

Her head pounded in time to her heart. The archivists, if that’s what they were, stared at her. Odd that they didn’t huddle like statues. They moved freely and blinked a lot. She took up a half-hearted fighting stance and tried to summon her magic. It didn’t answer. Perplexed, she pulled again but found nothing. She didn’t feel blocked exactly. The well was empty, as if the magic had simply dried up. Fear settled in and made a home in the pit of her stomach, next to the queasy part. She rubbed her neck, but although the lump of tense muscle was still there, she couldn’t feel the tracer’s pull on her either. This cave severed the link. At least temporarily.

She wasn't sure what to think about that. The eyes continued to stare at her. Why were the archivists here? She hadn’t been anywhere near them when she did the ritual that landed her here.

She pushed her body up onto wobbly legs and shuffled toward the opening of the cave. The creatures watched her go, not trying to stop her but not helping either. When she reached the mouth of the cave, she found another cave. The light emanated from a craggy rock column on an island in the middle of a small, moldy pond. The rock column vibrated a shade of red she’d never seen before. It hurt her eyes, and even with her eyes closed it throbbed and pulsed. It made no sound, not like fire would. But the closer she got to it the colder the air. As though it sucked every ounce of energy, whether magical or heat, out of the atmosphere and used it to sustain itself.

She backed off to regain a bit of heat and study it. The column rose from the ground as though sprouted there like some twisted beanstalk with the edges rough and sharp, and rose up into vast expanse above that faded from view. Even with the glow, she couldn’t see the ceiling. She’d never seen a cavern this big. Water dripped from the ceiling to form small ripples on the pond that glowed in reflected glory from that pillar. A thousand more eyes stared back at her.

“Will one of you please explain what is going on?” Her voice came out a lot higher than she liked and echoed back at her from every side. Refusing to panic, Tarian returned to the smaller cave and sat down on a rock that jutted from the cave wall. Cold permeated her jeans and made her shiver. The creatures continued to stare at her.

She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t felt the magic pulsing deep within her. She'd been born with it. It was a part of her, like blood. Essential. She hugged her arms for warmth and stamped her feet to wake up her toes.

The creatures moved closer to her, and she tensed. Their legs and arms wove in and out in some kind of group hug. The one in front put out his arms, his tiny childlike hands held out palm up towards her.

She took the offered hands. A chorus of voices bombarded her. Thousands of voices, all talking at once. It overloaded her mind with a kaleidoscope of sound.

“Stop, just stop. I said one of you. One. I can’t understand you if you all talk at once. My head. Shit.” She gasped as her skull throbbed. The cacophony died down to a whisper, and one voice stood out above the rest.

“We seek an answer.”

“You and me both.”

“Scion, holder of air, fire, water. Please tell us why you came?”

“I didn’t mean to. I meant to banish a demon.”

Several voices erupted in furious conversation. Trying to make out some of it, all she managed to pick up was “Scion” and “intrude.”

“We seek information.”

Blink. Blink. Blink.

“I used a spell from the Book of Daemon. You told me it would help. But now I'm here instead of the demon. How are you here? I left you in the archives.” As she spoke, images of her power circle and herself struggling with the demon filled her head.

Mutters filled her head. From somewhere in the mix she gathered the name “Sucole,” which sparked a frenzy of vocal activity. Along with the image of the Book of Daemon and Rasmussen himself.

A chorus of responses echoed in her head.

“We do not leave this place. We are not archivists. We are Carraig.”

“Carraig. I know that name.” Through the haze and pain she fished for something to explain the name. Something in history class. Something ancient. Ancient, with a capital A.

“Earth daemon? As in, real earth daemon? The earth daemon?” Her thoughts slugged through what little she’d managed to hold on to from class. Ancients, like the Dolphins, but with power based solely in Earth element. Manipulators of stone. Usually guardians. They disappeared thousands of years ago. She hadn’t realized the archivists were Carraig. They seemed more like stuffy librarians than guardians.

“The one you fight is not Carraig, yet carries earth talent. Born to one blinded by greed and lust who wields air, who craved union with a creature based in fire, without agreement. He must kill to survive. He will not stop.”

Blinded. "Sucole?"

An image of Sucole flashed in her mind along with the general chorus of "yes."

“Why did the spell backfire?”

“Ritual worked.” Several voices wove the answer. “Scion does not belong here.”

“I know I don’t belong here. What do you mean it worked? Where is Rasmussen if it worked? I was doing the banishment on him, not me.”

“Scion sent Scion here. Human demon creature is not here.”

“No, I didn’t. I sent…” she paused. After all, she couldn’t read the language of the ritual. She'd trusted that Rasmussen's translation had been correct.

Realization tackled her, punched her in the gut and kicked her teeth for good measure. Rasmussen. She'd trusted the very person she fought. Without knowing it, of course. But all the same. How he must be laughing right at this moment.

“I sent myself here? Sucole gave me the wrong damn spell? And Rasmussen played along. Rasmussen, the demon. The demon, who wields earth, is her son.” The vein on the side of her neck pulsed as the puzzle pieces fit together. She dropped the daemon’s hands and stood up. The sudden silence in her head filled quickly with the blood that rushed to her ears and the pulse that throbbed in her throat. She held her head in both hands, to stop the pain.

You do not see.

Sucole was right. She didn’t see that she’d been lied to, she didn't see that Rasmussen had pushed her down the path, and she didn’t see how she could make any of it right while stuck here in this dark, cold, musty place.

The daemons blinked furiously at her. One of them reached out and touched her thigh.

“Scion does not belong here. Scion must not remain here.”

“Why can’t I feel my magic?”

The eyes blinked slower.

“In this place, no magic. In this place, all are without. Scion must be summoned, to experience life magic once more.”

“Excuse me?”

“We protect the Stulos. We stay. To leave, we must be summoned, or the Stulos must fail.”

“Stulos.” The word sounded familiar. Ancient. The daemon in front of her gestured toward the red glowing light.

“You’re telling me that the light in here is a pillar? The pillar? The thing that holds the planes apart?” Nobody had seen these things for thousands of years. She hadn’t thought they were real. Not many did, any more. Certainly nobody had seen one. Not on this plane. And anything not seen was bound to be forgotten or discounted as untrue.

“One of four. Stulos must be protected, must be maintained. Stulos takes power. Stulos does not return power. We guard Stulos.”

“How the hell did this happen? How did one banishment spell send me here?”

“Knowledge is power. Book of Daemon contains all knowledge.”

“All this time…” Tarian let the words drift off as she thought about what it meant to be stuck in this dark, musty cave for what amounted to eternity. She’d never given them a thought before. They’d passed from awareness so long ago, they were nothing but myth and legend. Even the dolphins had lost their Ancient status in most modern minds. Tarian and her family were some of the few who knew what they truly were.

She sat down on the rock again and let go of the tiny hands. The creature stood there in front of her not moving and blinked occasionally.

“I’m sorry.” She finally managed.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

“So the rest of it. It’s all true. Earth, Water, Air…the Benata and the Mayfanata are air, of course. But what about Fire?”

“All elements exist, though not in harmony. Balance does not exist with planes separate. Fire waits.”

“Waits…for what?”

“Freedom.”

A loaded word.

She sought the same thing. Freedom from this cave. Freedom from the demon who hunted her and stole her power. Freedom for her family.

“You said I must be summoned out. What happens then?

“Summoned acts at the bidding of the summoner.”

The words, so simple, but so crammed with meaning. She’d experience the very thing she fought so hard to avoid. Her will, subverted by another.

“Scion is correct. Scion can then be released. As happened with Carraig in the archives of the House of Xannon.”

“Is there any other way out of here?”

“Death.”

To get out she had to be summoned, and she'd be under that person's control. Rasmussen knew. He'd known she was learning the ritual. He hadn't stopped her, and he'd known sooner or later she'd spring it on the demon she chased. Him.

She wouldn't have long to wait. Right now he must be getting ready to summon her. Instead of trapping him, she'd landed herself in an even worse position than when she'd started. She wouldn't have thought that was possible.

She wrapped her arms protectively around herself. Daric, Alex, Frankie, Calliope…they'd all seen her vanish. They held the demon in semi-stasis as she left. Maybe they'd managed to defeat him. Maybe they held the upper hand. All she had to do then was wait. They’d figure out a way to get her out of here.

Unless they couldn't. Unless Rasmussen had finished them all off. What had happened after she left? Were they okay? Were they lying on the ground, torn to bits like the people in that room?

Did any of them even know how to summon?

Here, with no magic, no way out, she was completely dependent on someone else to fix her problem.

Tarian rubbed her arms to stimulate the circulation and then stood up to stomp from side to side. She swallowed the dry lump in her throat. It refused to budge. Added in to the equation was the tiny person about to grow in her uterus. She risked herself, her sister, the Dolphin Throne and a possible child who didn’t deserve any of this.

A child who would be a blend of Steffahn, Alex and Daric. What powers would the child have, and what consequences would she suffer because of her Tarian’s foolish choices? Could such a child forgive her mother for being human?

She sat and reached for the daemon’s tiny hands. “Will you tell me why I shouldn’t have joined with a daemon? What will happen to the child?”

“Such a thing is not knowable. Possibilities are endless, and conception has not yet occurred, though it is near. It remains to be seen.”

“So you’re saying I have to wait and see.” It sounded trite, but what choice did she have?

“With time, all things are knowable. Scion is daemon. Child would be too. With or without joining another. There is much to know, much that remains unseen on this plane. Such things were lost when planes separated.”

She dropped his hands again and paced, unable to keep her body still with her mind in such turmoil. Daemon. She was part daemon. No wonder she could see that red mist when others couldn’t. That must mean her own mother, or perhaps grandmother, had dallied with someone just like Steffahn. Or even more…the dolphins? The Carraig? How was it even possible?

Remembering how she’d joined with Steffahn, she had to admit it was entirely possible. It wasn’t sex. It was so much more than that. She was living proof, after all. A human who controlled three elements. It was unheard of, even in modern times. Though her strength in fire paled beside her abilities with air and water, it still enhanced both.

She took up the daemon’s hands again. “How do you know all this?”

“We crave knowledge. We learn. We share. We grow through learning. We live through learning. Scion will learn. Scion will see. Good and bad exist in all things.”

She sat down, leaned back against the cave wall and closed her eyes. The archivists really were a spy network. Right there in her own house, little spy creatures. They probably knew a lot more than anyone had ever guessed. Even Steffahn had praised their skill. After all, nobody paid any attention to them. And they shared it all via their odd little communication system, so what one knew, the others knew. A pretty useful skill. And they’d tried to warn her.

Beware of danger from within.

Once more she had to wonder what the hell they meant. Danger within her own body? Her own house? Within the archivists themselves? Within the pages of a book? Only the archivists knew the answer. They knew a lot more than they told. And they kept it under lock and key by allowing one query at a time. She liked the Carraig better. They didn’t seem to live by the same set of rules.

She didn't see a clear way out of this mess she'd created. She needed help. She needed someone to summon her out of here before Rasmussen did. For once in her life, she was willing to beg for someone to help her, but she had no obvious way to do it.

Tarian reached for her interpreter’s hands. He blinked and took hers.

“I need to get a message out. How do I do that?”

“We cannot speak to other than We. You are We. You cannot speak to other.”

“There has to be a way. There has to be. Everything depends on this. I have to get out of here. I have to destroy Rasmussen and I can’t do that sitting here.”

A muttering began in her head, a lot of it words she didn’t recognize.

“What about the archivists? They're one of you, aren't they?” The muttering grew louder, and then died down abruptly.

“They were We once.” The voices didn’t sound happy at all.

“Why do you say that like it’s in the past? They look and talk just like you.”

“They are not We now. They are released.” The daemon’s eyes blinked slowly, and a note of wistfulness permeated his tone.

“How did they get released? Why not the rest of you?”

“They were summoned. They made agreements. They were released. They are no longer We.”

“Can you talk to them anyway?”

“We…can.”

The silence that reigned was almost deafening.

“Do you not like them anymore because they’re free?”

The eyes blinked furiously. It had the odd effect of a thousand flashlights going on and off.

“We are not small minded.”

“What is the problem then?”

“It is painful. Sacrifice is required.”

“It’s worth it.”

“They may not accept. They are not We.”

“Can we at least try? They are my archivists. Surely they’ll listen.”

Tarian waited while voices murmured in her head and images flashed. They went by so quickly she couldn’t even see what they were. Finally, one voice answered.

“We will help. Will Scion help We?”

“What do you mean?”

“We would enter agreement with Scion. We will make possible a message, if Scion offers in return.”

It sounded suspiciously like the deal Steffahn had engineered, but without her side of the bargain.

“What could I offer that you need?”

Voices cascaded over one another in her head. Excited, elated voice.

“Hey, one at a time. My head!” She dropped his hands to rub her ears, even though the sound hadn’t really come through the usual method, her ears still reacted with an odd buzz that irritated, and it didn’t help the pain either.

The creature extended his hands. She took them, grateful that the chorus now seemed solidified once more.

“Freedom.”

Such a simple thing, yet complex in execution. She had no idea how to free them. All she could truthfully promise was to try. If she agreed to try, what mess would she fall in to? She needed more time to figure it out, and she didn’t have it.

For once, the voices in her head remained silent. Still. Expectant. Hopeful.

If she did not enter into this deal, what would happen?

“True results cannot be seen.”

She could imagine the possibilities. Rasmussen could summon her, and the game would be over. Her friends saw her vanish, they might figure out how to get her back on their own. Maybe. She could simply remain here, forever. Calliope would become Scion, and Rasmussen would then go after her.

None of the possibilities sounded good. But making a deal like this, like the one with Steffahn, without all the facts seemed foolish in the extreme. What loopholes were there in this deal?

“We do not deceive. We offer the ability to communicate, though time will be limited. If Scion attains freedom, and in return offers freedom to Carraig, then Carraig offers fealty to House of Xannon until released by Xannon blood. We offer knowledge, and protection to the Xannon, in exchange for freedom. Penalties shall be forfeiture of freedom, if either party fails.”

Stunned, Tarian absorbed both the words and the meaning behind them, and the images the Carraig sent along with them. Allies. Free to roam, as they used to do. Control of their earth power once more. But bound to her and her family. Bound to protect them, or lose their freedom.

Freedom for freedom. Simply put. She would ensure they remained free and in return they would ensure she, and her family, were protected as well as they could. They allied with Earth, the one power she couldn’t wield herself. They would help her get out of here.

What was Rasmussen doing right now? Had he ripped her sister apart? Had he gone after her mother? What about Daric, and Alex, and Frankie?

No treasure is worth the price.

“If I can’t find a way to free you, what happens then?”

“Penalties shall be forfeiture of freedom, if either party fails.”

They waited, like statues. Like Steffahn. No coercion. They’d presented a choice, and it was for her to agree, or not.

You chose strong allies.

Strange, that Steffahn’s approval of the archivists could sway her decision. She didn’t know him. He did things for purely selfish reasons. Yet, in this case…

“I agree.”

“It is agreed.”

The words reverberated around the cavern as though Tarian changed something with far-reaching consequences with one small statement. It didn’t feel wrong, exactly. It just felt…monumental. And somehow, somewhere, she felt like she’d missed an important piece of the puzzle. Something vital that she hadn’t considered. She shrugged. Whatever it was didn’t matter. She’d done the deal.

No turning back now.

A group of the daemon gathered around the pillar on the island the instant the words were whispered in her head. The group formed a tightly packed, giant fur ball with arms and legs protruding at odd angles. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

The Caraigg in front of her pulled on her hands to lead her over to the fuzzy ball. They sloshed through the water, which turned out to be about knee deep and cold. The closer she got to the group in the center, the colder it became. Her toes froze in her boots. The water soaked her jeans almost up to her crotch by the time she got to the island. The scratches on her arm stung every time water splashed them. She scrambled up onto the island next to the ball.

The creature behind her shoved her into the fuzz ball, which reformed around her. She found herself in the middle of large eyes that blinked in unison, a lot of arms and hands and feet, and a comfortable blanket of furry body parts. Then something in her brain shifted, and suddenly she felt as if an antenna had been shoved into her head. She could hear so much, not just the creatures in this room but other things as well. The entire world felt like it was in the room with her, and all of it was talking, singing, humming or shouting. It blended together to create a deafening noise.

In the background, one particular sound grew louder as the rest faded away. Humming. She’d know that sound anywhere. Calliope. She did it all the time when she was working on something.

“Calli!”

“Wait,” a voice said.

The hum grew so loud, it nearly hurt her ears. Then a pain bloomed in her body, deep within her bone marrow. Panic set in as she realized how trapped she was in this fur ball with no magic and no way out.

“We listen,” a voice came.

Tarian struggled to speak through the pain. “I need to talk to Calliope.”

“That is not allowed. She is not We. She is allowed one query only.”

“Are you kidding me? She doesn’t even know I’m here. She doesn’t know to ask! I need her help!”

“She is not We. She is allowed one query only. We seek an answer. We seek to understand how Scion is now We.”

“Scion went after the book you told me about and then did a stupid ritual that got her trapped down here in this stupid cave, that’s how. I need help!” In an effort to reinforce the idea, through the pain she pictured Rasmussen and the room he’d left in Philadelphia. All the gore, the eyeball, the fight, Mark Chester, Sucole, all of it.

“Scion has not listened. Scion does not see. Scion joined with daemon. Scion does not head warnings.”

“If you’d been a little less cryptic, I might have.” Tarian gritted her teeth.

“Scion makes agreements. No treasure is worth the price."

"I had to. I tried to fix it." A brief picture of her with Daric flitted through her mind. She clamped down on it immediately. She didn't want to share every detail of her life with these creatures. She had no idea how she was supposed to close off part of her mind when they filled it so completely, but she was going to try.

“Scion does not see.”

“See what?”

Know yourself. Know the enemy. Know the why behind the what. No trap is greater than knowledge. No knowledge is greater than that which is yours by right of birth.”

She thought about that for a moment, trying to see through the pain that jolted her with every word. Her enemy was a demon; what else did she need to know?

“There is strength in yielding. Yielding grants knowledge. Knowledge grants power stronger than magic.”

Their words circled in her head. They thought they were helping, but really they lectured and chastised as a parent did a young child. And like a parent, they didn’t fully explain exactly what they meant. She couldn’t see how she could use it. Not right now, locked here with no magic, with no way out and with every bone screaming at her.

“Help.” She gasped as the pain threatened to tear her apart. She imagined this must be what bone cancer felt like or maybe having your skeleton ripped out of your skin. This wasn’t going to work. Disappointment settled in with the pain. She wasn’t sure if it was hers, or the Caraigg’s.

A pause. Mutters filled the spaces in her head. A word here or there. Agreement. A reluctant acceptance.

“Knowledge grants power. Scion must seek it. Scion has entered agreements without knowledge or understanding.”

“I know…screwed myself.” She could barely talk for the waves of pain rolling through her. The edges of her brain grew fuzzy.

“Scion deceived. Such is the way of humans.”

“Such is the way of all creatures.” She filled her mind with an image of Steffahn and his agreement. A wave of pain threatened to overwhelm her. It was all she could do to keep herself coherent. “Family helps family. No matter the…consequence. Name your price. I will deal with you, if I have to.”

Silence echoed louder than any words. She’d said as much to them before, but not to the Carraig. Awe permeated the silence. Somehow, calling them family meant more than anything else.

“What information shall we give?”

“Tell her…where I am…I’m…in trouble. She needs…the book…on the bed…bring me back.”

Complete silence reigned. Endless seconds stretched to an eternity of agony as she found to keep her wits, her sanity, and the pain at bay.

Somewhere through the pain she realized the humming had stopped. She could feel the connection through some sort of link with the archivists.

With a shock she realized it wasn't her sister she linked with.

"Mother!"

The archivists delivered her message. She felt the concern, the alarm, the panic as it was received. Things she'd have sworn her mother never felt. Thoughts filled her mind, thoughts that didn’t belong to her or the archivists or the Carraig. Overwhelming fear.

“What if I can’t find the right spell. What will happen to her. How can I solve this? How can I leverage the archivists to free her. Or the Mayfanata. Steffahn did this. I should never have let her go after that book. My fault. All my fault. I should have warned her about Steffahn sooner. I should have warned her. Too late, too late.”

“Mother…it’s not your fault!” Tarian shoved the words through her head, hoping her mother would hear them. But the thoughts faded away, replaced by reverberating pain and a sense of loss.

“By ancient agreement. Message sent and received. Help delivered. Scion grows weak. Scion must break link.” The connection severed, and the ball flew apart as each demon body broke free. She lay in the center of the island next to the freezing bonfire and panted.

A creature…the same one?…took her hand and pulled her onto her feet and away from the fire. The pain vanished with the link, but the aftereffects felt like the worst hangover ever. She staggered behind her guide, unable to really see where she was going since she had to focus so hard on getting one foot in front of the other. They sloshed back to the small outer cave. Blissful darkness and comparative warmth enveloped her. She shivered and her teeth chattered.

“Our side of agreement is fulfilled.” The Carraig stepped back away from her.

She collapsed on the floor, curled up in a ball and surrendered to the dark.

Chapter 37

Tarian rolled against something hard and moaned. Everything hurt. Every pore, every joint, every particle of her body. Beyond that, her heart hurt the most. She’d connected with her mother’s innermost thoughts and in them she’d found a frightened girl who worried about her daughter. Tarian had never thought her mother suffered doubt of any sort. Now she knew the truth. Her mother doubted, she just hid it. From everyone. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she realized what grief she’d caused her mother. She hadn’t meant to. Her mother was a rock, a pillar, a person she leaned against when she needed it and ignored when she didn’t. And it wasn’t fair. She hadn’t been fair. When she got out of this. When, not if. When she got out of this she’d go to those meetings. She’d learn who and why and how, so that her mother didn’t face it all alone.

Tarian started at the touch of a soft hand on her arm. She pulled back, ready to fight, then saw the giant eyes and remembered where she was.

“Scion goes now.”

“I do? I am?” Something pulled at her core, as if whatever it was sucked her entire body into a tube. Her skin tried to get away and hide. Her soul ripped from her body, and then her body followed as a black cloud of dust formed around her.

“Remember agreement!” The thought followed her into black nothingness.

She drifted, feeling lazy. It was nice. No pressure, no responsibility, no fear, no regret. She had something important to do, didn’t she? What was it? Something vital. She could almost remember. She tried to concentrate, but the thought flitted away. A butterfly in a meadow. Never settled.

The black veil fell away to reveal a yard. She knew this place, but couldn’t name it. Grass. Benches. Sky. Tang in the air. A memory teased her. A fight with…someone.

A man stood in front of her. Her body yielded to him. She was a puppet, and he pulled the strings. She’d do anything he asked. Anything at all.

The man walked toward her. She knew his face, but she struggled to remember his name. It danced around the edges of her mind. He looked angry, but his chin raised in satisfaction as he looked at her.

She tried to ask him his name, but no words escaped. She tried again. Stars danced in front of her eyes. Some force held her upright, and she had a feeling if the force dissolved she’d be on the ground. That force allowed her to breathe. It did not allow her to speak.

Something was missing. Something important. Something she needed and wanted desperately. What was it?

The man crossed his arms and glared. His lips moved, but she couldn't hear anything. Her ears heard no sound at all. Her heart raced. Why couldn't she hear?

A woman joined him. Blonde. Tall. Familiar. She frowned. Her lips moved. Tarian couldn’t hear the words. Something about this woman…important. Very important. The woman looked at the man, who faced her and moved his lips.

"Tarian."

The sudden sound of her name put her entire body on alert. She was ready. She would do whatever this man asked. She waited for the next words with anticipation and dread.

"Can you hear me?" The man looked worried. “Can you hear everyone?”

"Yes." The word came from her lips but she hadn't thought to say anything. Her mouth was not her own. Her body was not her own. It was his. Somewhere deep inside her, a part of her mind pounded at her. This wasn't right.

"What's wrong with her?" A high voice behind her. Soft. Pleasant. Familiar. She knew that voice. She knew it well. Once again, the name escaped her.

“It’s part of the summoning. She can't answer unless I ask a direct question." The man smiled. "Is that right, Tarian?"

"Yes." Once again, her mouth moved without her being in control. She pounded inside the cage in her mind. She wanted to scream at this man, but she couldn't. He hadn't asked her to.

The woman next to him pursed her lips. “I’m not sure this fits the definition of saving my daughter.”

Daughter. The word flitted past.

“To summon someone they are bound to your will. But it can be released. It’s better to do it one step at a time.” The man leaned in close to Tarian, his lips next to her ear. “You have to do anything I tell you to do, yes?” he whispered in her ear.

"Yes." She stood, unmoving, while inside her a part of her seethed. She tried to grasp at the pieces of her mind and will them back together.

"I'd rather have a willing partner." He kissed her cheek.

A name danced through her mind, but was gone before she could catch it.

He stepped away from her and another woman joined him. A smaller one, though she looked like the taller one. She knew this woman. Knew her well. Her name hovered around the edges of her mind. Inside she screamed, "Let me out!" But outside, her body stood motionless.

The man spoke, and black descended over her once more.

The black filled with pain. Throbbing, pounding, reverberating pain. Tarian groaned and tried to roll over, away from it.

“Shhhh, don’t move. Here, drink this.” The voice was kind, and deep, and familiar. Something warm and soothing poured onto her lips. She swallowed reflexively, which set off a wave of pain in her jaw and around her head.

“Take another sip.”

She tried to push the thing away. It hurt. But the voice insisted, and her hands refused to work, and it was easier to just do as she was told. With each sip, some of the pain lessened. It occurred to her that this was an improvement over something. She’d had no will of her own. She’d been trapped inside her own mind. Did she have control now?

“Let me try something,” a feminine voice said. From somewhere far away she fished out a name. Calliope. Relief joined it. Her sister, alive and well. For some reason, that was important.

Tarian felt herself being shifted slightly. Her body lay on something soft. Had she been drinking? What the hell? The pain seemed endless.

A soothing sensation passed over her arms as if they were dipped in a warm bath. Relief from the intense pain in her bones followed. She felt it receding from her legs next, until it all became just a dull ache. Except for her head, which still throbbed. She reached up with her hands to hold her head in a useless attempt to get it to stop throbbing.

“Headache?” Calliope asked.

“The caffeine will help. She just needs to drink more of it,” the deep voice answered. She knew that voice. It was…it was…

The cup was placed against her lips again and she drank a few more sips. The pain bubbled. Tentatively she tried opening her eyes. A pair of deep brown eyes stared back at her.

“Welcome back.” Daric smiled.

She moaned.

“I can try to help the headache, Tarian, but I’m not very good with that area yet,” Calliope said. Tarian looked over to see her sister sitting on the bed next to her. She looked up. The familiar mural of her own ceiling smiled down at her.

“What…” Tarian murmured softly.

“There's always some pain after a summoning is released. I'm not sure why you fainted. Maybe it was my dashing good looks.” His dimple winked at her.

She rubbed her head with her hands. Her jumbled thoughts circled and solidified. Rasmussen. The ritual. The cave. The Carraig. She'd been trapped in a cave with them. She’d made a deal. Then black. Then outside somewhere with Calliope and her mother. Now here. Everything felt disjointed and awkward. But her body was her own again. She almost cried as the realization struck.

“Here, another few sips.” Daric held the cup up to her lips again and she drank deeper. Coffee. Bless the man, he'd brought her coffee.

“It usually isn’t this bad.” Daric took the cup away again.

“How would you know?” Tarian tried to sit up.

“I’ve been banished before.” He put his hand on her back and helped push her into a sitting position. He pushed the coffee cup into her hands and she cuddled it.

“You’ll need to eat soon. All of your body processes shut down when you’re banished, but they start up again when you’re released. You need to replace the energy.”

“I ate this morning.” She sipped more coffee.

“That was yesterday,” Calliope said.

“Oh.” She couldn’t think of any other response.

She tried to get up, but fell back down onto the bed, toppling into Daric. His arms immediately went around her.

“Give it a few minutes. It'll wear off soon. Keep drinking the coffee.”

“I have to get out of here. Rasmussen. The demon is Rasmussen. I have to go.”

“No, Tarian. You have to stay. Mother is furious. She won’t let you out of the House again, that’s for sure. And the reception has already started. You have to be there.” Calliope paced the length of the small living room. She'd never seen her sister look so worried.

“Reception?” Everything was so hazy.

“The Reception to meet the final Potentials. Don’t you remember?”

“Of course I remember." She glanced at Daric. "I'm not sure I need to go now."

“What do you mean?” Calliope stopped pacing.

“I may have already completed the ritual.” She took a deep breath. “At least, I tried to. Just in case.”

Calliope’s mouth formed an “O.” She looked from Tarian to Daric and then down at her hands.

“I know…well, I hate to ask, but…”

“Yes, Calli, more than two.”

Daric’s arms tensed around her.

Knowledge grants power stronger than magic.

“I still think you should be there. Mother will have a fit if she doesn’t see you walking around with your own mind intact soon. She only left to arrange food and a healer for you.”

“I can’t go. Most of my magic is gone. I can barely feel it now. He can take me anytime he wants. I don't even know how you all got away from him. He's ridiculously powerful, and with my power added to his…" She gulped, then took another swallow of coffee. "I've just had firsthand experience of what that would be like, and I can’t let him do it. I won’t.” She used Daric to steady herself as she stood up. Her legs shook but held her upright. Her head still hurt. She looked around at the bed and the side table. “Where is the book?”

“What book?” Calliope looked around, as if expecting a book to pop off a shelf somewhere.

“The book is gone?” Tarian swayed, then sat back down on the bed. Daric’s hands moved to hold her arms, probably to keep her from falling off. She waited for her head to stop spinning. She tried to remember the last time she’d seen it. It was next to her when she fell asleep studying it. Had it been there when she and Daric…her cheeks grew hot. She couldn’t remember.

Had her mother taken it?

“How did you get me back here without the book?” She turned to study Daric.

“I’ve known the summoning spell for a long time. It’s useful.”

“It’s illegal.”

Daric shrugged. “Arrest me.”

She glared at him. “Forget it. You’d enjoy it too much.”

Daric’s dimple reappeared.

“Is there any way to block Rasmussen? Any way at all?” She stood again, stronger this time, and joined her sister in pacing the floor. With every step her body felt a bit better. The headache receded. “I obviously can’t use the spell Sucole pointed out. Damn her.”

“So that’s what happened? She told you the wrong spell?” Calliope stopped so abruptly Tarian nearly knocked into her. “How do you know?”

“I figured it out. Landing in a dark smelly cave was a giant clue.” Tarian walked around Calliope and continued to pace. “The Carraig confirmed it.”

“Carraig?” Calliope’s voice squeaked. “You…Carraig? The Carraig?”

Tarian nodded, distracted. Think. If only she could think. Her mind refused to focus. Fuzzy. Everything so fuzzy.

“Well I’ll be damned. Your mother said as much.” Daric stood in Tarian’s way, forcing her to stop. “I don’t like this, Tarian. There’s a lot more going on here than one demon trying to get at you. A lot more.”

“You think I don’t know?”

“What’s going on?” Calliope stood next to the two of them, her eyebrows crinkled in confusion.

“Everything. Nothing.” Tarian shook her head. “I’m glad you’re okay. Why are you? Okay, I mean?”

“Rasmussen left just as you did. You dissolved, then he poofed out. Just like that. He didn’t touch us. It was like he suddenly had somewhere important to be.” Calliope touched Tarian’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look right.”

“Good. That’s…good.” Tarian frowned. Something important. Something…vital. Something she had to…fight.

“Tarian? Look at me.” Daric took her face in his hands.

Tarian studied him, her hands limp by her side. His lips, so close. No. That’s not what she…she had to fight…something. What?

“Something’s wrong. She’s free of the banishment. She shouldn’t be reacting this way. Calliope, can you reach her?” Daric’s worried eyes continued to stare into hers. Her sister’s hands touched her forehead. Cool. Soothing.

Something. Important. “Calli…”

“I don’t know. Something is off. I can’t…I don’t know how.” Calliope’s voice, high, frightened, trembled.

“Get help.” Daric ordered. Calliope ran for the door. She screamed at someone on the other side.

Tarian watched her, bemused. Something was wrong. Her eyes clouded. Everything coated in red mist. She blinked. More red mist appeared.

Her blood turned to ice shards that cut her from the inside.

“Time’s up.”

Chapter 38

The demon reached for her through their link and coated her in red mist. He took absolute control of her body. Her magic answered to him. Her heart beat an unnatural rhythm as she watched Daric and Calliope talking. Watched their eyes widened. Watched Daric jump. Watched Calliope wave her hands. They shouted her name, but she couldn’t answer.

"Scion, at last, we truly meet." The voice whispered in her head, filling her ears and mind with a soft, snakelike hiss. "You have something I need, Scion. Meet me in your receiving hall. There's someone who would like to see you."

"Get out of my head! Let me go!" She shouted at him, but the words never escaped her lips. He didn’t respond, and neither did her body.

She watched from inside herself, horrified, as her body turned toward the door. Calliope and Daric shouted at her, but their words were incomprehensible. The only voice she needed to hear was the whisper inside her head, which told her to leave.

Calliope grabbed at her arm.

The room spun.

Tarian tried to clear it, to shake it off, to gather her own power. But she had nothing to fight with.

She watched her own hand rise and cast power at her sister. She watched as it hit her sister square in the chest, knocking her into the door. She watched Calliope land in a crumpled heap, unconscious.

She watched, but could do nothing.

Inside her head, she pounded at an invisible wall that kept her will locked away from the rest of her.

The door opened, and Sentinels pushed Calliope’s body aside as they fought to get into the room. She saw, as if from a distance, all of them draw weapons and aim at Daric. Once again she screamed, but once again the words failed to leave her mind.

She turned to Daric. Even as she fought against the movement in her mind, shouting inside herself to turn away from him, her body lashed out. Force exploded against him and threw him back onto the floor and into the wall. He lay there, dazed, as realization spread over his face. He knew. In the locked-away portion of her mind, she celebrated that small victory. He knew Rasmussen was in control.

She turned away from him and pushed the Sentinels out of the way. Inside, she cringed at the thought that they might try to fight back. Part of her hoped they would. Part of her would rather they didn’t, for their sake as well as her own. As she left, she heard them argue, but no footsteps followed her.

She moved down the hallway, her steady pace making it seem more like a walk in the park than a death march. She was positive when she reached the receiving hall and the throne was in view that someone would die. She just wasn’t sure who.

Alex appeared at the end of the hallway with the Sentinel she’d sent to find him. They chatted, still unaware that anything was wrong.

“Alex, run!” The words didn’t come out but danced around inside her head, mocking her.

"You belong to me, Scion. Your attempts are amusing but futile. Where is the book?"

Without even thinking, her mind answered the question. "I don't know."

"I can see the opposition ahead of you. Continue to me, Scion. We shall deal with any who stand in our way."

Her hand came up. Her power gathered. A bolt shot at Alex, hitting him square in the chest. He crumpled, even as she sent another jolt toward the Sentinel.

She stepped over both men and continued down the hallway.

She tried to focus her thoughts. The red mist that coated her vision made everything hazy. Her hold on reality slipped. It wasn’t like the summoning, when Daric had pulled her out of that cave. This felt like Rasmussen drained her essence. He didn’t just control her, he owned her. Everything but the small bit of mind she used to analyze the situation.

Terror.

She scrambled to take hold of her own body. It continued as though she didn’t exist, locked away inside it like she was.

She’d lost. It was over. The Dominion, once completed, could not be undone. Rasmussen had achieved his purpose, and now all she could do was watch as he destroyed everything. Her family, her home, society…everything.

She’d never been so afraid. She had no way to fight back, no way to even communicate with anyone. She cast about with her mind, trying to find anything to latch on to. A sliver of power he didn’t control. She was terrified of what would happen when she reached him. Her mind shouted at her body to stop, to turn around, to leave. She beat against the invisible wall that divided her small prison from the rest of her.

She watched through her own eyes as she entered the receiving hall and found it crowded with men she didn’t know. Potentials, all anxious to meet her. Guilt stabbed at her. She should have called it off. Told them no. Told them she’d already completed the ritual. How many of these men would get hurt, just by being here?

She watched their faces as she walked by. They didn’t know yet. They had no idea something was wrong or that in a few minutes she might start shooting at them.

Advisor Jonus stood near the side door. Tarian didn’t see her mother, but she couldn’t turn her head or even shift her own eyes. She was forced to look exactly where Rasmussen let her look.

In front of her, the Dolphin Throne glowed, but she wasn’t sure if anyone else could see it. It reacted to her presence or Rasmussen’s. She was sure the power built, ready to defend or strike. She couldn’t warn anyone.

Rasmussen must be in this crowd. She hunted for him in her limited vision but didn’t see him until she pushed through a large group near the side of the platform closest to the throne. He faced her. Another man stood with him, his back to her, punctuating the conversation with hand gestures.

Rasmussen offered an oily smile as she approached. She crossed the rune etched into the center of the floor and continued. From the corner of her eye, she thought it glowed as she passed by. The only time it had ever glowed was her naming day and the day the Succession Ritual started. A spark of hope flared as she detected clicks in the air. Dolphins chittered excitedly about something. They were hard to hear, with all the other noise from conversations, but they gave her a tiny pulse of hope. Her friends. Ancient. Always there in her life. They’d know, through the throne medallion, what happened here. They’d help if they could. It was a small comfort.

Tarian reached Rasmussen’s side and stood, docile, expectant. A drone waiting orders. At first his eyes shone in triumph, then he glanced behind her and they narrowed. He licked his lips.

“Scion. I sense a change in you. I sense…” His pause made her heart thump in her chest. He knew. He knew she’d been with Steffahn. He didn’t look pleased, but since he hadn’t asked a question, she couldn’t speak. “Your joining is…unexpected.”

Rasmussen’s companion turned to face her. Shock waves rippled through the small portion of mind she could control. Victor Aiello. He was part of this entire conspiracy. He wasn’t the only one either. Someone else inside the house had sent Daryl on the original mission to entice her into that alley. It couldn’t have been Victor. Someone else had yet to play their hand.

“What did you just say?” Victor turned on Rasmussen. “You said she’d be mine. What does this mean?”

“Our agreement detailed only that I arrange domination of her will through Domini and pass that control to you. I have achieved a portion of the agreement.”

“You were supposed to do this before the Succession Ritual. I was supposed to be the only one she mated with. Me, you idiot. And not,” he slammed the table next to him with his fist on the word, “in a room full of people.”

“Such detail was not part of the agreement.”

Rasmussen’s calm voice seemed to infuriate Victor. Part of her was happy Victor had been thwarted, at least in this. She’d been right to push the ritual up. Whatever else happened, at least she’d stopped that. Even if it meant joining with Steffahn.

“I was supposed to be the one to produce a child with her. Me. I wanted me and my child on the throne. You knew that. Don’t pretend you don’t understand.”

“I understand more than such as you can fathom.”

Rasmussen flicked his hand at Victor.

“Fool! What are you doing?” Victor’s eyes widened.

“As you requested, I have delivered. My portion of the agreement is fulfilled.”

Rasmussen waved a hand, and the red mist that had coated her vision lifted, hovered in the air and then settled on Victor.

Control over her body shifted. It wavered for a moment and then snapped together. It felt different but still hopeless. Victor’s essence flowed into her. Every slimy bit of him invaded her to the core. It was the worst kind of violation she could imagine. Rasmussen had been clinical and cold. Victor was demented, evil. It made her wonder which was worse, demon or human. Maybe humans were the real demons.

“And now it is time for your part of the agreement, Victor Aiello.” Rasmussen waited, exuding calm patience at complete odds with the tension in the room. Only his red eyes betrayed his mood. He was ready for a fight.

“You haven’t fulfilled your portion. I do not have the throne. You’ll wait until I have it.” Victor smiled his politician’s smile, the same one he’d used with her.

“Is the item in your possession?” Rasmussen sounded as though he discussed the weather.

“It is. Now give me what I asked for. Give me the throne. Then you’ll have what you wanted.”

He lied. He used that smile when he lied. Whatever it was Rasmussen wanted, Victor didn’t have it. If they had a deal, he was about to break it. She stood between them, watching like a helpless puppy, surrounded by people who did not understand anything odd was happening. Yet.

“Tarian!” She heard Alex’s shout from behind her. She couldn’t turn to look or respond.

Rasmussen raised a lazy hand and she felt a blast rush past, and then heard a grunt followed by a thud behind her, along with exclamations of shock and surprise from several sources. Alex!

“Where is the book, Victor Aiello? Our agreement is not complete.”

“I take the throne first.” Victor pointed at her. Her entire body snapped to attention. “Scion, order the throne to pass to me.”

Her body turned to the throne but did nothing. As far as she knew, that simply couldn’t be done. Calliope had told her as much. It had to be won in battle, and at the moment, its place in her family was solidified by her completion of the ritual. Controlling her wasn’t enough. He’d have to kill her mother to put it up for grabs.

She hoped he wouldn’t ask her that question. She’d be forced to answer.

“Why isn’t this working?” Victor turned on Rasmussen. “I feel nothing.”

“The power that lies in that object is not one I command. You must discover it on your own. The book?”

In the smallest portion of her mind, the part that was still uniquely her, Tarian realized what Rasmussen sought. The Book of Daemon. He’d dealt with Victor to get it. She couldn’t fathom how Victor convinced the demon he had it to give. Somehow, he’d leveraged Sucole. But Steffahn was the one who really held it. Why hadn’t Victor dealt with Steffahn directly? The whole thing made no sense.

During the exchange, crowd noise behind her died away to shocked silence. For a moment, everything hung in disbelieving silence as the Potentials absorbed the situation. She sensed movement, tension, disbelief, outrage. Murmurs turned to objections which turned to shouts. Then several stepped forward into her field of vision and a barrage of magical attacks commenced. Power whizzed by her head. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. Rasmussen didn’t even notice it.

“Victor Aiello, do you possess the item for which we had an agreement?” His words, coated in ice, hung in the air above the noise of the crowd. She sensed the consequences of a negative answer. But Victor seemed beyond hearing.

“There’s no book, you moron. There never was. And now she’s mine, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Victor snarled at her. “Tarian, pass the throne to me.”

She couldn’t, but he hadn’t asked her a question so she couldn’t explain. All she did was stand there. She cheered for that small blessing. The less he knew, the better.

“Victor Aiello, you will be given one chance. Atonement for attempted dissolution of agreement will begin now, after which our agreement will be forfeited if you do not produce the item, per agreement.” Rasmussen placed a hand on Victor’s chest. Victor convulsed then dropped to the floor in apparent agony.

Rasmussen turned to her. His eyes glowed red but otherwise he appeared calm. Deadly. “I think you’ll discover your joining was a mistake. But I commend the attempt. It was…surprising.” Rasmussen stood close to her, his mouth at her ear. “I’d have you myself, but I sense it is too late. Pity. Your lineage combined with my heritage would have made for a powerful weapon against certain fiery entities. But now I think perhaps your offspring will provide a much more interesting opportunity, particularly to a certain Ancient being. The outcome of your actions will be extraordinary. It presents possibilities I will enjoy exploiting. I can be patient.” He licked his lips.

She struggled against her bonds, but they held. His threat to use her unborn child made her boil inside her cage. She hadn’t wanted to be pregnant but if she was, she’d protect the child with every force she could muster.

Behind Rasmussen, Victor gained control of his body once more. He got to his feet, his face red and tight with anger.

“Tarian, kill him.” He pointed at Rasmussen.

Chapter 39

Tarian’s body shot a ball of fire directly at Rasmussen’s chest. Her body didn’t hesitate to send another. She’d never been able to create something that large or powerful with fire before. At this distance, the blast should have been lethal, even if fire wasn’t her strongest affinity.

Rasmussen formed a shield that blocked everything her body threw at him. The power ricocheted, striking several men around them who crumpled. She sent fireball after fireball, creating a barrage that a normal person would never have been able to withstand. She found it strange that her body relied on fire when air and water were her strongest abilities, but she obeyed the intentions Victor sent her way, and he relied mostly on fire. It hadn’t occurred to him to figure out her strengths. His pursuit of power made him blind.

Men shouted. Waves of power from all sides rebounded and struck everywhere but their intended target. She could see only Rasmussen in front of her, and Victor behind him, manic with control and power.

Sweat trickled down Rasmussen’s face. He concentrated on deflecting. She hated that she was being forced to do something she’d have done on her own. She’d wanted to destroy the demon. On her own. In her own way. The ability to choose made all the difference in the world. If she’d been under her own free will, she’d still be fighting Rasmussen, but this way Victor would use her up and from what she could tell, she’d never defeat Rasmussen. Her power was no match, not even here in her own home. Not using only fire. And it was only a matter of time before Rasmussen or Victor figured out how to get the throne.

“Tarian. I said kill! Something stronger.”

Her body gathered power, focused into something she couldn’t even begin to understand and she watched, horrified, as a liquid ball of water, blended with fire, erupted from her hands and surged toward Rasmussen. It shouldn’t have been possible. She’d never created anything like it before.

Rasmussen roared as it struck his shield and dissolved it.

The chandelier above them exploded, and a shower of glass shards cascaded down over the crowd. Everyone threw their hands over their heads. Rasmussen dove to the center of the room.

Panic rushed through the few who remained as they gathered magic defenses of their own or shoved to get out of the way. Through it all, she stood, unflinching. Glass cut into her arms. She didn’t feel pain. If she’d been further to the left, the debris would have killed her. Victor hadn’t thought to order her out of the way.

He had, however, ordered her to kill. Her body continued trying to fulfill the command, and turned to face Rasmussen and the rest of the room. She sent another fireball at him, which struck home and flared.

Rasmussen roared, then spread his arms out wide. Sound ushered forth with almost visible velocity. He transformed in front of her, growing almost a foot taller while scales erupted along his face and neck. His biceps bulged, and his extended hands ballooned and exploded into claws.

In the part of her mind that was still her own, she knew it was over. She didn’t have the power to defeat him, not transformed into a full demon. She didn’t even know everything he was capable of in this form, but she could guess.

Knowledge grants power stronger than magic.

She sent bolt after bolt toward Rasmussen. He deflected each one as a child would toss aside an old toy.

Daric ran through the door. She watched as he stopped, looked at her, Rasmussen, then Victor.

“Victor, stop it! You’ll kill her.” Her body continued to rain fire on Rasmussen, who now advanced on her. She was a pawn, caught in between two evil demons determined to win. A small part of her rejoiced that Victor hadn’t ordered her to kill anyone else. Yet.

Through the confusion, the dust, the haze, and the rebounding power, Tarian saw the side door open and Advisor Jonus run through, pulling her mother along with him. He stopped just inside the room and pointed at Tarian as though he knew exactly where she was. Her mother stopped short, stunned.

Tarian wanted to scream. Her mother had to get out of here. The Keeper had to protect the throne. Tarian’s body didn’t care what Tarian wanted and continued to fire on Rasmussen, drenching him in water gathered from the pregnant Pacific air. Victor didn’t care. He hadn’t even noticed her mother’s arrival.

Her mother’s hands reached out, and the glow around the Dolphin Throne joined with her. She was going to fire on Rasmussen. Her mother didn’t know that Victor held the real strings.

As Tarian continued to fire at Rasmussen, from inside her own head she watched as Advisor Jonus shuffled to the side of the room, away from her mother. Toward Victor.

Her mother shot a glowing ball of light at Rasmussen. It struck him in the head, and he staggered back. Her next ball of light struck home on his chest. His shield shattered. He roared, then turned toward her mother. He flicked a claw, and the roof over her mother collapsed.

Tarian screamed. Inside her head she raged. She could do nothing. Forced to watch as parts of the ceiling cascaded down on her mother. Shouts, groans and screams filled the air. Her mother fell underneath the weight of stone and rock. Tarian beat against her prison. Her heart raged and her soul cried out, but nobody could hear. Her mother hadn’t even gotten off a shield spell. The throne hadn’t protected her. Why?

Tarian could do nothing. She knew, deep inside, there was no way her mother had survived. She was impotent, helpless, hopeless. Agony washed over the tiny portion of mind she did control.

“Victor, dammit, stop it! She can’t fight this battle for you. He’s too strong.” Daric shouted from somewhere behind her. She didn’t care. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t win this fight. She’d lost the minute Rasmussen stole her blood.

“Brother. Nice of you to join me. Didn’t I tell you I would one day call the throne my own?” Victor’s eyes looked wild and unfocused, but he stood tall, his shoulders squared.

Daric advanced on them. Her mind whirled around the word brother, even as her body kept up the assault on Rasmussen.

Rasmussen looked amused as he continued to parry Tarian’s blows. “I ssssense surprise from your captive, Victor Aiello.”

“That’s right, Tarian. Didn’t Daric tell you we were brothers?”

“No.” Since he’d asked a direct question, her body was free to answer.

“Still keeping secrets then, eh, brother? Didn’t show her the family skeletons? Thought you’d jump into her bed like all the others, just to spite me? Well, you’re too late, little brother. She’s mine. The throne is mine.”

Her heart was having trouble wrapping itself around what her head was telling her. Daric and Victor were related…and obviously Victor was pure evil. What did that make Daric? Were they in on the whole thing together?

Her body sagged from the sheer amount of energy she expended. It was more than she’d ever have attempted on her own. Rasmussen toyed with her, waiting for her to run out of steam. His eyes gleamed as he looked at her.

“Victor Aiello, do you have the item for which we agreed?”

“You’re finished here, Rasmussen.” Victor laughed. “I have the girl. I’ll have the throne. You have nothing. Your services are no longer required.”

Daric raced past Tarian, toward Victor, his face a mask of determination, anger and concentration. She couldn’t turn to watch. She could only hear as the two collided, and feel the power clash behind her. Something, a fist or a magic pulse, struck her in the back.

Her legs buckled, and she fell to her knees. Magic from all sides raced toward her. She pushed again at the power that held her. Nothing. Still trapped.

Rasmussen’s muscles bulged as he brought his arms up for a death blow. She cringed inside, powerless to stop it.

The power shot straight for her, then deflected above her head. A shout of pain, followed by a crash and rain of wood shards, followed by a groan.

The hold on her body lifted so suddenly, she collapsed the rest of the way to the floor. The knot in her neck released, spreading warmth to the muscles around it as though they’d liquified after an hour long massage. She lay, panting, as she absorbed the fact that the pull on her power had ceased, that her mind was her own and her body under her own command. Somehow, Rasmussen had unlocked the cage and released her mind.

Her body. Her mind. Free. Exhausted, but free.

Rasmussen advanced on her. He looked shaken. His eyes darted from left to right as if searching for something.

Chapter 40

Tarian tried to get up but couldn’t make her legs work. They refused to move or support her in any way. Her head rang from the blows Rasmussen had already dealt. When she’d been under Victor’s control, she hadn’t felt them. Now she dealt with the after affects of not only the hits, but also the ones she’d dealt.

Drained of energy. Physically exhausted. She couldn’t fight back even if she willed it. She’d failed. Her mother…she couldn’t have survived. It was her fault. All her fault.

She put her hands to her head and tried to squeeze the pain into nonexistence. All she did was cause more stars. Behind Rasmussen, she saw Calliope enter at a full run, then stop as she took in the scene. Calliope’s mouth fell open, and her eyes widened in shock, disbelief or fear, or maybe all three.

There is strength in yielding.

Maybe there was. Or maybe all she had to do was make Rasmussen think she had given up. Tarian remained still, even as he slowly advanced on her. He glanced down at her but didn’t stop.

After he passed, she held her hand out to Calliope. She didn’t have the strength to even tell her to be quiet, but hoped Calli would have the sense.

Calliope crouched down and moved quickly, dodging tables and the ruined chandelier. She reached Tarian’s side and took her hand. Tarian squeezed, and felt the familiar sister bond take hold.

“All of this for a trinket.” Rasmussen sounded bemused.

Tarian’s body shook as she pulled herself up onto her side. She shifted so she could face Rasmussen. He ignored her, his attention focused entirely on the Dolphin Throne. She might have thwarted Victor’s plan for the ritual, but Rasmussen could still attempt to steal it by force. He might not know it yet, but he’d figure it out soon, she had no doubt.

“I sensed your hunger for this object. I sensed need and longing. But not its purpose. It is simple wood, and should be earth magic, but feels more water based. Such an item can scarcely be powerful.” He sounded confused.

He didn’t know. He couldn’t see the magic of the throne. She could see his power as a red mist of energy, but he couldn’t see hers. She swallowed the lump in her throat. The Dolphin Throne, steeped in water, created energy hidden from this creature of earth and fire. He could not use it. Could not sense it. In this case, knowledge truly was power.

She tried to pull together her power to use it while he was distracted, and her head nearly exploded. She couldn’t do it. She didn’t have it in her. She looked at the Dolphin Throne again. Where was the protection it was supposed to offer?

She saw the glow. It filled the room and pulsated, mingled with the remaining red dust of demon magic. It blended and circled around all of them. She hadn’t seen it before, when she’d been under Rasmussen’s control. Perhaps it hadn’t been there.

You look but you do not see.

The power waited to be called, to be used.

“You have to let it in.” Calliope whispered. “It’s waiting for you to claim it.”

There is strength in yielding.

Rasmussen raised his hands. Red mist coalesced around him. He shaped something, and she didn’t want to find out what. He’d held her once. She wouldn’t let him do it again. No scratches, no blood, no rituals, no banishment.

Knowledge grants power stronger than magic.

She squeezed Calliope’s hand, closed her eyes, and opened herself to her sister. With the influx of strength, she opened further. She accepted the Throne, the responsibility and her position as Scion in her heart, allowing its power to fill her as the opportunity it truly was, not the burden she’d once thought it to be.

Her strength and resolve grew, solidified, became something more. Calliope’s own power joined Tarian’s to create a new blend of air, water, fire, and earth. It startled her to realize how much earth Calliope actually possessed. She’d thought her sister purely air.

Tarian let go of her fear and anger, and cast her mind into the glow of power surrounding her. The Dolphin Throne waited. It was hers to command. It greeted her, a long-awaited blend of acceptance and indignation. She should have done this earlier. She’d fought against it so long, for no reason.

In her heart, she apologized for avoiding her place, her destiny. She was born for the throne, and in return the throne would guide and protect her. It wasn’t a bad deal. It was an honor.

She accepted it in her heart and mind.

With acceptance, warmth from her sister and power from the throne infiltrated every part of her body. It restored her enough to add her own power to the mix. The three combined to become something that one alone could not.

Synergy.

The word wandered through her mind. Was it her sister or the throne or something else that spoke?

She lay there, gathering her strength, bathed in power. She glanced at her sister and saw for the briefest moment a gargoyle-like creature with his hand on Calliope’s shoulder.

Synergy. Two, together, are greater than one, alone. There is strength in yielding to the bond of another.

The creature vanished, as if it never had been there. The archivists, it seemed, weren’t above passing along their own messages.

She stood slowly, letting the blood in her body flow back to her head, hands and feet. Calliope stood with her and maintained the link of their hands.

Rasmussen turned, suddenly aware of them.

“You think to defeat me? Your magic is useless against me. Your kind can’t even fathom the power I hold.”

“If you mean that red mist, you’re right. I don’t understand it. But I understand this. We have each other. And you stand alone.”

History classes had taught Tarian that women held the greater part of magical power. That their genetic makeup made them able to hold more and utilize more. But she wasn’t sure that was entirely true, anymore. In this moment, she realized what made women stronger in magic power was their ability to let go of ego and join with another. To work together as a group.

She saw a slight smile on Calliope’s face. For the moment, they were one. Whatever came their way, they’d face together.

Calliope squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.

Ready?

She thought it in her mind. Calliope nodded. Together, they sent pulse after pulse of power at Rasmussen. Tarian used a water base which sang with the dolphin song, while Calliope sent an earth based jolt of rocks. Both slammed into Rasmussen. He staggered against it, his face bloody and his arms torn from the onslaught, but didn’t fall. His answering rage engulfed them in misty-red fire that burned. Tarian closed her eyes and kept firing, trusting the dolphin’s magic to guide her. She and her sister sent pulse after pulse, each one doing a bit more damage, though not enough. Not nearly enough.

What they needed was a steady stream. Something that would overcome his ability to fire back.

Tarian stopped the pulses, then opened herself wide and poured every ounce of power she could gather into a flow that stretched across the room and met Rasmussen. He managed to deflect so that the stream didn’t quite reach him. His red mist floated around her gold stream in a shower of sparks. Her body drained of power each second that went by. She couldn’t keep this up much longer, and Rasmussen knew it.

She could see his chest rise and fall in labored breathing, but he stood tall and strong. He didn’t falter.

“We have to do something else. This isn’t working. We can’t keep this up.” Calliope gasped. “Reverse the flow. Extraction.”

Reverse the flow? What did that mean? Just as Tarian was about to ask, she felt Calliope take the pull of magic and send out something Tarian had never seen before. It wasn’t fire, it wasn’t light…if anything, it was the absence of light. It was a black beam of nothingness, almost like a sponge. It reminded her of the banishment when she’d been summoned by Daric and the absence of magic in the cave, combined.

It rushed past the red mist and struck Rasmussen. He staggered, then roared. Tarian felt along it and felt it draining her, too.

Trying to figure it out, Tarian sent her own pulse down it, to be swallowed by the odd stream her sister had created.

“Reverse it!” Calliope gasped.

Calliope collapsed down onto the floor as Tarian took the stream of magic away from her. The black bar of absorption rebounded on her while her attention was diverted, and for a moment she thought she’d burst from it. Calliope’s magic was still there, mixed with the dolphin throne’s, combined with Rasmussen’s odd half-demon rage, combined with her own.

Her head split in blinding pain. Every pore on her skin hurt, and her stomach churned in revolt. Her eyes held their own laser-light show. Lightning struck through her vision, blinding her to almost everything else. Rainbow colors flared every time the lightning in her eyes struck, and every time it did, waves of pain reverberated through her head. Dry heaves made it impossible to breathe, and her ribs shot pain through her with each dry hack.

Not thinking, not even considering what it might do, she closed her eyes. She took as deep a breath as she could manage and pulled on Rasmussen’s odd red energy. Relentless, she pulled through the pain, through the heat. The acrid smell of burning hair filled her nose and she gagged. She opened her eyes. Rasmussen moved silently toward her, his eyes wide and terrified. She now had more power than she could hold and had no idea what to do with it. Panic gripped her. Not knowing what else to do, she released the gathered power all in one shot, directly to Rasmussen.

He gaped at her, throwing his hands up to ward off the blow as it struck him. The force lifted him fully off the floor where he hovered for a brief second, then exploded. His body turned to red dust that rushed forward, coating everything in its path. Tarian ducked, throwing herself down over Calliope.

When she was finally able to look up, Rasmussen was gone, rubble coated the floor, a brilliant blue sky burned through the skylight, and her hair was on fire.

Chapter 41

Tarian pulled up her shirt to smother the flames in her hair. Fire touched flesh, and pain shot through her hands up her arms. Her stomach heaved at the acrid smell and the crunch of burnt hair on her fingers. Everywhere, pain. She beat at the fire with her shirt until it went out, and then fell onto her back.

Not enough air. She coughed. Rolled to the side to ease the pressure on her stomach and lungs.

Her mother. Needed help. She had to get up. Had to get to her. A lightning show behind her eyes prevented her from seeing the room. Next to her, Calliope lay in a crumpled heap, her breath ragged but steady.

Another fit of coughs wracked her body. Damn dust. Other coughs and moans issued from different corners of the room. She had no way of knowing who they belonged to and didn’t care. Her mother needed help.

“Healers! We need healers in here!” She tried to yell the words but couldn’t be sure if she managed above a whisper. Everything hurt.

After a moment, her eyes settled down so that she only saw flashes of light when she blinked, and the room came into focus. Her stomach churned as the room spun around her for a moment.

Calliope groaned. Tarian turned to her sister and placed a soothing hand on her arm. Her sister opened her eyes, then gasped and closed them again.

“My head.” She moaned, and put both hands up to her temples.

“I know, me too,” Tarian whispered and softly brushed back some of her sister’s hair. “It goes away. Just breathe deep and be still.”

Reassured that Calliope was fine, Tarian pulled herself to her feet. Daric lay with part of his body supported by a piece of table. Victor sprawled next to him. His chest didn’t move.

A feminine, weak moan from the corner of the room ripped her attention away from the two men.

“Mother!” She stepped as fast as she could around the bits of ceiling and broken tables to her mother. Black stone and bits of ceiling pinned her mother's lower body to the floor. Blood poured down the side of her mother’s face.

“Mother.” She tried to move the stones, but they were too heavy and her body too exhausted. She couldn’t use her magic. She couldn’t even lift her arms. She was spent, in every way imaginable. It was all she could do not to pass out. “Help. Someone, help.”

She looked around. Calliope attempted to get to her feet. Daric looked dazed.

Jonus appeared from somewhere. She couldn’t track his movements. He was just there, ever the faithful sidekick. He knelt beside her mother and lay a hand on her forehead. “Oh, Keeper.”

“Get help! Get a healer, Jonus.”

He obeyed without a word, rushing through the side door and into the hall.

Tears burned the corners of her eyes. Tarian blinked, but more followed.

“Someone help me move this rock.” She tried to shout but couldn’t tell if anyone heard. She pulled on the smallest stone and it rolled off her mother. She tried another. Her arms were so tired, so heavy.

“Tarian.” Her mother groaned.

Calliope fell to her knees next to her mother and clasped her mother’s hand.

“Calli, can you fix it? You can heal.”

Calliope closed her eyes. The knuckles turned white, and her face paled. She couldn’t have much magic left, either, after the fight they’d just had.

She put her hand on her sister’s and tried to add what little strength she had. The energy from the Dolphin Throne surrounded them to create a strong, enduring, tireless stream filled with the magic of the sea and the dolphins who created it. Tarian leaned into it, letting her senses open to pull on it, and gasped from the headache that bloomed.

“I can’t. Tari, it’s too much. I can’t.”

Tarian looked at her sister. Their eyes met. Tears spilled onto Calliope’s cheeks.

“We have the throne’s power. It will work. It has to!”

“Tarian…” Marielle’s voice was barely there at all.

She’d never seen her mother look so weak. This was a strong woman, a woman always in charge of the situation. A woman others followed without question.

“Mother. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I should have listened. I should have…” Tarian brushed a stray hair from her mother’s forehead.

She looked at Calliope and saw her own pain reflected in her sister’s eyes. Body aches, pains, headaches, all of it had been forgotten in this last moment with their mother.

Her mother gasped, coughed, then spent the next several moments coughing. Calliope helped to lean her forward.

She took several ragged breaths, and then her eyelids fluttered open again. Her eyes found Tarian’s.

“Keeper.”

Her mother coughed, and then turned her head to look at Calliope.

“Calliope…follow your own…”

Marielle laid back and closed her eyes. Her body shuddered.

“Together…you can change…” Her body convulsed, her lips gasping at air that would not fill her lungs. Then her body was still. Their mother was gone.

Stunned, Tarian didn’t move. A faint breeze moved her hair, like the gentle touch of a hand. A mother’s hand, saying goodbye. Seconds slowed down into long moments. Time lost meaning. The world dimmed.

A sniffle brought her out of herself. Calliope. Tears coated her sister’s face. She felt a warm hand on her shoulder and glanced up to see Alex, with Daric right behind him.

Running footsteps echoed down the hall and into the room. Sentinels, armed and ready for battle, followed by Jonus and Chloe.

Chloe hurried to Marielle’s side and gently tried to shift Tarian away. She refused to move. She wouldn't leave her mother alone. Not here. Not ever again.

Alex took her arms and lifted her away from her mother. She gave up protesting. Her body wouldn't let her.

Chloe hovered over their mother’s body, checking every vital sign. When she patted Calliope on the arm, Tarian knew. She’d known anyway, but somehow confirmation made it so much worse.

The world shattered.

Words drifted by. Calliope sobbed. The room spun. In the midst of it all, dolphins cried, and the ocean waves which usually soothed her instead sent wave after wave of grief coursing through her body.

She had no idea how long she sat there in the rubble. Did it matter if she stayed there forever? Did it really matter if she kept going? Life wasn’t supposed to be this way. She wanted to rewind the past few days and start them over. She’d never go to that alley. She’d listen to her mother, and stay here and absorb all she could. She’d do it all better. Different.

Would she?

Somehow, she knew she wouldn’t. Even if she had the chance to do it all again, it seemed like every step she’d taken was the right one at the time. She’d followed this path to this moment, and now…now her mother was dead. And it was her fault. Hers, and the man who’d planned this whole thing. Victor Aiello.

She clenched her jaw and fists. Victor Aiello, insane in his lust for power. He’d caused this. He’d sent people to trick her, to attack her, to steal things and manipulate her. He’d found a traitor in her own house to lure her away and start this roller-coaster ride.

A traitor in her own house.

Beware the danger within.

She looked up. Advisor Jonus stood over her mother’s body, talking with Chloe. Making arrangements, no doubt. Planning the funeral. Planning Tarian’s ascension to the throne. Planning next steps.

His clothes were remarkably clean. He didn’t have a scratch on him. He obviously hadn’t been in the room when the ceiling collapsed. Anyone who had been was covered in dust, dirt, scrapes and bruises. He’d pulled her mother into this room, and then vanished. There was only one reason he'd have rushed out of this room when everything was in such chaos and the Keeper so obviously in need of assistance.

He’d known.

Tarian stumbled to her feet and pushed Alex out of the way so she could have a clear shot at Jonus. She tried to gather power, but nothing responded at first. The fight, the turmoil, drained her to nothing. The Dolphin Throne pulled her toward it like a beacon of safety. She went to it, and sat. Dolphins called, circled, encased her in warmth and power. Warmth enveloped her as though she rode the ocean waves. The salt in the water, the air, and her tears combined to fill her. If ever there was a time to kill someone, it was now. Jonus had betrayed her family. He’d betrayed the magic of this place and their way of life. He was responsible for it all. She should kill him.

She lashed out, pouring every ounce of magic she could into the bolt she sent hurtling toward Jonus.

Chapter 42

“Tarian!” Alex’s jaw dropped as he looked from Tarian to where Jonus hung, suspended, several feet off the air, in stasis.

“Alex, please take Jonus to the holding cells.” Her voice had never sounded so like her mother’s: calm, collected and absolutely in control, though exhausted. The stasis she'd thrown at Jonus locked him in place, including his frozen expression one of shock and, she thought, defeat. He knew that she knew, in the moment before the spell hit.

For his actions, she should have killed him. He deserved it. But deep within her, something pushed back at the thought. It wouldn't help, and it wouldn't bring her mother back. Answers might eventually soothe the pain, but she wouldn't get those if he were dead. The Cellar, level three, was where he belonged. Stasis, forever, haunted by the memories of what he'd done. After she’d questioned him, of course.

“Tarian!” Calliope covered her mouth with her hands. Her eyes wide, she stared at Jonus.

Silence, so thick it took the breath away, coated the room as everyone turned to watch. Daric stepped forward, his eyebrows raised in a silent question. Unlike Jonus, his clothes were coated in grime, his face covered in scratches and blood dripped down his leg.

“Daric said it. Someone inside this house is a traitor. Someone sent me to that alley. Someone who knew me and my habits, who had knowledge of the databases and the people who live here. Someone who knew the Sentinels and which one would be likely to earn a favor from me. Someone who sent me to get a dangerous book and knew I’d most likely follow the spell pointed out to me. Someone who knew that I’d already fulfilled the ritual without waiting for this reception because that someone saw the Dolphin Throne react.

“That person dragged my mother into this room during the heat of battle, a battle most didn’t even know was taking place. He knew Rasmussen would have control of me because he knew the shield had been cracked. He knew I was weak, after having been banished and summoned. My mother would have told him everything.

“And he knew the rules of the succession ritual. He knew the second the Keeper entered the room during battle, that the throne would be up for grabs to anyone who defeated her and her heir. And I’d already been defeated. That left only one person standing in the way.”

She turned to Jonus. “Did you plan on taking it yourself, Jonus? Or did you think Victor would give you something in return for stealing it for him? I paid my price for keeping the throne safe. What was your price for betrayal? Just how far does this conspiracy go?”

Jonus couldn’t answer. He would eventually. He’d answer not just to her, but to everyone he’d betrayed.

“You got no proof, chica.” Alex kept his voice low. “The leaders are gonna want solid proof.”

“She has it.” The voice behind her sounded grim, and determined.

Tarian tore her eyes away from Jonus to see Frankie stepping over the rubble. His uniform disheveled, his hair singed, and dirt coated his face.

“I found the digital trail he left. He’d tried to wipe it, but it was still there, if you knew where to look. It matched up with traces of code we found when we checked into Mark Chester.”

Alex nodded. If Frankie said it was true, it was true. Alex trusted his brother with his life. Just as Tarian trusted her sister. And them. She nodded her agreement.

Alex and Frankie took Jonus by the arms and pulled him out of the room on a cushion of air. She watched them go.

“What about you, Daric?” Tarian turned to face him. She didn’t know who she could trust anymore. Her current list would fit in one hand. Her sister. Alex. Frankie.

Did Daric fit on the list?

“What about me?” He lifted his chin and crossed his arms.

“Your brother?” She pointed to Victor’s lifeless form. “This…is your brother? Did you plan it with him? Was this all a trick for the two of you to get into my bed? To put a child on the throne? Are you in on it?” Her voice rose an octave on the last few words. They hurt to say.

She’d have done anything for her mother and her sister. Anything at all. Would Daric be so different? She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have a sibling so unhinged and despicable. They grew up in the same house. They must have learned the same lessons, experienced a lot of the same things, just as she and Calliope had.

“What would it take to prove to you that I'm one of the good guys?”

“An explanation, Daric. The truth. The full truth.” She crossed her arms. “Make me feel like less of a fool for trusting you.”

“What exactly do you want to hear?”

“All those theories you refused to give a voice to. What did you know, Daric? Why didn’t you tell me about your brother?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d already started the ritual, in what I can only assume is questionable circumstances? It's not something I normally spread around.”

“Why were you in the alley that day? Why have you been shadowing me?”

“I never lied. I told you then, I was getting coffee and felt the spell go off.” His lips formed a white line.

“Were you part of this?”

“No.” Daric’s face turned to stone.

"Are you lying to me now?" She watched for any shift on his face, any flash in his eyes.

"No." Daric maintained his stone posture. His eyes never flinched, and they never left hers. Her heart softened. Not enough to forgive. Not yet. But she’d listen.

“You knew the spell. You’ve obviously seen the book before.”

“When I was a child, I found a journal kept by one of my uncles. He’d obviously had brief possession of the book and copied some of the spells. They were exactly what I needed to keep Victor off my back, so I memorized them. My mother found me practicing a summoning one day and forbid me to use the journal again. She took it back to my father’s office and hid it there. When my father died, Victor became Head of House and inherited my father’s office.

“It became obvious over the last year that Victor had found the journal and learned the spells. He’d also learned more of them than I had. The few I knew were illegal at best. The ones he focused on were pure evil. I started following him to try to get the journal back or to stop him. His ambitions have always been high. At first his goal was American politics. But with the spells in that journal, he thought himself invincible. I think he hoped to combine American politics with magic society ones. I think he envisioned a super race type of situation, with himself leading the charge. He’s always been zealous. The confidence gained from the knowledge in that journal unhinged him. I knew, but I didn’t know exactly what he plotted. He’s quite capable of hiding his intentions, and very skilled at manipulation.”

She thought about that. Victor had certainly manipulated a lot of people, including, a very powerful demon. He’d had knowledge and skill, but hadn’t known enough about the succession to make it really work. He hadn’t known all the rules or counted on her breaking with tradition.

Knowledge, indeed, was power greater than magic.

“When I saw my brother answer the Call, at the same time as the odd rituals that popped up, I knew something major was going on, and that somehow he was at the center of it. He’s never been all that interested in women. I answered as well, so I could be around you and watch him at the same time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t prove anything. I had nothing solid. I told you, giving a voice to a theory is as good as making it fact in your mind. I wanted to be sure I hadn’t misread the situation. It felt like two or more people were involved. I had no idea who Victor was working with, or even if he was part of it at all. I had a hunch, nothing more. Not until I walked into this room.”

Daric glared at her. “Besides, Scion. Or should I say, Keeper. You’ve been keeping a few secrets of your own.”

“This isn’t about me.”

“I know I wasn’t the first to help you with the ritual. That’s why you pushed so hard. That’s why you wanted me so badly. You’d already been with someone, and you needed at least three. So was that all I was to you? A tool?”

She couldn’t even deny it. She had, indeed, used him. But it was more than that. Much, much more. It’s what made all this so unbearable.

“Who was it, Tarian? I know Alex is one, but who’s the other? That’s how you got the book, wasn’t it? Who did you deal with?”

She rubbed her neck, the spot where the tracer once resided throbbed with the soreness of tired muscles, but no external power tugged. Her stomach, however, fluttered at the thought that she’d completed the ritual. Rasmussen had told her as much, and she believed him, though it would be weeks before she knew for sure. If she was pregnant, it would be a long time before she knew the consequences of her deal with Steffahn.

“I see you still keep secrets. You are aptly titled, Keeper.”

“Get out.” Rational thought abandoned her. All of her anger and fear had to unleash somewhere, and Daric stood right there in front of her. She was beyond exhausted and this was just too much.

Without a word, he left.

“You know, Tarian, he really is a friend to you,” Calliope said.

“I know.” She stared at the spot where Daric had stood, as if it would bring him back. It was more than she could take, to tell her friends she’d joined with a daemon and that she had no idea what kind of trouble might come of it. It might be nothing. It might mean everything.

In this moment, she simply couldn’t handle one more thing. It would have to wait.

The loss of her mother loomed over her. But she had to hold it together for the sake of the House. There were a lot of people just on this island who depended on the stability the House offered.

“Scion…er, Keeper,” Chloe said.

“Just Tarian, Chloe.” She couldn’t keep the defeat out of her voice.

“Tarian, dear, let me do for her now. Do what you have to do. I will have the arrangements made. Your mother was very specific on what she wanted to have happen when…” her voice trailed off as she choked on a sob. Tarian nodded.

“Thanks, Chloe. Please, will you tell Calliope about it all? She’s so much better at this sort of thing.” Chloe nodded.

Tarian crossed the room to kneel beside her mother one last time. A hollow place in the center of her chest consumed her, making it difficult to breathe. “I can’t do this without you,” she whispered.

Calliope quietly sobbed behind her. The world stood still.

“I know you don’t like displays, but I do.” Calliope pulled Tarian up into a hug. “As Mother said, together we can change.”

“Change what?” She let the tears fall.

“Everything.”

The two of them stood entwined in a hug that dulled the ache in her heart.

An eternity later, she looked around at the room. The clutter, debris, shambles of a solid life torn apart. It looked how she felt, ripped apart, barely held together by stone and determination. Above it all, the Dolphin Throne remained untouched, serene and strong.

Alex strode into the room, bringing with him a group of people who immediately started clearing rubble. She watched him, setting order, righting her world. A true friend.

Her sister watched with her. “You don’t have to handle everything alone.”

“I’m just exhausted.”

She loved their Society. She loved the feeling of magic that flowed through all of them, and into the very rock that formed the House of Xannon. It was her home, and she was willing to defend it against anyone and everyone. Shame it took all of this destruction for her to see the House as it truly was: a home. And the throne as it truly was: a friend. Not a burden. Not shackles on her freedom. A path to much more than she ever dreamed possible. All it took was a change of attitude. And slaughtering a demon. She nearly laughed at the thought.

Alex approached and cleared his throat. “Transitions are touchy, and this one’s got everybody spooked.”

“What do you mean?”

“With the rumors Daryl started, and all the mess, all anybody really knows is that you were in the middle of it. They don’t know the real story. All it takes is one bad apple, and suddenly you’re in the middle of a bunch of jerks trying to push you around. You have to take the throne officially, Keeper.” Alex drew himself up straight. “As your advisor, I advise that you do it now before anybody gets any ideas.”

At the word “advisor,” she smiled. Alex had found a way to remain close to her, beyond simply being her friend. It wasn’t exactly moving on from the whole Potential thing, but it was a start of a very different sort of relationship. One they both could handle.

“Set it up, Advisor Alex.”

Chapter 43

A few hours later, Tarian and Calliope stood next to the Dolphin Throne in the disheveled Receiving Hall. Alex stood beside her. His face was a mix of sadness and awe, and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She squeezed his hand before he took up a watchful stance.

Tarian waited while people gathered. Some tried to clear rubble around them. Others simply stood on it. Some looked angry or even hostile. Some looked sad. All looked anxious. She couldn’t blame them. Sentinels lined the room on all sides. This many people gathered in one place, all with some magical talent, made the air vibrate. It pulsed around them, and singed her nose hairs.

“Can you feel that?” She whispered to Calliope.

“It’s hard to miss. Puts my teeth on edge.”

The muttering of the crowd died down as Tarian moved to stand in front of the throne. From behind her, raw power licked at her back and moved her hair slightly as it caressed her body. She looked uncertainly at Calliope, but her sister stared out at the assembled people, apparently unaware of the sensations Tarian felt. She looked back at the crowd and cleared her throat.

“Uh,” she said. Way to go, Tarian, nice way to begin. She mentally kicked herself.

“It’s with great personal sorrow that I tell you that Keeper Marielle…my mother…that the Keeper has died.”

She heard gasps and a few startled shouts, and then general talk started to rise as people started asking questions.

“Please…have patience. Everything will be explained. I will send out a formal announcement so that all in the region may get the news. She died protecting me and this house against a traitor.”

Tarian turned and stepped to the throne. She felt the warmth of the power surround her as it invited her in. She sat down, and immediately the dolphin symbol rose up and started to spin. As it spun, it shot out beams of light into the crowd. The glow settled over Tarian, and she felt one with the chair. She traveled along the beams of light and could see each person in the room as clearly as if they stood next to her. She felt their intentions. She felt their needs, their desires, their hurt at the loss of her mother, and a variety of other emotions she didn't want to feel. They weren't all kind. She followed the light and found it extended out past the walls of the House. For a moment, she traveled along it across the ocean and into the heart of the Region. As she went she touched on a face here and there, each one a member of the Society, each one with magic in their very soul. Each one she was now responsible for.

The sheer enormity of it overwhelmed her. In a panic, she tried to pull back and found she couldn’t. The throne had her and would not let her go. She struggled against it. She tried to push away or stop or reverse the flow. She could do nothing but follow where the light led. Across the region, she touched face after face, and witnessed families in their everyday lives. Some simply watched TV, some made love or studied or even gardened. Others commanded attention in bars or meetings or casinos. All facets of life. She started to cry as the beauty of it and the weight of the responsibility crushed in on her. Life. All of it precious. She’d never felt so outside of herself before. She surrendered to it, letting the light completely consume her.

As she came back to herself, the crowd in the hall stared at her in awestruck silence. The dolphin emblem shone above her head, a beacon above and separate from the throne itself. Tarian stared up at it. She’d never known it could be removed from the throne, but here it was floating above them all. As she watched it slowly descended and became part of the chair behind her once more. Alex, who stood on one side of the platform, fell to a knee and bowed his head. She watched as a ripple went through the crowd as each one of them also took a knee.

“Let this moment be for my mother. For Keeper Marielle,” Tarian said. Her words traveled throughout the hall. Silence reigned.

Chapter 44

It was several weeks before the Receiving Hall was in any kind of shape fit for humans. While Alex, with his skill with earth and stone, worked on repairing the damaged parts of the exterior walls and ceiling, Tarian worked on repairing the damage to her own psyche.

They celebrated her mother’s life in a traditional style for the Pacific. Tarian crafted the platform of wood and twine herself, with help from Calliope. At sunset, they stood on the black sand beach outside the rocks that created the House of Xannon, placed her mother’s body on it, set the whole thing ablaze with a small combined pulse of power, and set it out to sea. Tarian watched her mother join with the waves. Dolphins splashed and nodded a salute, each one taking a turn to leap over the funeral pyre, until the last ember died and her mother’s ash joined the waves. A void in her heart ached, and no amount of tears filled it. On impulse, Tarian ran into the surf and threw herself into a wave, letting it wash over and around her. The dolphins joined her then, a representative of her friends, her childhood, her future, all wrapped up around her. It comforted and buoyed her, as the water always did. Her mother would live on here in their collective memory. Theirs, and the archivists, whose strange hive mind never forgot anyone or anything.

Reluctantly, Tarian turned for the shore. Calliope waited there, tears streaming as she leaned into Frankie, who held her in protective arms. Alex stood next to them, stoic.

Daric didn’t attend, though she’d invited him. His absence struck her in a way nothing else did, not even her mother’s death. He’d refused to even speak to her, much less return the many messages she’d sent.

It’d been a few weeks. It felt like months. Longer, even. She stood on the shore, took the towel Alex offered, and dried herself automatically. They walked silently through the rest of the crowd gathered for the service, mostly regional leaders all wishing to make a good impression on the new Keeper. When they reached the rotunda, Tarian kept walking toward her bedroom without a word. Nobody followed her.

When she reached her room she shut the door behind her and leaned against it. The power infused wood did little to comfort her. The room felt empty and bare, though nothing had changed. She sniffled, then moved toward the bed. She’d thought to take a shower but now exhaustion claimed her and all she wanted was to lay down and sleep for an eternity.

Tarian took off her wet shirt and paused. Something had changed.

A single red rose lay on her pillow, and a steaming cup of coffee in a paper cup labeled PJs rested on the table beside her bed.

Tarian took it in her hands and held it, absorbing the warmth and scent she loved, pretending it was Daric’s arms around her and his lips on hers. She pressed a hand against her stomach. She couldn’t seem to stop touching it, nor could she stop the occasional butterfly flutters that overtook her whenever she thought about the state of her uterus. There was nothing to fear anymore. Nothing but impending motherhood.

She resolutely refused to think about Steffahn.

The next morning, she woke to the stare of an archivist. He huddled on the table next to the empty coffee cup, an immovable statue of patience.

She sighed and held out her hand. He sprang to life and touched her.

“Keeper. We propose an agreement.”

“What is it about these agreements?”

“All daemon are bound by agreement. By such bonds is life ensured, peace and knowledge advanced.”

“So you want to make a trade. For what?”

“We know of the promise made to our brothers. Keeper’s agreement with Carraig did not specify a time limit. We would exploit the omission. We propose an agreement. The Book of Daemon will be yours for study as long as the promise is not kept.”

“You have it?” She sat up so abruptly, she dropped his hand and knocked over the coffee cup. She quickly put her hand back out. “You stole it? You’re the ones?”

An angry chorus of voices circled in her head. “We do not steal.”

“Still playing word games. How did you get the book?”

“The Book of Daemon belongs to daemons. It returns to nearest daemon.”

“You mean I was never going to be able to keep that book. He tricked me.”

An image of Steffahn flashed in her head along with mutters from the archivists. “No trick. Agreement. Precisely worded.”

They were right. Steffahn never promised she’d be able to keep the damn thing. Only that she’d leave with it. It would take a lifetime to master the art of deals with daemons. And a lawyer. But now that she’d been fooled once, she wouldn’t be fooled the same way again.

“Why don’t you want me to keep my promise?” She’d promised to release the daemons in the cave. She saw no reason not to fulfill that request.

Silence filled her head. Followed by more silence.

“So this is how you want to play it? You want to give me only the bits and pieces you’re comfortable with? Well, I’m not falling for it again. You either give me all of the information I ask for, or we’re done with this discussion.”

“Keeper has learned well.”

“I have good teachers.” She waited for them to answer her question.

“We live under agreement, carefully worded. They would not. There are consequences, seen and unforeseen. Many possibilities, many negative scenarios. Keeper already has in motion one such consequence. There will be others. To release Carraig requires summon or destruction of Stulos. This we would avoid. Our agreement involves the protection of this House and all within. This we do.”

“Who was your agreement with?”

“Serin Alaisa Xannon, the first Keeper of the Dolphin Throne.”

She recognized that name. Her sister had told her the leaves in the archives that her sister studied had belonged to Serin Alaisa Xannon. The sheer age of these archivists astounded her. They’d been here literally since the foundation to the house was laid. The number of things they’d seen and experienced here made her skin tingle. There was no better source of information, and it had been here under her own roof, since before she was born. They could hear her thoughts, but she didn’t care. She honored this connection and wanted them to know.

“Do you know for sure that there’s no other way to free them? Do you know for sure that removing the Stulos will cause any damage?”

Their silence was answer enough. “Perhaps you should look into that. As you said, knowledge is power. If you don’t want me to rush in, I suggest you provide knowledge.”

Her mind exploded with images and voices. She took her hand away to give them time to discuss her proposal. When the archivist reached for her again, it was a very subdued voice that filled her head.

“We are bound to assist.”

She found it fascinating that even though she had no idea what the agreement was, they felt honor bound to keep it.

Still, she had to ask: “Did you have a part in any of this with Rasmussen or Steffahn?”

“We belong to no court. We are Ancients. We are bound to the House of Xannon.” The indignation that colored the words did more to convince her than the words themselves.

“Bring me information, and I’ll consider your request.”

“It will be done.” The archivist vanished.

Some day she was going to have to learn how to travel like they did. Walls seemed to be no barrier. The House of Xannon was vulnerable to anyone, or anything, who was just like the archivists. Rasmussen and anyone else like them could come and go at will. It didn’t instill confidence.

She’d need help to make her promise happen. She might even have to make more deals, something she simply wasn’t equipped to handle. But maybe between Calliope, Frankie, Alex and Daric, they could get it done. If Daric would talk to her.

She missed her friend. In her heart, she knew he was much more than just a friend.

Time to grovel.

Chapter 45

Tarian stepped through a portal directly into the middle of Daric’s living room in Philly. “You know, you really should put some sort of security on this place.”

“No need.”

She stood next to the sofa and looked at him. He continued to stare at the TV. Bad sign.

“You say that a lot. This isn’t exactly the suburbs here. And Rasmussen attacked right outside your door.”

He blinked, but his body remained motionless.

“Still pissed?”

“What can I do for you, Keeper?” His tone was worse than angry. It was cold. He turned off the TV but didn’t turn to look at her.

“You can look at me, for starters. And you can stop calling me ‘Keeper.’”

He continued to stare at the blank screen.

“Fine. Be childish. It’s not like I haven’t been the same.” She sighed. This wasn’t going well at all. Her stomach churned.

“Do you have any crackers? My stomach isn’t happy today.”

He looked up at her, then his eyes flicked down to her stomach and back up.

“You don’t have to talk. Just listen.” She sat down next to him. “The thing is…well, the thing is I stink at apologizing. But that’s what I’m doing. I know you weren’t in on any of…what happened. I know you are, or were, my friend. And I didn’t treat you like one. I’m sorry.”

He started to speak, but she put up a hand to stop him. “No, hear me out. I just wanted to tell you thank you for all your help. And for the friendship you showed me and my family.”

She saw that at least his face wasn’t set in stone anymore. He listened, even if he didn’t forgive. Yet. “Calliope told me what happened after I banished myself, and the archivists filled in the rest. How you sent the demon back along the same line I brought him in with. How you did the spell to bring me back. All of it. The archivists are quite the spy network. I'm pretty sure there's nothing that happens in connection with the House of Xannon that they don't know. Kind of creepy to think about, but comforting too.”

She took a deep breath. “I guess if Victor Aiello were my brother, I wouldn’t have advertised it either. Family. You can’t pick them. You’re stuck with them. But you can choose your friends. And, for what it’s worth, I choose you.”

She fell silent, unable to figure out anything more to say.

“He was my half-brother,” Daric said. His quiet tone still had a hard edge. “His mother died in childbirth.”

“So he started young, then.” She nudged Daric with her shoulder. He snorted.

She paused and waited for Daric to join in the conversation. Nothing. But his back was a little less tense. Maybe.

The silence spun out to fill the room and make things uncomfortable. It was a trick she’d learned from her mother. Most people couldn’t stand silence.

She shifted on the sofa, then picked at a nail. She was about to break the silence herself when Daric finally spoke. “My mother tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.”

“Your mother? But not you?”

He stared at the blank TV.

“I gave up on cell phones. Something in my body chemistry just doesn’t agree with the circuitry. Frankie almost threw the last one at me. I killed it in under 30 seconds. He’s trying to figure out some other way for me to stay in touch. Not that anyone is trying to contact me these days.”

She couldn’t keep the depression out of her voice. Most people didn’t know how to handle her new role, and neither did she. She hadn’t been able to go out by herself. She didn’t dare leave the House unattended for long. She hadn’t heard from Daric at all, which was the part that hurt the most because it was entirely her own fault. She sniffed.

Daric glanced at her.

“I’m getting a cold,” she said, and sniffled again.

“Right.”

She sighed. “It’s been over two months, but I still feel like she’s going to walk through my bedroom door at any moment and yell at me about something. I wish she would.”

Daric placed his hand over hers where it rested on her leg.

“When you’re up for it, my mom would like to see you.”

“I’d like to meet her.” Her heart skipped more at the words than at the touch of his hand on hers. He was definitely thawing.

“You already have.”

“When?” She searched her mind for the name Voltain. She couldn’t remember anyone other than Daric with that name.

“I told you, she’s a teacher. She used to tutor you in history. Don’t you remember?”

“I hated history.” She thought back to her tutors. There’d been several over the years. History reminded her of dusty old books in the archive. An image of a tall woman with sparkling eyes surfaced. Eyes just like Daric’s. “You mean Miss. V.?”

He chuckled. “You do remember. She’ll like that.”

“I never knew her real last name. She was Miss. V. to me. And you never said. Why didn’t you tell me?” She punched him on the arm.

“You never asked.”

“I slept through a lot of those lessons.”

“I know. I heard all about you.”

He flashed a smile, and the dimple peeking out from his cheek warmed her heart.

She smiled back. They locked eyes, and something in his…concern? friendship? something else? made hers spill over in tears. Before she could stop, sobs wracked her body. Daric took her in his arms and rocked her back and forth. She sank into the warmth of his arms and cried. He rubbed her back and said nothing.

She ran out of tears but remained snuggled in his arms. She felt safe there. But she couldn’t stay. She was Keeper. She brushed the remaining tears from her eyes and sighed.

“Well, that’s definitely going to tarnish my image.”

“Not in my eyes.” He kissed her forehead. “When are you due?”

“You can tell?” She sniffed. “I do feel fatter.”

“You’re a puddle. You wanted crackers. Yes, I can tell.” The dimple appeared as she spoke. It, more than anything, erased her tears and lifted her mood.

“End of the summer.”

He put a hand on her stomach. The heat from his hand spread into her belly.

“I can feel her.” He looked up, his eyes wide. “She’s so strong.”

“It could be a him. It’s happened before.”

“Not this time. It’s a girl.”

“Is it normal to feel the signature this early?” It was yet another question she wished she could ask her mother.

“I’ll ask Mom. I’m amazed they let you out of the House. Does anyone know?”

“There’s no hiding it. The damn throne announced it by sounding dolphin calls for an entire day. And I didn’t ask permission.”

“Keeper, I think you should go home. You shouldn’t be out where you can get attacked. Not now. I’ll go with you.”

“Told you to stop calling me that.”

“It’s just a name. It doesn’t change who and what you really are.”

“I suppose it’s the least of my worries. But it feels wrong, somehow. My mother was Keeper. I’m just me.”

“I’m sure she thought the same thing when she was your age.”

Tarian nodded and lapsed into silence again for a moment.

“What’s on your mind, Tari?”

“Nothing.”

He laughed. “Even the Keeper does the typical female response.”

“Bite me.”

“Okay, maybe not completely typical. Seriously, what’s wrong? I can tell something’s up. You have that faraway look in your eyes, and you’re tensing your right hand.”

She glanced down at her hands, startled. Her right hand had formed a fist without her even being aware of it. She uncurled the fingers, deliberately placing each one separate on her leg.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why’d you come here?”

She looked up into his eyes. They held exactly what she needed. Concern. Friendship. Love. “For you.”

He leaned into her and kissed her, his lips tender and soft. “You already have me.”

“Is that all I get? A kiss?”

“What else are you looking for?” His eyes crinkled.

“I’d like to have sex without a demon butting in and a ritual hanging over my head. I’m taking volunteers.”

He laughed.

“Why’d you really come here?”

“I need help. I made a deal with the Carraig. I promised to free them. They kept up their part, now I need to do mine. But the archivists don’t want me to. It’s a big mess, and I need help figuring it out. And I think there’s more to the demon attack than just Victor’s little power play. You said yourself he didn’t use to be so unhinged. Something pushed him over the edge. Question is, what? Is there more going on than I see?”

“Sounds like you need a lawyer, or maybe a therapist. You’re seeing conspiracies where they may not exist.”

“I need a strategist. And someone to help me do this right. Someone to make sure I’m seeing everything as it is, not as I wish it was. Maybe your mother could help, since she knows the histories so well. This time, I want to do things right.” She put her hand on her stomach. “I don’t want her to pay for another of my mistakes.”

“Another?” Daric narrowed his eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”

She hesitated. She hadn't told anyone other than her mother. Did she dare? Would he think less of her?

"There's nothing you can tell me that would change the way I feel about you." Daric took her face in both hands and turned it toward his. "Trust me."

She stared into his eyes and realized she did trust him. Completely.

"It's just…to get the book, I had to…" She took a deep breath and tried again. "I joined with Steffahn, of the Mayfanata. From what mother told me, even though it wasn't physical sex, the results are the same. He's a part of the child."

She closed her eyes and put both hands on her stomach. She could feel the life there. Strong, vibrant, and unmistakably happy.

"Tarian." Daric's voice was barely a whisper. She didn't want to open her eyes. She didn't want to see what expression was buried in his.

She felt Daric lean in, then his lips softly caressed hers. "She's you, and me, too. And Alex. I'd say that makes her more than a match for anything life throws at her."

Tarian opened her eyes then. Daric's were inches away from her own. What she found there made her want to cry again. It wasn't disgust, disappointment or anger. It was love.

And that was definitely power stronger than any magic.

Finding Flame, Book 2 in the Xannon Series, is available at your favorite online retailer.

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Beyond the Veil: Book #1, the Veil Series

Pippa DaCosta

“They say I’m half a demon, but I like to think of myself as half human, especially as the demons want me dead.”

Charlie Henderson is living a lie. Her real name is Muse and her attempt at a normal life is about to go up in smoke. When a half-demon assassin walks into her life, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake, Muse must return to the one man she hoped never to see again and ask for help. The Prince of Greed isn’t known for his charity. The price is high and the cost could tear her apart.

Trapped between the malevolent intentions of a Prince of Hell, a bounty-hunter with ulterior motives and all of demon-kind, Muse must embrace the lure of chaos at her core; the demon inside her, in order to survive.

If your ex is the Prince of Greed, you’d better be ready to raise hell.

Chapter 1

I should have known he’d be trouble as soon as he walked into my workshop, but I couldn’t have known he’d be the death of me. He wore a three-quarter length red leather coat, had platinum blond hair long enough to sweep back out of his eyes, and sported scuffed Timberland boots. But, if the goose bumps shivering across my skin were anything to go by, he clearly was not as human as his appearance had me believe.

At first, I tried to ignore him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me hesitate. A quick glance at my dusty clock told me it was late, past midnight, and I’d be damned if I was going to drop everything just because he’d invited himself in. I continued to work on the sword resting on the anvil before me. I hammered out imperfections in the blade’s surface with renewed vigor, metal singing at each blow. Behind me, the coal forge roared. Rolling waves of heat branded my back. I told myself it was sweltering temperatures sprinkling perspiration across my face and back, making my scruffy tank top cling to me, but in truth, it was fear.

Picking up the unfinished sword with gloved hands, I turned and plunged the blade into the glowing coals before facing my uninvited guest. He’d given himself the tour of my cramped workshop, seeming to admire the various swords on display, some unfinished, some as close to art as I was ever going to get. Shame I couldn’t wield them as well as I could craft them.

“Well?” I managed to instil some genuine irritation in my words in the hope it would disguise the anxiety building inside me. I tried to flick my hair out of my face but a few strands stubbornly clung to my sweaty cheek.

“Impressive.” He nodded once and turned arctic-blue eyes on me before flashing what he probably thought was a knee-weakening smile.

If my guest expected me to gush and swoon, he was in for a shock. “Who are you, and what the hell do you want?” It was late. I was tired. He wasn’t human. I figured I was within my rights to be blunt.

His expression tightened. “You’re Muse, right?” He tossed a gesture at the stuffy workshop. “I was expecting something…else.”

I hadn’t heard that nickname in years. Muse was a tag left over from dark days I didn’t wish to revisit.

Approaching me, he reached inside his coat. I caught a flicker of light slide over a handgun tucked into his waistband and tensed. An unusual motif, like entwined scorpions, adorned the grip. But he didn’t reach for the gun. He withdrew a sword and rested it on my anvil. “I want you to read this.”

I tugged off my glove and skipped my fingers over the smooth surface of the blade. The metal burned cold against my insolent touch, as though the sword resented my presence. It was a wonderful piece of workmanship. The ripple - or hamon - below the surface of the carbon-steel blade hinted at Japanese origins, and the tempered edge was sharp enough to slice through flesh with little effort. An intricate hand-forged guard and leather-wrapped hilt betrayed the sword as functional but with a flair for the dramatic, and yet it was clearly a weapon meant for combat, not ceremony.

A thin snap of power danced up my fingers, and with a small hiss, I snatched my hand back. This sword would not easily give up its secrets. “What’s in it for me?”

“What do you want?”

Now there was a loaded question. I didn’t know what or who he was, and had no idea how much he could afford or what the stakes involved. “It depends on what I’m going to find. If we’re talking murder, then I want danger money. If it’s just a lovers’ tiff you’re interested in, a few hundred should do it. I’m assuming you want recent information. If you need me to go back more than five years, it’ll be another two hundred.”

“Or I could walk out of here now and tell the world where you are. I know there are a few unsavory characters from your checkered past who’d be very grateful for the heads-up on your whereabouts.” His smooth voice and slight smile belied the threat in his words.

I smiled tightly, my first smile since his arrival. “Now, there, you see? We were having a civilized conversation, and you just had to go and spoil it by threatening me.”

“Why don’t you just read the blade, and I can leave you to get on with your–” he cast a glance about him, “–work?”

And now he’d insulted me. “I’m not telling you anything until you give me more to go on.” Who did he think he was talking to? Some back alley half-human woman who would fall over her own feet to do his bidding? He might know my name, but he obviously didn’t know me.

He blinked, before turning back on the charm, as if I could be bought by a handsome face. “You’re right. I’m sorry. A few hundred, was it?” He dug deep into his coat pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. Without counting it, he tossed it onto the anvil. “That should cover it.”

I tugged my glove back on, pinching the heatproof fabric between each finger. “I think you should leave.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Just read the sword, Muse.”

I didn’t have time to humor assholes, especially those of the demon persuasion. “Get out.”

He pulled his distinctive gun on me, finger resting firmly on the trigger, aim rigid. “You will do this for me.” It wasn’t an order. It was fact–at least as far as he was concerned.

“Go back to hell,” I sneered, before reaching around and snatching the blade from the forge, flinging both the half-finished sword and some hot coals at him. He recoiled, cursing as the embers bounced off his coat. I dashed for the doors. My hand was on the handle, when he slammed into me, knocking the breath from my lungs.

He thrust the gun under my chin, freezing me rigid. “Why do you have to be so difficult?”

I really didn’t want this to escalate. Bad shit happens when she comes out to play. The darkness slumbering at my core began to unfurl, opening like the petals of a flower, but its intent was far from delicate. The trickling touch of power spilled into my muscles. Heat flooded through my body. The warmth of my element embraced me, threading itself through every part of me, the lure of chaos undeniable.

He abruptly released me and took a few steps back, gun up. His narrow glare measured me.

I pressed my back against the workshop door. Power dripped from my fingertips. I couldn’t see it—the human part of me was blind to the energy—but he could. His arctic eyes blazed with a promise of conflict.

He appeared to consider his next move and then, quite unexpectedly, laughed and lowered the gun, tucking it back into the holster inside his coat. “You’re right. This isn’t worth it.” With his hands up, as if in surrender, he turned and retrieved the sword in question before weaving his way back around the workbenches toward me.

“I’ll leave you in peace.”

“What?” His sudden change in mood completely disarmed me.

“Step aside. I’m leaving.”

Surprised by his abrupt surrender, I did as he asked and watched him slide the door open and step out into the night. A sharp winter breeze invaded the heat of my workshop, rousing me from my muddled stupor. Confused and somewhat disappointed, I followed him out into the alley. The raw energy he’d aroused began to fizzle out. Its departure left me with a sickly chill and a bitter sense of loss.

He climbed into the driver’s side of an old Dodge Charger with rust-bruised red paint. I had no idea who he was, where he’d come from, how he’d found me, or what lay hidden in that damn sword. And he was leaving. That couldn’t be right. Didn’t I deserve some sort of explanation?

“Hey!” I ventured further into the street.

Headlights bathed me in twin beams, forcing me to shield my eyes. He gunned the engine, jammed the box into reverse, and swung the car backward into a J-turn before speeding off, fat tires squealing on wet asphalt.

I stood in the street, hand on hip, head tilted to one side and breathed the crisp night air, clearing my lungs of forge-dust. Then the shockwave hit me. The explosion lashed across my back. I must have briefly lost consciousness, but the furious pain in my back quickly summoned me from the depths. A whine drilled into my skull. Alarms sounded from the industrial units around me.

I turned my head toward the heat, grit digging into my cheek as I peered into the smoke bellowing from the hollow gap between two buildings.

My workshop had gone and with it, my attempt at a normal life.

Chapter 2

I sat in the reception area of Phoenix Developments, biting at the quick of a nail until it bled. The tiny jab of pain paled in comparison to the abrasive grate from the dozens of cuts that riddled my back. Bruised, battered, but alive, I’d spent the night trying to salvage what scraps of work I could find in the remains of my workshop. A fruitless task.

As I sat in the waiting area, the world around me continued as normal. The working day had begun. I felt numb. The chrome-plated arms of the leather chairs glinted under halogen lights. The receptionist occasionally glanced my way over rimless glasses, her lips so thin they were barely there at all.

She didn’t trust me. I couldn’t blame her. Despite having showered, I could still smell the smoke in my hair. I also wore knee-high boots over skinny jeans, something that clearly didn’t compliment the pinstripe suits and slicked-back hair of the ‘city boys’ milling back and forth through the glass doors.

It was nine a.m. Not an hour before, I’d been slumped in the back of an ambulance while the police rattled off their box-ticking questions. Were there any witnesses? Did I have any idea what had caused the explosion? Were there any hazardous materials on site? I told them what they wanted to hear, neglecting to mention my less-than-human visitor. Once you mention demons, the authorities get twitchy. I’d wanted to blame my uninvited guest, but until I knew what—or who—I was dealing with, I couldn’t risk the repercussions.

As things stood, I didn’t know what had caused the explosion, but I doubted Mr. Asshole’s timing had been a coincidence. It had been years since I’d heard the name Muse—even longer since I’d spoken with someone less than human. He’d shown up, thrown money around, made demands, then left rather sharply. I found myself face down in the road seconds later.

The receptionist’s phone buzzed. She snatched at the receiver and listened for a few seconds before thanking her caller. She looked at me. “Charlie Henderson, was it?” Her voice was as tight as her beanpole frame.

I stood, brushed down my top, and approached her glass-topped desk. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry, but Mister Vitalis is in a meeting all morning.”

I attempted to smile sweetly, but it’s not easy when you’ve just survived an explosion that’s ruined five years of hard work. I’d lost more in that blast than I cared to think about. “He’ll want to see me.”

“He’s in a meeting.”

“Yes. I know. You just told me that.” I tapped my fingernails on the glass desk. “Okay, look. Tell him it’s Muse.”

She narrowed her pin-sharp glare. “Muse?”

This woman took her job far too seriously. “Yes. It’s a personal thing. Just tell him... please.”

She gave me one long look. I smiled as best as I could, and she finally picked up the phone. It wouldn’t have surprised me if she’d jabbed a security button and summoned the heavies to escort me from the premises.

“Yes. I’m sorry about this, Mister Vitalis. Now she says she’s called Muse. Yes...yes... Well...” She looked closely at me, the glare of her beady eyes drilling right through me. “Yes that looks like her. Very well. I’ll send her up.” She hung up. “Mister Vitalis will see you in his office in ten minutes.”

Victory. I beamed. “Thank you.” And hurried to the elevator.

A wall of windows framed a spectacular view of the city. Sunlight glinted off the adjacent high-rises. His office hadn’t changed in the several years since my last visit. Polished glass, brushed aluminum and supple leather all vied for attention, as if each style attempted to outdo the others. At one end of the room a large desk housed a single Mac computer, at the other, black leather couches huddled around a glass coffee table. Not a single photograph adorned the walls—no strategically placed pot-plant, no personal touches whatsoever. The office was austere. Not unlike its owner.

The glass doors hissed open, and Akil Vitalis strode in. My skin prickled, human senses alerting me to danger. How right they were.

His dark eyes briefly checked me before he made sure the door was properly closed behind him. Then he faced me, hands clasped behind his back, face impassive.

My heart hammered a little faster, nerves fluttering in my chest, shortening my breaths. Time seemed to drag, and I began to worry. We hadn’t parted on the best of terms, and I hadn’t spoken a single word to him in five years.

Akil’s smile, when it finally came, allowed me to breathe again.

“You look good, Muse.” He crossed to a cabinet. From inside, he collected a crystal decanter and two glasses. Without asking if I wanted a drink, he placed them on the coffee table and poured two fingers of whisky in each.

I swallowed my nerves and approached the back of the nearest couch, digging my fingers into the cushion to hide my trembling hands. “You too.” And he did. He wore a gunmetal gray suit, jacket unbuttoned with no tie. A few of his shirt buttons were undone, revealing the natural bronze of his skin. He appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties. Nobody would guess an immortal being resided in that suave exterior.

“How’s the blacksmithing business going?” His fingers lightly picked up his glass.

“You knew?” I wasn’t surprised, not really. Nobody escapes Akil.

He took a generous drink and smiled but didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. “So tell me; to what do I owe this pleasure?” He shrugged off his jacket.

As he offered me the glass of whisky, I considered where to start. I owed Akil everything. He’d been my teacher, my guardian, but more than that, he’d saved me. Without his intervention, I’d be dead in a ditch somewhere. Another half-blood consigned to an early grave. And yet I couldn’t trust him, not completely. He, like most of the full-blooded demons I’d known, had his own motives.

“I had a visitor last night, and I wondered if you might know him.”

“Oh?” Akil arched an eyebrow and leaned back against the couch. “I take it your visitor wasn’t human?”

“I don’t know what he was,” I admitted, taking a sip of the whisky. The alcohol rolled across my tongue, smooth, mature, and no doubt as costly as the loan I was still paying off on my workshop. I took another sip, needing the reassuring warmth.

Akil saw my hand shake but was polite enough to pretend he hadn’t.

“He—er... He wanted me to read a blade. I would have, had he not been so rude about it. Either he was rusty at playing human, or he’s just naturally an arrogant—” I stopped before my anger got the better of me. “Anyway, we had a little tête-á-tête and then he left. Ten seconds later, my workshop exploded, almost taking me with it.” The warmth of the whisky soothed my rattling nerves as the shock of my close call really hit home.

The kindness in Akil’s eyes hardened. “What did he look like?”

“Tall. Smug. A thing for red leather. But it was the sword that was interesting.” I finished my whisky and let Akil refill my glass. “It was hand crafted.” I recalled the tease of power I’d felt from the blade. I rubbed my fingertips together, the ghost of its touch like pins and needles beneath my skin. “Similar to a Japanese katana but it had an elaborate guard. It’s unique.”

“Did you read it?” He returned to my side.

“No.” I flicked Akil a smile as I took my refreshed drink. “You know, the more I think about it, the more I wonder why he came to me. He asked me what payment I wanted for reading the sword. I told him, but he threatened me instead of just giving me the money. Why would he do that?”

“He wasn’t there for the sword.”

I was beginning to realize the same. “He was testing me. I thought it was odd at the time. He deliberately pissed me off to get a reaction.” I frowned. “Why?”

“It’s obvious.” Akil’s smile was one I recognized well. He was waiting for me to catch up. “It wasn’t about the sword. You weren’t meant to leave that workshop. He wanted you dead.”

But that didn’t make sense. “He had plenty of easier chances.” A gunshot to the head would have done it.

Akil inhaled, leaning back and rolling his shoulders. “When have you known our kind to do anything the easy way? If he’s any kind of demon at all, he’s not going to execute you without having his fun. It makes perfect sense to me. He went there to kill you, but he wanted to get his kicks. Maybe he’d heard of you. Did he call you by name?”

“Muse? Yeah.”

“Then he knows who you are. Someone hired him.”

Akil’s words rang true. How else would Mr. A have known my demon name? Only those from my past knew I’d been given the name Muse by my former owner as a cruel joke.

“Shit,” I hissed.

“Indeed.” Akil licked his lips. “You should stay with me.”

Hell, no. I immediately looked away, smiling awkwardly. I felt his gaze on me, roaming where it shouldn’t. This was not why I was here. I couldn’t do this, not again. I owed Akil everything, but I was just a half-blood demon. His world had nearly killed me before. I couldn’t go back to that.

“Muse.” He sounded apologetic until I saw his smile.

I pushed away from the couch—away from him. “You know what, don’t call me that.” I tried to make it sound like an order, but the nervous tremble in my voice undermined my intentions, reducing the words to a request. “I left for a reason, and I’m not coming back.”

“You think your assassin won’t try again?”

“I’ll take my chances.”

He winced a little, his smile twisting into something darker. “How long do you think you’ll survive out there, Charlie? You’ve got power but not nearly enough to stop them all.”

“I did it before. Five years, Akil. I had five years without you—without them.” It had felt good. The freedom. The life. The normality of it all. I paid bills. I drank coffee. I even had a cat. Life. It was real. A tangible dream, one I’d worked hard to hold on to. He wasn’t going to take it from me, and neither was Mr. A. I was sick of running because they deemed me some half-baked mistake, tired of fighting those who thought me an abomination.

“He’s out there, you know,” Akil said.

When I looked at Akil, watched him walk slowly toward me, I knew he wasn’t talking about the assassin. My heart sank, and my dream of normality slipped away. I lifted the glass to my lips and finished off the potent whisky, wincing as it burned a path down my throat.

Akil stood a little too close. The proximity of him stole my breath away. A trickling current of power stirred within me, my demon half recognizing him as her savior. He tipped my chin up, perhaps sensing my reluctant defeat and brushed the back of his fingers down my face. “Your brother sent that assassin. You know he did. Stop fooling yourself. It was never going to last. Your workshop is gone. Don’t let him take your life as well.”

Mention of my brother wasn’t going to scare me into staying, although it probably should have. Akil was right, but he was also plucking at my weaknesses, reminding me why I needed him. Not so long ago, I’d have let Akil lure me back in. It seemed like an easy decision to make. He’d protect me, give me everything he thought I needed, but it wasn’t as simple as that. For much of my life, I’d been someone’s property, pushed from pillar to post, toyed with and exploited. Akil could disguise it behind an offer of kindness, but he was no different.

I turned my head away. “No. I’m sorry.” I wasn’t. “I’m going home, Akil. Don’t try to stop me.”

Chapter 3

I twisted the key in the lock and shoved the door open, sweeping back the mound of mail that had gathered on the floor behind it. Depositing my keys and mail on the kitchen countertop, I swept a hand back through my hair, holding it there as I scanned my tiny apartment. Everything looked as it should: a few faux suede cushions strategically scattered on the couch, a collection of generic canvas prints on the wall, but it felt different. Or perhaps it was me. I felt different.

I flicked on the LCD TV, letting the comforting murmur of background voices fill my apartment, and largely ignored its chattering until a news reporter caught my eye as she challenged a stiffly poised official, “…how do you explain these freakish events, such as the flooding near Beacon Hill in July? We’re hearing reports of demons; is this true? Are there demons in Boston?” I reached for the remote and turned off the TV. I’d had about all I could stomach of demons for one day.

It was only in the last few years that the word ‘demon’ had become headline news. No longer content to hide in the shadows, they hid in plain sight, walking among us. I’m proof of that. The public were largely misinformed, perhaps deliberately so. For most, demons were a curiosity. A mild annoyance. Unless cornered, they looked human, and talk of their ‘powers’ had been toned down, made to look like bizarre coincidences or blamed on climate change. Snow in summer is a dead give-away. While their numbers were scarce, the government had a hope of controlling the rumors, but they had no idea that, for every demon caught, another ten had successfully infiltrated daily life.

Demons were just the beginning. Existence of the veil—the invisible barrier between our world and the demon realm—was not public knowledge. The government was keeping a lid on that particular bag of snakes. Demons are one thing; another world neighboring ours? A netherworld, where the sky broils, and the air flows with the elements of chaos? People weren’t ready for that.

I shrugged off a creeping weariness, rolling my shoulders and dragging my hand down my neck, trying to ease the stiffness in my muscles. I ached in places I didn’t know could ache. Shock and physical damage had taken their toll, as had the meeting with Akil. At least he’d let me leave and had even offered to throw some feelers out to see if my assassin could be identified. Going to Akil had been a risk. I’d turned my back on him, and he wasn’t someone who took that sort of denial lightly. I’d pay in some way for asking for his help. He’d make sure of that.

I flicked my gaze to the bunch of flowers in the lounge window. The heads drooped. A few brittle leaves rested on the sill beside the vase, a sure sign I’d spent too much time at the workshop lately. I retrieved the flowers and dumped them in the trash, rinsing out the vase and upending it on the drainer.

I leaned back against the sink. Everything was so quiet. The double-glazed windows stifled the constant drone of the city, but today I almost felt as though I needed the noise. The city lived. It breathed: the blaring car horns, the rapid shrill of the pedestrian crossings. Walk, don’t walk. I didn’t want to walk. My apartment, as small and insignificant as it was, felt like a real home. I’d never had that before, and I wasn’t about to walk away from it.

I opened the window, breathing in the South Boston air. The sounds of children playing drifted from nearby Buckley Playground. I caught snippets of a conversation from a couple passing beneath my window. A car rumbled by, and I soaked up the familiar sounds of life. The cacophony of human activity grounded me firmly in normality.

The meeting with Akil, although brief, had rekindled an ache I thought I’d long ago cured. He exuded power, wore it like cologne, and the primal creature curled at my core refused to ignore the attraction. My demon, she’s all about need, and she made it clear she needed Akil. It didn’t help that Akil was one of the Seven Princes of Hell; demon catnip to the likes of me.

Flicking on the coffee machine, I grumbled a few choice words. They could all go to hell, or the netherworld, to give it its proper name. I wasn’t giving up my life, not for anyone. It might seem quaint to the many varieties of demons who stalked me, but it was mine.

Opening the fridge, I took out the milk and closed the door. A creased photo caught my eye, the corner trapped against the fridge with a cat-shaped magnet. Sam and me. I smiled. He had his arm around me, his broad grin genuine. The picture had been taken a few months ago, in the summer. We’d hiked up a woodland trail and found a small waterfall off the beaten track. Water rushed just out of the shot. Sam’s jeans were wet with the spray. His salt-and-pepper hair had a damp and ruffled chaos about it. How I loved to run my fingers through his hair.

The flowers I’d just thrown away had been from him. An apology for something he didn’t need to apologize for. I’d lied to him. A lot. Especially about why it was never going to work between us.

While pouring the milk into my coffee, I caught a glimpse of a blinking light from my antiquated answering machine. Six messages, more than I usually get in a month, I thought, taking a sip of coffee. The machine wasn’t the most reliable at the best of times and had a tendency to delete or overwrite messages.

I jabbed PLAY on the machine.

“New message received Sunday, eleven-fifteen-pm,” an automated female voice said. “Hi, Charlie.” Sam’s deliciously smooth tones instantly soothed my strung-out nerves. “You really need to get a phone at the workshop, or get a cell phone. Everyone has a cell these days. Even my Aunt—and she’s nearly eighty.” He talks too much, always has. “Anyway. Look, I can’t make Tuesday. A potential contract has come up…you know how it is. I can’t say no. I’m really sorry.” He paused, his silence weighted with unspoken words. “I want to see you. Miss you.” He hung up.

I groaned. Break ups are never easy, especially when neither party really wants to separate. I shouldn’t have agreed to meet him even though our planned ‘date’ was a friendly one, no strings attached.

Tuesday? Today was Tuesday. I clasped my hands around the hot mug of coffee. My slouch deepened. Now that he’d cancelled, I realized how much I needed to talk to him. Sam made me forget myself, who and what I was. He had such a light-hearted outlook. So quick to smile. He loved his work as an architect, and his enthusiasm for life infectious. It was one of the reasons I’d let our relationship go on for as long as it had.

“New message received Monday, nine-oh-nine-am.” Silence followed.

Strange.

“New message received Monday, nine-oh-eleven-am.” Silence, then static and click. “New message received Monday, nine-oh-fifteen-am.” More static.

I frowned into my coffee and glared at the answering machine. Its digital display blinked PLAY back at me. The messages continued to play their static nonsense until I reached the sixth, received an hour before I’d arrived home, a message from the police asking me to visit them at the station. Non urgent.

I stopped the machine, my finger hovering over DELETE ALL, when something possessed me to listen again. It was the third message I was interested in. I set my coffee down on the countertop and listened. It wasn’t silence. There was something in the background. Muffled noises, static, then a click as the caller hung up.

I hit REPLAY. There was someone there. I could hear scuffles, like the sounds you hear when a caller hasn’t hung up properly, and he’s dumped the phone in his pocket. With a shrug, I picked up my phone and coffee and walked into the bedroom, tapping out Sam’s number.

“Hey, this is Sam Harwood, Architect. Leave a message, and I’ll call you back between the hours of nine and seven.” His voicemail beeped and waited for me to speak.

“It’s Charlie. I got your message.” I sat on the edge of the bed, cradling the phone between my chin and shoulder and placing the coffee on the bedside table. “Sorry I didn’t call sooner…” The seconds ticked, and the silence urged me to speak. “Something has happened at the workshop and… It’s all gone.” A knot twisted in my throat. A swell of emotion choked me. “I’ve not been exactly honest with you. Can you call me?” The phone beeped, cutting me off.

I couldn’t tell him everything, but he deserved to know the break-up hadn’t been his fault. Humans cannot date demons, even half-demons like me. The history I carried—my family, my past—was too dangerous. If he knew what I was, had any inkling of what lay at my core, it would destroy him. Like most people, he knew about demons. He tolerated their presence, but to be sleeping with one? He’d never look at me the same again. It would ruin what was left of our friendship, and I’d be alone again.

I lay back on the bed, resting the phone beside me on the pillow and closed my eyes. Sam had been a mistake, one of many I’d racked up over the years, but at least I had the memory of our relationship: the dinner dates, the movie nights, the simplicity of it all. That had to be worth something.

I fell asleep with the comforting thoughts of Sam in my head and the warmth of my normal life around me.

Jonesy nudged my cheek, purred, then sniffed my lips in that irritating way cats do. I swatted him away, only for him to dive back in and nuzzle my chin. His purrs vibrated through his furry little feline body.

I dragged my eyes open. The gloom around me came as a surprise. My digital clock read 9:20pm. I’d slept all afternoon and into the evening. Jonesy continued to pester me as I rose from the bed like the walking dead. He darted around my feet, weaving around my shins, mewing softly.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, cat. I get it.”

The phone on my pillow rang, its screen glowing green in the dark, one name flashing on the display.

Akil.

I picked it up. My thumb hovered over the answer button. Just seeing Akil’s name sprinkled traitorous shivers through me. It hadn’t been a day since I’d left his offices, and already my body felt the effects of demon-withdrawal. The damned darkness inside wouldn’t let me deny what I’d experienced seeing him again. They do that to you, demons. They know your intentions, your needs, your desires, and they play them like musicians play their instruments. The demon inside me—she knew I wanted Akil on a level I didn’t dare admit. But thankfully, I’m not all demon; I still had a measure of self-control.

I answered the call.

“Muse.” His voice teased through my sleep-addled mind, rekindling sparks of desire. “Are you alright?”

Was that something like concern in his voice? Surely the all-powerful demon property developer wasn’t worried about little ol’ me.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I croaked, the remnants of a deep sleep clawing at my voice. “Why? Shouldn’t I be?”

Jonesy weaved about my feet as I headed for the bedroom door. Some part of him arcing back to his big-cat origins, he tried to playfully lunge at my boots.

“Your assassin… Did he carry a gun with a scorpion motif on the grip?”

“Yes.” My heart thudded a little faster.

“Where are you?”

“At home.”

“I’ll tell you in person. Will you invite me in?” The way he asked, slipping it so easily into the conversation, you’d have thought it was a flippant request. It wasn’t. Akil is full demon. A Prince of Hell, no less. Without an invite, he couldn’t physically enter my apartment, but only idiots and mad men invited demons into their homes, and I was neither.

I couldn’t invite him in and was about to say as much when I stood on Jonesy’s tail. He yowled and shot through my bedroom door in a blur of black fur. I stumbled after him, falling against the doorframe, and froze.

“Muse?” I heard Akil’s voice from the phone at my side, but dared not lift it to my ear.

Sprawled on my couch, an arm draped along the back, boots propped up on my coffee table, sat Mr. A. The pale glow pooling through the window bathed him in a cool crisp light, casting shadows across his face that darkened his arctic blue eyes. That same light played across his hair like water shivering over ice.

“Muse?” Akil growled. His distant voice at the end of the phone snapped me out of my reverie.

I lifted the phone to my ear, my unblinking stare never leaving my uninvited guest. “Yes,” I hissed.

“What’s going on?” Akil demanded.

“Nothing. I’m fine,” I replied, each word hollow.

Akil fell quiet. “Goodnight, Muse.”

“Goodnight.” The forced nature of our farewell was a clear indication that not all was well.

I hung up the call. It wouldn’t take Akil long to arrive. I just needed to buy time.

Mr. A hadn’t moved. No human could sit as still as that. He might as well have been carved from stone. But there was definite amusement glinting in his otherwise frosty glare. His lips ticked into a crooked smile.

Jonesy, my traitorous cat, leapt onto the couch beside him and then proceeded to nudge Mr. A’s hand, purring like a V8.

“Your cat has taste.” The velvet tone of his voice crept through my defenses, stirring my reservoir of energy. He had power in his voice, but the sense of power didn’t stop there. Like an iceberg, the man I saw was just a fraction of his true self. I felt his restrained energy prickling my skin, but what the hell was he?

“It’s widely known that cats are half demon. So what are you?” I asked, pleasantly surprised by my casual tone. The fact that he was in my apartment, sitting very comfortably on my couch, meant he wasn’t a full-demon. No invite—no entry. He was something else or a half-blood, like me.

I snaked my arms across my chest and leaned nonchalantly against the doorframe as though I hadn’t practically fallen over my own feet a few moments before.

Mr. A. dropped his hand and gave Jonesy an obliging tickle behind the ear. My cat fell over himself, soaking up the attention, utterly oblivious to the rising tension in the room. Mr. A fought a smile before he planted his boots on the floor and leaned forward. “Can I trust you, Muse?”

I almost laughed. “Trust me?” I shoved away from the door, feeling his eyes lingering on me with every step. “No. You can’t trust me.”

His confident smile faltered as though my answer might actually matter. He broke our mutual stare and stood. Numerous buckles rattled against the supple leather of his coat. I caught a glimmer of light as it slid across the gun in its holster, but no sword.

“Where’s the sword?” I stood between him and the front door.

“Somewhere safe.”

“Why did you destroy my workshop?” My attempt at remaining calm began to fail. My voice quivered. “I don’t know you. I’ve done nothing to you. Why would you do that to me?”

He cast his gaze over my shoulder at the front door behind me then dragged it back to meet my accusations. “I know you. You’re the half-sister of the full-blood demon, Valenti. The illegitimate child of Asmodeus—one of the Seven Princes of Hell. You were sold at birth as a plaything for lesser demons.”

My power began to stir despite my best efforts to keep it from awakening. A tightening heat seeped outward, the touch of it rolling across my skin. I knew what I was, but hearing the disgust behind his words roused deep-seated emotions I’d tried to keep locked away.

“A half-blood abomination,” he snarled. “An embarrassment to demons everywhere. By all rights, you should be dead.”

The heat broke over my skin. My demon stretched her tendrils outward, entwining herself with my human form. “And you don’t know the half of it,” I growled. He had come to kill me, but he wasn’t going to find it easy.

I welcomed the blaze of power, letting it burst white-hot across my fragile human flesh. Demon and human blurred together as one. My human body was a shimmering apparition, intangible amid the raging heat. Writhing power lanced up my spine, the pain blinding and yet invigorating. It sought release. My physical flesh restrained it, containing it behind reality. Now that I’d revealed my demon, there would be hell to pay.

I summoned the city’s elemental heat. Human activity provides an endless supply of energy, an energy I can summon the same way the ocean calls the tides. The streetlights outside flickered before blazing bright then bursting one by one before wilting on their poles like the long-dead flowers I’d thrown away. Heat swelled inside of me, the power brimming over. It wasn’t all I had, but it would be enough to make Mr. A think twice.

He had backed up a few steps, shielding his face from the heat with the crook of his arm, but he made no attempt to retaliate. He hadn’t even reached for his gun.

Molten power dripped from my body, fizzling to nothing once it separated from the inferno lashing inside of me. Half-blood, half-demon, I stood between two worlds, summoning the darkest of energies from the fabric of this reality, but it was restricted, captured, and tethered in my human form. Bound as I was, I could still incinerate him if he made one wrong move.

“I’m not your enemy, Muse.” He flinched and staggered back a few steps as the sheer weight of the heat bore down on him, but still he didn’t summon the power I knew he must have.

“No? Then prove it.” My voice no longer resembled my own. It hissed and spat, lashed and snarled. He wouldn’t see me as human, not any more. What he saw, the thing that occupied my body, was a hellish visage of anger and hate, of the years I’d spent cowering at the feet of others. He saw a beast ablaze in flame, a female silhouette tethered by the blanched-white chains of power.

With each step, my intent grew. The demon inside me reared up, demanding satisfaction. She wanted the chaos that came with summoning the elements. Her elation spurred me on, her lust for destruction tugging my conscious thoughts toward maddening freedom.

Mr. A. pressed his back against the window and lowered his arm. Refusing to look away, his jaw worked, teeth grinding. His fists, clasped rigid at his sides, gave away the effort control took him. He was deliberately holding back, refusing to rise to my threat. His restraint was commendable, but it wouldn’t stop me from hurting him.

“Be careful what side you choose, Muse.” He turned and ducked out of my window in a flurry of red coat.

In a blink, I was at the window, hands splayed either side as I peered four floors down to the street below, but Mr. A was nowhere in sight. Sirens wailed, a fire truck blasting its horn somewhere close.

With the threat gone, the mass of elemental energy inside me had no outlet. With the promise of retribution stolen, and the lure of devastation no longer achievable, it turned every drop of its displeasure on the woman anchoring it to this world: me.

I knew what was coming, but short of leveling a city block, I had no choice but to let it ride over me. I could have released the chaos, could have walked right out of my apartment building and swept a wave of destruction in my wake, but if I did that, I’d be no better than the demons I despised. As my demon turned the weight of pure elemental energy on me, I buckled under its pressure, falling to my knees and burying my head in my hands. Like the devastating force of a hurricane, it tore into me, metaphysical talons slashing through my cowering soul, tearing out any strength I might have had to resist it.

I hugged myself tighter, trying to escape the relentless assault. Lashings of fire snapped over me, through me. I heard my own cries in the maelstrom, but they were distant and detached, belonging to another woman. A pitiful human woman, weak of mind and soul.

“Invite me in, Muse.” Akil. His voice broke through the storm of chaos in my head. The slightest touch of him was enough to soothe the madness.

I didn’t need to speak the words. All it took was a moment of intention, a brief flicker of defeat, and he was there, beside me, gathering me into his arms and holding me close against him. I fought him at first, trying to desperately hold on to whatever remained of normality, but it was pointless. I had neither the strength nor the inclination to deny him, and he knew it.

He cradled me against him as I sobbed, ignoring the pulsating waves of heat spilling from me. A wretched trembling wracked me. My muscles cramped. With each lash of pain, I bucked, teeth snapping shut. Akil’s strong arms held me firm as he whispered words in a language I didn’t understand and didn’t care to.

I don’t know how long he held me, but eventually reason and reality returned. I listened to Akil’s heavy heartbeat as the sounds of the city drifted through the open window. A cool breeze slid over my flushed skin. No physical indication of what I’d just been through remained. My demon rarely wounds me physically; she knows better than to damage her human counterpart.

“He was here,” I said.

He shushed me, making words redundant.

“He was here. He got in. He’s not a full-demon. He’s something else…” Barely coherent words tumbled from my lips.

“I know.”

I closed my eyes, resting my cheek against the warmth of his chest. It felt good to be held by him, to know that nobody could touch me. I was safe in his arms, and I wondered why on earth I’d ever wanted to be free of him. Who was I fooling? I couldn’t live like a normal woman. I had a force of nature inside me, a demon consumed by need with a deliberate lust for chaos. She was me. I couldn’t hide from her and didn’t want to. I wanted her. I wanted to awaken her, to embrace her. My attempt at normality had been the madness, but now I was home, in Akil’s arms once more.

“You did well.” His fingers stroked lazy circles on my shoulder.

“I shouldn’t be here.” I could easily have unleashed that explosive force of power. All it would have taken was my surrender, and innocent people would have died. With that much energy, my demon would have raged against anyone and anything in her way.

“I know.”

“Take me home,” I whispered.

Chapter 4

When I’d first turned my back on the netherworld, nightmares had plagued me. Once I had a taste of what it meant to be human, the full horror of what I’d been forced to endure overflowed inside me, and my subconscious succumbed to the memories. The terrors became so bad that I began to fight sleep, to force myself to stay awake and avoid reliving the things I’d spent a lifetime running from. I tried to drink myself into hiding, but that only made it worse. I dabbled in drugs. Anything and everything to run from the demons, both metaphysical and tangible, that hunted me. Eventually, the nightmares tired of me, then stopped altogether. The demons never found me. I was safe in hiding. I’d found a way out. I would survive.

But when I let Akil back into my life, the nightmares returned.

I woke tangled in pure white sheets. My heart fluttered, my breaths coming in short gasps. I couldn’t fill my lungs. Panic stole my ability to think. Sunlight flooded in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Virgin white drapes rippled in the breeze. But as serene as it all appeared, I saw demons in my peripheral vision. They leered at me, talons reaching outward, obsidian claws digging into my flesh.

I scrambled from the bed, the dream still very real in my mind, and stumbled over the sheets, dragging them with me. I fell and landed firmly on all fours. It was only then, hunched over and trembling, that I realized I was safe. There was nothing in the bedroom, and there never had been. They were in my head. Memories.

I saw the room for what it was: just an innocuous room. Clean. Modern. Nothing to indicate a malevolent presence. Clutching the sheets to me, I managed to stand on unsteady legs and stagger to the window. Boston harbor sparkled in the early morning sunlight. Luxury yachts bobbed in the marina, fifteen or so stories below. I recognized the opulent high-rise buildings as Atlantic Wharf, Boston’s financial district and home to The Atlantic Hotel, Akil’s hotel.

I stepped away from the glass, and the fluttering in my chest intensified. He’d brought me home, right back into the very heart of his world. Of course he had. I’d asked him to.

A bubble of laughter escaped me. Panic laced my veins with adrenalin. I spied clean clothes folded on the end of the bed and quickly dressed. The navy blue dress would have been modest had it not been for its short, figure-hugging cut. I didn’t care what it looked like. I could change when I got home—my home.

I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to work out some of the knots, then plucked my boots from beside the door and stepped barefoot out into a marble-tiled hallway. Moving lightly on my feet, I breezed down the hall, slowing as it opened into a vast lounge. The lounge area was easily four times the size of my entire apartment. A sunken area housed a scattering of cream leather couches. Art adorned the walls, splashes of color among an otherwise stark interior.

I listened, but besides the soft hum of the air conditioning, the apartment was quiet. I was alone. I jogged across the lounge, feeling as exposed as a criminal outside the prison gates, then entered the entrance foyer.

With a sigh of relief, I tugged open the door leading to the elevators and met the bright smile of a woman clutching a file to her chest.

“Hi. Good. You’re awake.” She breezed by me, her rushed words chasing one another from her lips. “Akil sent this over for you. He wanted me to drop by, make sure you’re okay.”

My hand lingered on the door handle. Freedom was so close.

“I’m Nica. Akil’s assistant.”

I glanced back, finding her bubbly enthusiasm distracting. She held out her hand. She was human. At least I didn’t get any indication of power coming from her, but I doubted Akil would employ a human assistant.

“It’s okay.” She tucked her short honey-blond hair behind her ear before offering me her hand once more. “I won’t bite.” She certainly looked friendly enough, her enthusiasm just about ready to burst, but I’d been fooled before. You don’t have to be demon to be lying.

I shook her hand. Her grip was firm. “Where’s Akil?”

“Working. He asked that you have a look at this file. I’ll answer any questions you might have.”

Nica appeared to be one of those people who could brighten any situation with her presence alone. The file, her friendly approach, and the fact she was a human personal assistant to a Prince of Hell had me intrigued enough to abandon my escape attempt.

I dropped my boots by the door and followed Nica back into the apartment. She wore cream trousers with sandals, as though it was the height of summer and not the tail-end of October. Her white blouse billowed loosely around her slim physique.

She stepped down into the sunken seating area and waited for me to join her before handing me the file. “His name is Stefan.”

I flicked open the file and immediately came face to face with my would-be assassin. The black and white picture showed him walking away from the camera, his face in profile. If his distinctive leather coat didn’t give him away, the car he had been captured approaching certainly did: the same battered old Charger he’d parked outside my workshop.

“Stefan…” I whispered, perching myself on the edge of a couch and splaying the various photographs, documents, and notes across the coffee table in front of me. Half a dozen images caught him in motion, but few were close enough to allow me to examine the details of his face. Either he was apt at avoiding having his photo taken, or the photographer didn’t want to get too close.

A black and white image of a familiar motif caught my eye: entwined scorpions, the same emblem as on Stefan’s gun. “What is this mark?”

“His identifier.” Nica lowered herself on the couch beside me, brushing the creases from her trousers. “His brand,” she said, gathering from my confused expression that I had no clue what she was referring to. “Given to him at birth.”

I frowned at her curious choice of words. A brand implied ownership. “What do you mean?”

“He’s a hybrid, like you. From what we can gather, he was given that mark when he was handed over to his guardian, probably shortly after birth.” Half-bloods were routinely killed at birth. Those who weren’t were sold among the demons as curiosities. Few survive. I’d never met another.

“I don’t have any marks like that,” I said.

Nica smiled sympathetically. “He was taken in, Muse. Trained. Tutored and reared for one purpose. Somebody cared enough to brand him.”

“Why?” Half-bloods are thought of as worthless monstrosities. Why would someone bother with him?

“He’s a tool, a mercenary. If you look through the file, you’ll see we can place him as a suspect in countless high-profile demon attacks and one successful assassination. It appears he was trained well.”

I picked up the black-and-white photo that had first confirmed Stefan as my Mr. A. Even frozen mid-stride, he carried a confidence that no half-blood had the right to. I’d seen evidence of that smug attitude at both my workshop and my apartment, where he’d made himself at home while I’d slept, blissfully unaware of his presence.

“If he was hired to kill me…” I paused, uncertainty stalling me. “Why didn’t he kill me at the workshop or at my apartment?”

Nica shrugged. “Perhaps he’s playing with you.”

Akil had said the same, but I wasn’t so sure. If Stefan was a mercenary, then surely he would only receive payment on my death? So what had he been waiting for? Sure, at my apartment, I’d given him a taste of what I was capable of, but prior to that, I’d been asleep. Considering how relaxed he was, sprawled on my couch, he could have been there for minutes, hours even. He had plenty of opportunity to kill me and collect on the contract, but he hadn’t. He’d waited.

No, he wasn’t sent to kill me. I was sure of it. He wanted something, and the sword was the key to finding out what.

“So he’s half-demon.” I nodded firmly. It felt right. I’d known he had power, had felt it the moment he’d walked into my workshop, but his half-human nature had confused me. “What demon sired him?”

Nica scratched at her cheek, briefly dropping her gaze to the scattered images. “His father was human. His mother is Yukki-Onna, also known as the Snow Spirit.”

“Snow? As in an ice element?” No wonder he and I didn’t get along. While I was born of fire, my power fuelled by flame, his stemmed from the exact opposite. He and I were poles apart, elementally destined to repel one another.

“From the feelers Akil put out,” Nica said, “she continues to have a relationship with her son. It’s all rumor, of course. Officially, she denies he even exists.”

I had to smile. If my father, Asmodeus, acknowledged my existence I’d soon be wiped from the face of the earth like a bug from a windshield. But then my father was one of the Seven Princes of Hell, so he had a certain reputation to adhere to. Lucky for me, he chose to deny my existence, and nobody dared question him. It was a shame my brother couldn’t follow in our father’s footsteps and ignore me.

“Akil believes my brother sent Stefan to kill me…” I hadn’t seen my brother for a long time, but the specter of his intent to kill me followed me everywhere. A full-blood demon, born of a pure bloodline, he considered my existence an abhorrent freak of nature. My life offended him.

“In all honesty, it could be any number of demons. No offense, Muse, but you’re not exactly popular among your kind.” She offered me a half smile.

Because I dared to be different; the obtuse little half-blood who had somehow managed to slaughter her owner. Yeah, that was me, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Nica was right. My brother Val could have sent Stefan after me, but so could any number of pissed off demons who would have taken offense at my ingratitude at being owned. How dare I snub them? Had I just insulted them, things might not have been so bad, but to kill my previous owner, yeah… There was no coming back from that one. I had a target on my back, and there was no escaping it.

It did make me wonder why Akil had protected me and continued to do so.

“You’ll be safe here,” Nica offered, reading my pensive expression as one of concern.

“Yeah, about that… I can’t stay here. I can’t just leave everything I had.” I tossed Stefan’s picture back onto the pile of documents. “I have a boyfriend. Well, did have. We sort of…we broke up. Anyway, I can’t just leave.”

She stood with a sigh. “That’s between you and Akil.”

“And a cat. Jonesy. I have to make arrangements for him. Bills need paying. The police want to talk to me about the workshop. I can’t just walk out one night and never go back.”

Nica looked down at me, and I swear I saw pity on her face. “All I know is, once you’re in, there is no out.” Her bright smile was back, and the pity I thought I’d seen might as well have been imagined. “It was nice to meet you. I was expecting a bitter and twisted woman on the verge of insanity. You seem pleasantly coherent to me.”

I laughed, not entirely sure whether she was joking or not. “Thanks, I think.”

“Take care, and if you have any more questions, just give me a call. My number’s on the front of the file.”

“I have a question.”

“Oh.”

“What are you? You’re not demon. You referred to demons as my kind, so what are you? I’m just curious, is all.”

She chuckled. “Well, I’m just a personal assistant.” By the way she spoke, the slight tip of her head, a glint of mischief in her eyes, she made it perfectly clear she was not just a personal assistant.

After she’d left, I browsed through the file on Stefan, absorbing and digesting every piece of information I could find. At least when we next met, and I was under no illusion—there would be a next time—I’d know who I was dealing with.

Chapter 5

Jonesy’s throaty purr resonated around my small kitchen. I envied my cat’s simple existence as I tickled him behind his ears. He chomped merrily through his bowl of kibble, oblivious to my turmoil. I’d made arrangements for my landlord to temporarily take him on, but I really didn’t want to leave him. I’d taken on the responsibility of having a pet, and it felt like failure to hand him over to someone else; a little like I’d been, shoved from one owner to another. It didn’t sit well with me. While discussing temporary ownership of my cat, I let my landlord know the electrics in my apartment appeared to be on the blink (not mentioning it might have something to do with the energy spike from a half-blood demon) and paid him two months’ rent in advance, while giving him notice of my intention to vacate.

I lied and told him I’d secured a metalworking contract half way across the country. He said he was sorry to see me go, and I believed him. In the three years I’d been there, I hadn’t once been late with the rent. I didn’t hold rowdy late night parties and barely had any visitors at all. The model tenant.

That would all change if I’d stayed.

The few items I considered important fit into a shoebox. Photographs, mostly. A note from Sam that he’d left at the workshop one evening, asking if I took commissions. He’d been recommended by a friend and had seen my work online. I didn’t sell swords from a website. I was pretty sure that would raise some eyebrows, but I did craft metal pieces for private clients. Gates, candlesticks, art. It paid the bills, and I was damn good at it.

I’d realized I could read metal during my time as another demon’s plaything. A curious skill, to say the least. I couldn’t explain it, not really. Some might call it psychic, but how could metal retain a memory? It doesn’t, but that doesn’t stop me from seeing the people who might briefly have come into contact with a metal item. Perhaps the metal creates a bridge between the past and present, and being an elemental demon, I could cross that bridge. Whatever it was, the demons who controlled my chains very quickly learned about my skill. At first, I’d thought it might mean they would afford me some respect, but all it did was give them another means by which to hurt me.

Reading the metal requires a sacrifice of blood, specifically my own blood. To get any kind of image at all, I must bleed, and it just so happens that all demons ever want to read are weapons. Swords, daggers, axes. Demons aren’t known for their subtly. Make me bleed, make me read. It had been Damien’s mantra. Come see the curious half-blood who can read your past; bring your own sword.

I shivered just thinking about him, preferring instead to file those memories away in the ‘Do-Not-Enter’ part of my mind. Damien, my ex-owner, was dead, my past and the woman I had been, long dead with him. If it hadn’t been for Akil, I might have still been there, sobbing on the end of those chains, my demon soul spent and my body abused.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

I yelped in surprise at Akil’s voice. He stood in my apartment doorway, leaning against the doorframe and had never looked as wickedly divine as he did in that moment. He wore a perfectly tailored tuxedo, jacket unbuttoned over a fluid white shirt. His crooked smile topped off the sophisticated demeanor, so he simply exuded confidence. He held a bottle of red wine in one hand. A cocktail dress still inside its clear wrapping was draped over his other arm.

He sauntered over to me and deliberately stood a little too close, leaning past me to place the bottle of wine on the countertop. As he straightened, he made no attempt to move out of my personal space.

He smelled like cinnamon and cloves, like a fireplace on a cold winter’s day, and it was all I could do to gape up at him. His hazel eyes appeared almost black as he looked down into my wide-eyed stare. As he breathed, I felt the energy radiating from him and had to fight not to reach out and place my hands on his chest. I could soak up that power, draw it into me, but once I did that, I wouldn’t be able to escape the lure of his control.

I took a few light steps backward, extricating myself from his clear intent to distract me. “I er—I can’t stay with you, Akil. I just can’t.” Along that path, bad things slumbered. If I gave in to him, let him control everything again, it would be like walking toward a black hole, knowing it would swallow me whole but unable to break free. I couldn’t give up my control. It was everything to me.

“You can’t stay here.”

“I know that.” I gestured at the shoebox as though that explained everything. I sounded irritated, but in fact was more annoyed at my traitorous body and the stirring of desire that did odd things to me. For a start, I couldn’t breathe properly.

I marched across the room and flung open the same window Stefan had escaped from the day before. Outside, the sun had dipped behind the high-rises, the warmth of the day seeping from the air as the dark of night loomed.

Akil stood beside me, leaning against the wall by the window and snaking his arms crossed. “Your little show of power melted the streetlights.” He was enjoying this, could probably read right through my stubborn attempt at denying I felt anything. “It made the news. A power-surge. I‘ve never seen a power-surge melt the post. Have you?”

I shifted awkwardly. I could see one of the streetlights in question outside the window, just off to my right, its damaged head drooping low. No, that wasn’t normal. The elements of chaos are slippery, difficult to rein in, always demanding freedom.

“Every demon worth his name knows something happened here, Muse, and you’re right in the middle of it.” He closed the distance between us with a single stride and swept a fallen lock of hair from across my eye. “You can’t come back here. I can’t lose you again.”

I fell into his eyes again, my body possessed by the hunger he roused in me. A shiver of power danced across my skin, and the fine hairs on my arms stood on end. He might look human, but that was where the similarity ended. The demon inside his male exterior burned with primal needs. It devoured, it stole, it consumed. He was all greed and desire, always hungry. And I knew his real name. Mammon, Prince of Greed.

It was the human in me that resisted him, always had been. Perhaps that’s why he’d saved me. To my knowledge, I was the only demon, half or otherwise, brave or stupid enough to walk away from him. Most cowered at his feet.

I found myself moving away again. As if in a slow waltz, we drifted about my apartment only to be irrevocably drawn back together again.

“You’re going out?” I squeaked, clearing my throat and cursing my female urges. Goddamn him. How was I meant to think clearly with this much power in the room? I planted both hands on the cool kitchen countertop, admiring the little red dress folded there, with its short ruffled lace hem. If he thought I was wearing that, he could go straight back to hell. Unless I could wear it with boots, of course.

“I was hoping you’d join me. A little human party I’ve thrown together.”

I turned my head, smiling. “I don’t think that’s wise. Do you? I’ve got a killer after me, not to mention all manner of demons who would like to take me down a peg or two, and you want me to party the night away?”

He raised an eyebrow and shrugged a shoulder, before retrieving the bottle of wine and beginning to search my cupboards, I assumed, for wine glasses.

“Nobody would dare threaten you in my presence.” He found the glasses and planted them in front of me. He tore the foil off the wine, paused as if briefly considering searching for a corkscrew before he decided not to bother and instead placed the palm of his hand over the cork, summoning it from the bottle with a satisfying pop.

I watched the red wine pool in the glasses as he poured. With a twist of the wrist, he straightened the bottle, and placing it on the side, he slipped the stem of a glass between his fingers and presented the drink to me.

“What do you want from me, Akil?” I smiled my thanks and took the glass. I’d asked him the same question many times over the years and had never received a satisfying answer. In my last few years by his side, I’d stopped asking altogether, but by then I’d stopped thinking for myself too.

“All I want is for you to be safe.”

“But why?” I tasted the wine, finding it satisfyingly warm.

He picked up his glass and tapped a finger on the dress. “Will you come?” His smile twitched as he saw me hesitate. “How long has it been since you really enjoyed yourself, Muse?” He leaned forward. “I mean all of you.” The delicious purr of his dulcet tones stole my breath.

What harm could it do? A human party, he had said. Nothing to worry about.

Leaving my wine on the countertop, I scooped up the dress, and casting him a playful smirk, I disappeared into my bedroom to change.

A party might do me some good, I thought. A chance to unwind, to forget my would-be assassin and the abrupt end to my normal life. Perhaps I could treat it like a farewell of sorts. One last hurrah before I stepped back into the world of demons and their devious machinations.

After dressing in the little red number, I checked my reflection, reaching behind me in an attempt to zip up the dress. I couldn’t do much about my pale complexion or the hounded look in my eyes, but with a little splash of lipstick, I might resemble a woman in control.

Akil’s reflection behind mine snatched a gasp from me. Before I could protest, I felt the press of him against my back. The aura of power that he wore wrapped its warmth around me as he trailed his fingers down the curve of my neck. I tilted my head to the side, my gaze locked on his, daring him to proceed.

He slid a hand around my waist. His palm pressed against my hip as he pulled me back against him. My own power unfurled, tentative ethereal tendrils reaching outward, entwining around him, through him.

He growled low in his throat and broke our stare by bowing his head. I couldn’t help leaning back against him while his lips trailed painfully delicate kisses down my neck. He slid the dress from my shoulder and nipped at my flushed skin, sending tremors rippling through me. The demon in me purred, slipping into my skin and spilling the heat of otherworldly energy across my flesh.

I heard him suck in air through his teeth, breathing in energy and felt his body quiver. I watched his reflection as he dragged his stare back up to meet mine. To know that he wanted me, a being born of magic and chaos, an ageless and powerful Prince of Hell, was all the excuse I needed.

He saw my acceptance, or felt it and turned me suddenly in his arms, pinning me back against the mirror. I laughed or growled or purred again. Either way, I was lost. He clasped my head in his hands. The sudden urgency made it difficult for me to breathe. I expected him to kiss me, for his mouth to hungrily devour mine. I knew where it would roam from there, the trail of wanton destruction it would leave across my body. I groaned for it, but he kissed me so gently, lips so frustratingly soft.

I snarled. His teasing just about drove me insane, and I lunged at him, tasting him, teasing him. Arms around his neck, I pulled him down to me, and this time he didn’t hesitate. When he drove me back against the mirror, the glass cracked. Hitching a leg around his thigh, I locked him against me, sinking my hands through his hair as his biting kisses skipped lower.

The phone in the kitchen rang.

He snarled something that didn’t sound human before finding my mouth again. My body baked in the heat rippling between us. Power spiraled around us like an entirely new force of nature. I knew what it meant to be lost in Akil, to forget the fragility of my human flesh and succumb to the overwhelming power he commanded.

The phone continued to ring, its shrill alarm sounding all the more persistent for being ignored.

Akil planted a hand against the wall beside me and met my stare. His dark eyes simmered with energy. An inferno raged within. He dragged every breath through clenched teeth, as though struggling to contain the energy broiling the air. I have to admit, it felt good to have him like that, knowing I could pull him back in. He might not be human, but the vessel he had chosen was, and I could give him one hell of a ride.

The phone cut off, and my recorded voice jabbered on about not being home, please leave a message.

I leaned into him and licked at his lips, teasing my tongue ever so gently between them.

“This is a message for Charlotte Henderson. Charlotte, I’m Detective Mark Bergin. We need you to come down to the station. We have a witness who’s given us a description of a man we believe to have been at your premises shortly before the explosion and… well… we would prefer it if we spoke to you in person. You need to call me back. This man is potentially very dangerous.”

I heard the detective’s voice chattering away in the other room as he left his message. I’d have ignored it, but the mention of a man I could only assume was Stefan instantly doused my desire. Akil must have sensed my distraction. With a resigned sigh, he leaned against me, his cheek resting against mine. The power we had summoned between us began to fizzle away, crackling and spitting its displeasure as it retreated. I felt its departure keenly and ached to have it back, but the moment was gone.

When he pulled back, the swirl of power I’d seen in his eyes had vanished, and his smile was a little despondent.

“Tonight,” he promised. “After the party. We’re going to finish this.”

He said it like a threat, and my insides fluttered, a sliver of desire peeling the last little groan from me before Akil released me.

Chapter 6

Streetlights flickered on as Akil’s limo inched forward through the rush hour traffic. The car was so well insulated that, while I could see the city bustling by us outside, I couldn’t hear a thing. Throngs of people flowed back and forth over the sidewalks in their rush to get home. They had no idea one of the most powerful demons ever to have existed sat a few yards from them, behind the limo’s black privacy glass.

Akil relaxed in the seat opposite me, leaning an arm on the wrap-around shelf. His gaze slid across the anonymous people outside. Lost in thought, we had barely spoken a word since leaving my apartment. I felt the tug of desire every time I let my gaze linger just a little too long. Occasionally, he’d flick his dark eyes to me, and I’d see that hunger slumbering there. He didn’t need to speak to make me squirm in the leather seats. It took every ounce of my human stubbornness to stop myself from pouncing on him. My imagination worked overtime to supply me with the sort of images that brought a rush of color to my cheeks.

“Would you like me to accompany you?” He leaned forward to reach for the door.

The unimaginative blocky structure housing the police department loomed outside as the driver pulled the car to a halt against the curb. I peered through the soundproof glass at the entrance, reaching for the door handle. My fingers brushed his. A spark of energy bolted between us, providing enough of a shock for me to snatch my hand back.

He held my gaze. Words were superfluous against the wolfish grin on his lips. He opened the door, stepped out, and held it open for me.

It felt good to step from the car back into the bustle of city life. I breathed deeply, tasting the metallic residue of the city air on my lips. The clamor from the traffic grounded me firmly back in reality.

Akil looked at me as though waiting for an answer. It took me a while to remember what he’d asked.

I glanced up the steps at the police department doors. “No, I’ll be fine. Will you wait?”

“Of course.” He closed the car door and shrugged off his coat, before sliding the expensive garment around my shoulders. He hesitated, bunching the jacket together below my chin and looking down at me. His smile faltered, and the briefest glimmer of concern tightened his expression before he retreated to lean against the car. Despite the chill in the air, he wore only a shirt. The cold wouldn’t bother him. Such human afflictions rarely did, and yet something clearly concerned him.

I climbed the steps and entered the building, feeling somewhat over-dressed in my red cocktail dress and knee-high boots. In the cramped waiting area, plastic chairs lined one wall. A water-cooler butted up against the reception desk. I registered my arrival with the uniformed officer at the desk and asked for Detective Bergin.

I didn’t have long to wait. Detective Bergin introduced himself with a handshake firm enough to bruise. A big man at six foot plus, he towered over me. A barrel chest and booming voice declared him alpha, whether he knew it or not. He was the kind of guy people instinctively move out of the way for.

“Have a seat.” In an interview room, he gestured at the metal chairs before pulling one out from beneath the table and lowering his muscular bulk into it. The chair creaked.

The room was little more than a concrete box. A fluorescent light spilled a sickly glow on its four mauve walls. I couldn’t be sure whether it was the room or the man, but a slither of unease had worked its way beneath my skin.

“Thank you for coming.” His voice boomed far too loud for the small space we shared. He gestured again for me to sit, thrusting out a large calloused hand as though it was not a request but an order.

I planted a hand on my hip and stayed on my feet. “That’s okay. You said someone saw something at my workshop?” I didn’t want to stay any longer than necessary. I had a hot date, literally, and my distaste for the detective was growing by the second. His very presence left an odd taste in my mouth, like the gritty aftertaste of spoiled fruit.

“Yes.” He snatched at a thin file from the table and flicked open the cover. “Do you know this man?” He pinched an 8-by-10 color photo between his thick fingers and held it up for me.

It was Stefan. “No.”

The same distinctive red coat, but the image had been enlarged. The quality suffered because of it. In the photo, Stefan held something at his side, a sword perhaps, a very different one from the katana he’d brought to my workshop. With no identifying date or time stamps and a blurry background, I couldn’t be sure when or where the image had been taken.

“We have a witness placing this man outside your workshop minutes before the explosion. Apparently, he got into a red car. Do you know anything about that?”

“No.”

Bergin’s cracked lips peeled back over coffee-stained teeth in a mockery of a smile. “You don’t remember watching him leave prior to your workshop going up in smoke?”

I glanced at the door and back at Bergin. “Are you asking or telling me?”

He blinked slowly, leaning back in his chair and chomping his lips together as he deliberately raked a filthy gaze over me. “This man, he’s wanted for murder, numerous assaults, wilful destruction of public property, and more parking offences than you can shake a stick at, and yet he continues to elude us—not to mention destroying your place of work. So I was wondering if you might remember seeing him and whether you’d be kind enough to tell us where we can find him.”

“I don’t know that man. I’ve never seen him before in my life.” Why was he so insistent? Wasn’t I meant to be the victim here? I certainly did not like how he looked at me or how he implied I was lying. Despite the fact that he was right.

Bergin refused to look away as I deliberately pinned my stare on his. He might think he could bully me. In fact from the sordid gaze, I could tell he wasn’t thinking much beyond what lay beneath my dress. He had no idea what he was dealing with.

“Are you done?” My fingers twitched at my sides. I could spill a little power into my touch if I needed to. He’d wake with one hell of a headache.

He snorted a laugh. “You half-bloods are all the same.”

I looked away, plastering a grin on my lips. Apparently there was more going on here than a simple Q and A. Now that he’d revealed he knew me, we could cut to the chase.

He stood, the chair legs scraping across the floor, and steepled his fingers on the table before him. He bowed his head but kept his eyes on me, like a wolf hunched, ready to attack. “You think Akil can protect you?”

I summoned a little heat, pooling it in the palms of my hands. If he noticed any change in me, he didn’t show it.

“He’s not here now.” Bergin’s voice began to slur and grind his words, no doubt something to do with the elongated teeth cluttering his mouth.

Demon. I had no idea what sort, but knew I was about to find out.

The exit door stood at about the same distance away from me as Bergin. If I made a dash for it, the table between us would slow him down.

He straightened, muscles cracking as he shook off his human guise. The bulk of him shimmered indistinctly. My limited human eyesight blurred the full depth of his transformation, but I saw his form expand as though he’d gained a few more pounds in a few seconds. His flesh peppered with scales. His mouth and nose stretched outward, elongating into a snout. His curved fangs drooled saliva. A forked tongue flicked.

He hunched over, arms pinned to his sides as his body stretched. Scales latticed the length of him until nothing of the detective remained. The huge serpent reared up, mounting the table in one fluid ripple of its smooth body.

“I shall be rewarded…” Its hideous voice clawed through my thoughts.

I thrust a bolt of energy down my right arm and cast my hand out, lashing a whip-like tendril of heat across its scaled form, then sprinted for the door. I managed perhaps two strides, before it slithered in front of me, blocking my path. Serpentine eyes blazed green. A black tongue flicked, tasting the air, forcing me back.

“You should be dead,” It quite literally hissed, spittle streaming from its fangs, but I heard the words clearly inside my mind. “…your throat cut the day you were born. That is our way. You are a monstrosity!”

“Look who’s talking,” I snarled.

I dipped my chin, looking up at the demon through hooded eyes. Thrusting both arms down at my sides, I summoned power, drawing it into me while the darkest part of me spilled into fragile flesh.

The serpent-demon rose higher, jaws opening into a glistening grin. It lunged forward as I threw everything I had at it. A furious blast of energy funneled through me, slamming into the beast with enough force for it to ripple backward, shaking its whiskered head with a wrenching scream. I backed up again, the power planting itself inside every limb, pooling in muscle, bolstering my fragile flesh. It rushed through me, a burning elixir spilling through my veins, bringing me to life. And this time it had a target.

I lashed out, casting a lance of power toward the layered scales of the thing’s chest. The blanching white heat passed through it, tearing a hole. The demon lifted its head and let out a keening cry that drilled into my skull.

I staggered. Its cry shattered my momentary enjoyment like shards of glass thrust into my skull. I had no choice but to cover my ears. It was no use. The cry resounded within me.

Hunched low, I willed it to stop. My power rattled about me, seeking a target but finding only chaos. I couldn’t focus, couldn’t hear, could barely breathe, and then it was gone. Like the snap of a light switch chasing away the plummeting darkness, it was over, and when I opened my eyes, I saw why.

Akil, or rather his true form, Mammon, stood before the serpent-demon. He had thrust an ethereal broadsword made entirely of an undulating electric blue light through the serpent-demon’s scaled body. The bloodied, intangible tip of the sword protruded from its skull. I stumbled, falling to my knees, as always, finding Akil’s true nature difficult for my human eyes to focus on. The suffocating weight of his considerable power filled the room. The overwhelming pressure of it crushed the air from my lungs. I forced myself to look at him, refusing to let weakness steal my consciousness.

Akil’s broad multi-jointed wings of tanned leather bowed against the ceiling, a dusting of embers raining from their arched edges. As those wings flexed, the muscles in his broad back rippled. Every ounce of flesh looked as though it had been sculpted from obsidian, every muscle lean and powerful.

“Vos inhonesto mihi.” Akil’s growl thundered around my aching skull. You dishonor me.

I watched his right shoulder bunch, one wing jerking a little as he altered his grip on the sword and twisted the blade deep in its snug-fitting wound. The serpent demon grunted, skewered as it was. It was only when Akil tore the sword free, ripping open the chest of the beast, that it collapsed forward, tail twitching. A dark pool of blood bloomed around its hideous body. Its green eyes hung open, unseeing. Dead.

Akil turned, and I caught a glimpse of his true face before I bowed my head. Cut from the very fabric of the elements, his face barely resembled the man I’d left beside the car. He appeared more beast than man with spiraled horns twisting from his forehead, his wide gaping mouth brimming with jagged teeth. Dark wrappings of power thrashed around him, seeking their next victim. An aura of energy simmered against his flesh. The thin veil of reality fizzled into dust at his feet.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I cowered on my hands and knees before him. The other part of me had slunk away into the farthest corners of my mind, curling herself into a tiny insignificant flutter in my chest, hardly there at all.

He crouched before me, thick muscular arms resting on stocky knees slick with a sheen of energy. When he held out a hand, elongated fingers tipped with curved claws, I had no choice but to take it. My delicate fingers curled in his, my human flesh so pink and fragile. His writhing tendrils of power curled themselves up my forearm, snaking around my elbow before leaping to my shoulder. I had enough time to realize the darkness had entwined itself around my legs like creeping vines, before the weight of it dragged me down. I fell, and the darkness rushed up to greet me.

Chapter 7

The party had spilled out into the hotel foyer. The inebriated guests wore masquerade masks ranging from vampires to ghosts and demons. Akil’s idea of irony, I guess. It would have been hilarious, had I not just seen one of the originals of those so-called myths slice a serpent demon in half.

Akil sat in the center of the head table like a scene from a modern day last supper, leaning crookedly in his chair as he laughed at something the woman beside him said. They all wore masks, so only mouths and eyes could be seen. The more subtle expressions remained hidden. He had given up trying to catch my eye and now appeared to revel in the role of charming host. His mask sported a pair of devil horns. Those around him had no idea that the beast sat among them. He played the part of a human a little too perfectly, but nobody would suspect him. He was too charming, too successful, too influential to be anything other than the city’s most successful developer.

I poured myself some more wine and slumped in my chair. It wasn’t as if I didn’t know what he was. I felt the power in him every time I shared the same airspace as him, but it’s one thing to know and another to see. I’d deliberately forgotten who and what he was for the sake of my sanity. My half-human mind couldn’t keep up with what I’d seen, despite the fact that much of the same elemental energy ran through my veins. The human brain struggles to comprehend the truth about demons. The netherworld exists beyond our spectrum of understanding. Our senses are struck dumb by its extremes. Thankfully, the netherworld is locked beyond the veil, out of human reach, but while humans can’t survive there for long, demons can and do live among us here. Higher demons can cross the veil at will, but most prefer their homeland to ours. Aren’t we lucky?

Akil had walked me out of that police department without another soul seeing us. The people had parted in front of us, veering around us without realizing anything was amiss. He had simply peeled the visible reality around us so that we emerged outside the building without so much as catching a sideways glance from the dozens of people on the sidewalk.

Hands planted against the roof of his car as though to steady himself, Akil had stripped the demon from his visible form, shedding layers like a snake sheds its skin, revealing the male vessel inside. Watching him emerge like that—his human form reborn like a moth from its chrysalis—turned my stomach. By the time he’d sat me in the back of the car, I felt numb. When we reached his hotel, I still trembled like a leaf clinging to an otherwise naked branch. Without so much as a word of explanation, an apology, or an ‘are you okay,’ he handed me a cat mask and escorted me inside.

That had been over two hours ago.

If he knew of the turmoil spinning in my head, he hadn’t once mentioned it. For him, it was as though nothing untoward had taken place. Another day at the office.

Nica slipped into a chair beside me, sporting a very fine leopard-print ankle-length dress and a witch’s mask, complete with a cute crooked hat. “Hey there.” She beamed. “Akil said you were coming.” Perhaps my smile came off more as a grimace than I’d meant it to because she flinched, her bubbly mood evaporating. “Did you read all the information in the file?”

It took me a moment to even remember what file she was referring to. I hadn’t thought of Stefan since Bergin had mentioned him prior to turning into a snake-demon and trying to kill me. Now I wondered what the police would be asking. They wouldn’t find a body—of that I was pretty sure—but Bergin wasn’t coming back from a sword through the gullet, and I was technically the last to see him. How would Akil cover it up? Would he even bother?

“You look a little pale, are you okay?” Nica asked.

The concern in her voice roused me from my recall of events. “Yes, I’m okay. Just tired.” I mustered a warmer smile and downed my drink.

She shrugged and refilled my glass. “Something has happened between you and Akil. Am I right?”

I swallowed, reaching for the wine. “What makes you say that?”

She looked past me, down the table to where Akil and a small crowd were gathered. “He looks content, but you see how his fingers are tapping on the base of his glass?” She nodded encouragement, so I had to look.

“He hasn’t touched his drink. That’s the same glass of wine he’s been nursing all evening. And that crowd—some of them are the most influential people in this city, and yet he hasn’t once engaged in business talk. He’s avoiding it, skirting around the topic, which is not like him at all. We both know how greedy he is, but tonight, there’s nothing here for him.”

I looked at Nica with newfound respect. “You know him well.”

“I have to.” She lowered her voice and reached out a hand to clasp mine. “If we play with fire, sooner or later, we all get burned.” She slipped off her mask, revealing a wrought expression. Lines of worry etched into her fine features. “Nobody plays with Akil unless they’re prepared.” She lifted her glass, inviting me to do the same.

“To the survivors,” she suggested. We clinked our glasses together.

“You’re right.” I finally admitted. I sensed the warmth of Akil’s gaze on me but refused to rise to the bait. “Something happened.”

“Well, don’t let him fool you. Whatever it was, it bothered him.” Nica grinned and dipped her head low. “Whatever you did, good on you. It can’t hurt to remind them who holds the true power, right?”

“Who?” I laughed.

“You, us, women. He loves you, Muse, and that’s more powerful than anything else in this mockery of reality.”

That was absurd. Akil didn’t—couldn’t love me. Demons were capable of many things, but love wasn’t one of them. “How much wine have you had?”

She arched an eyebrow and admired the swirl of red wine in her glass. “Not nearly enough. Finish off this bottle with me, will you?”

Chapter 8

As the night wore on, a live band began to play. The crowd got merrier by the minute. Much of the exuberance had rubbed off on me, or perhaps it was the wine. I’d begun to relax a little and mingle with the guests. Most were human, but some were not. I caught a few leers from behind the anonymous masks and silently cursed Akil. He’d made a point of telling me that no demons were on the list, and yet I’d counted at least five blending with Boston’s elite. They, of course, looked just like anyone else, but there were clues. Demons move with a fluid grace, as though every step, every gesture, is measured. Nothing is wasted. When still, they might as well have been smartly-dressed mannequins and were equally as disconcerting because of their inhuman stillness. Humans are constantly in motion. Demons are not. They stalk. It’s part of what makes them so efficient.

I gave the demons I’d spotted a wide berth. Akil seemed confident nobody would dare hurt me in his presence, but that wouldn’t prevent one of them driving a dagger into my back before he could stop them. I admired the generous buffet food, wondering if I should eat something from the perfect plates of sandwiches arranged in geometric shapes. Some had yet to be touched, and I had to fight the urge to upset the precise design just for fun.

A hand slipped around my waist from behind, and immediately a sliver of fear trickled down my spine. Akil must have felt me tremble because he bowed his head, whispering against my cheek. “Do I frighten you?”

I didn’t dignify his query with an answer and turned to face him, driving back the fear with sheer determination. He still wore the ridiculous devil mask. I flicked it off to reveal his playful expression beneath, then tossed the mask away with a mischievous grin.

“Dance with me.” It wasn’t a request. His fingers had laced in mine, and he pulled me toward the dance floor before I could concoct an excuse. Thankfully, the music was slow. I had no idea how to dance. They didn’t teach party etiquette where I was raised.

He pulled me against him, hand slipping down to the small of my back to hold me close. I giggled. Alcohol had gone a long way toward soothing my fears. Stumbling a little, I looked at my feet, wondering what on earth I was supposed to do with them. Akil tipped my chin up.

“Just lean into me and relax.”

I obeyed, preferring to let him guide me than risk complete embarrassment. I found the slow beat of the music calming. Or was it standing so close to him that banished my worries? Either way, I let him hold me close as we swayed gently.

“Are you alright?” His deep voice rumbled through me as the music played around us. There were others dancing, but I barely noticed them. I listened to his heartbeat, losing myself in its rhythm.

“I’m okay,” I whispered, and I really was. Akil had that effect on me. “I had that serpent demon where I wanted him, y’know. I was just about to finish him off when you showed up.”

I felt Akil chuckle. The delicious ripple of laughter ignited desire at the very heart of me. “I very much doubt that,” he said. “The detective was a Dahaka servant.” The exotic pronunciation rolled off Akil’s tongue, revealing an ancient accent he usually kept hidden. “A particularly aggressive example. He would have relished devouring you, likely feet first.”

I stopped swaying in time with Akil and looked up. He smiled, but I got the impression he wasn’t joking. With a trembling sigh, I rested my head against his shoulder. “I wanted to leave all of this behind.”

His fingers gently stroked my back. “You can’t.”

“I know, but I could have pretended.”

“Your five year folly almost got you killed.” His arm snaked around me.

I closed my eyes, my grip on him tightening. I’d wanted to be free so badly that I might have gladly died for it. The demons and their ways weren’t me. I belonged in the nine-to-five working day with the Starbucks coffees and kicking back on the couch, Doritos in one hand, TV remote in the other. I enjoyed the mundane. At least that’s what I told myself. It wasn’t exactly true. I could never run from the half of me that danced in the dark.

“Let’s go.” He looked into my tired eyes. “Wait here. I’ll make my excuses, and we’ll go back to my apartment.”

With a nod of agreement, I reluctantly let go of him and cast him a little curl of a smile before he turned and let the crowd swallow him up. He’d promised a night to remember, and the thought of being alone with him with no interruptions—exploring, tasting, teasing—warmed me in the most intimate of places.

A shoulder nudged mine, forcing me to stumble back, just as an arm hooked around me, reeling me into a crushing embrace. I opened my mouth, about to launch a verbal assault on my unwanted dance partner, when I felt the brutal nudge of a gun poke up under my ribs.

“Scream and I’ll pull the trigger.” Stefan drilled his gaze into mine.

We were moving, swaying to the music like those around us, his grip so tight against me that I had no chance but to step with him. “You won’t leave here alive,” I hissed.

“No?” His azure eyes scanned the crowd around us. “I don’t think you know me very well.”

I squirmed in his grip. The pressure of the gun began to bruise me. “I’d have thought you’d have had enough of your games by now.”

He met my gaze as though something I said surprised him. “You’re in danger.”

“No shit.”

“You have to come with me. Now.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” I squirmed again. His grip tightened further, wrenching a gasp from my lips.

He suddenly bowed his head, his hair tickling against my cheek and whispered, “You must have realized by now that I don’t want to hurt you.”

Anger flash-burned through me. “Then you’re failing miserably because you have hurt me. You took away the only thing I’ve ever really owned. You stole my life.” As he faced me, I saw his eyes narrow, as though I’d hurt him with my words, but for the life of me I couldn’t imagine why. “Who are you?”

“Please, come with me now. There are others here. You aren’t safe.”

I followed his gaze among the sea of party guests and saw the demons approaching, parting the dancing couples like lions stalking through long grass. Stefan jerked an eyebrow and then the pressure of the gun was gone. His cool grip tightened around my wrist, and before I could protest, I was jogging after him. He led me through a fire door. The music from the party thumped the air and echoed down the stairwell. Fluorescent lights hummed above us.

“Wait.” I snatched my wrist free, forcing him to turn. His long leather coat rippled around him. “Just tell me what’s happening.” I rubbed my aching wrist.

“They’re coming.”

The fire door burst open behind me. I had a moment to recognize one of my suspected demons from the party before he launched himself at me. He sprang off his legs in such a way that he literally pounced, hands and feet slamming into me, throwing me back against the wall. My head smacked against the block work, dizzying me and stalling my reaction. He threw his head back and yawned, revealing a mouthful of razor sharp, needle-thin teeth. Repugnant ocher venom dripped from their points, dribbling over the distorted flesh of his chin.

I flooded my body with power, but it wouldn’t come quickly enough.

A gun blast cracked the air, and the side of the demon’s skull exploded in a burst of blood and bone. I blinked, ears ringing, and struggled to comprehend what was happening as the body collapsed in a lifeless mound at my feet.

Stefan stood a few steps down, gun poised in one hand. He snatched at my hand and tugged me stumbling down the stairs behind him. We didn’t stop until we burst through the doors into the basement parking garage. Orderly rows of cars lined the bays, their glossy paintwork shining beneath the orange strip-lights. I saw his battered, old car ahead.

I pulled back, but his grip tightened. “Wait.” He didn’t stop. “Wait, dammit!” I dug my heels in and snatched him back. “I can look after myself.”

He rounded on me, his smile devoid of all humor. “Are you serious?”

“Who the hell are you, and why do you think you can drag me around like this?”

He snorted a derisive laugh. “I just saved your life—again—and you doubt me?” His voice echoed around the parking lot, bouncing off the walls and returning with just as much derision in its tone.

“What do you mean, again?”

He looked as though he might have answered when a blood-curdling howl sounded throughout the parking garage. I turned, sensing the source was somewhere behind me. I knew that sound. The beast it came from was no friendly dog. Fear flushed through my veins, adrenalin spiking, racing my heart and ratcheting up my breathing.

Another howl went up, followed quickly by another. The wretched baying echoed.

“Muse! C’mon!”

I searched the shadows among the parked cars but couldn’t see anything, but then I wasn’t going to. I was too human to see them. Then I heard the panting, the tick of claws on concrete, and the thump of heavy pads.

I swung a glance back at Stefan. “They’re for you!” I hoped they were because Hellhounds cannot be outrun.

He dipped his chin and shook his head once, then lifted the gun and fired over my shoulder. The gunshot cracked the air, the deafening boom followed by a dire whine. I trembled even as I summoned my element because I knew it wouldn’t be enough. I couldn’t see the hounds—they were constructs of pure demonic power—but I could hear them. My imagination unhelpfully filled in the blanks.

Stefan grabbed my arm and tugged me backward. I finally found my nerves again and ran beside him, heeled boots skidding on the concrete as I ducked around Stefan’s car and tugged open the passenger door. “Can you see them?” I panted, throwing myself into the seat.

“Oh yes.” He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life. Thrusting the stick into reverse, he flung the car from its parking bay and stamped on the brakes.

Twisting in the passenger seat, I peered out through the back window but couldn’t see anything. The car suddenly bucked, the roof above caving inward. Four gashes ripped through the roof as though it were paper.

“Hold on!” Stefan planted the accelerator to the floor, lurching the car backward again.

I snatched at my seat, clinging on as the invisible hound on the roof tumbled forward, cracking the windscreen and denting the hood on its way down. Stefan locked an arm around the back of my seat. His unwavering glare focused through the rear window, and his other hand twitched the steering wheel. I had a moment to wonder where we were going when the rear of the car plowed into a sizeable chunk of nothingness. The hound yowled.

“Is it dead?”

“Nope. Just pissed.” Stefan slammed the car into gear and yanked the steering wheel, accelerating hard toward the exit ramp. The rear end fishtailed, tires squealing, before the car finally found traction and lunged forward. Its raw horse-power threw me back into my seat.

We burst onto the street, narrowly missing passing traffic. Stefan fought with the steering wheel. The car slid sideways, but he didn’t ease off the accelerator. Engine revving, the car gobbled up the road. Buildings blurred past us. Weaving between the sparse nighttime traffic, Stefan swapped the car from lane to lane. Horns sounded around us.

“Put your seatbelt on.” He stared ahead, his attention divided between the road and mirrors, before changing gears to squeeze yet more acceleration from the engine.

I fumbled with the seatbelt, watching the needle on the speedometer creep higher. Glancing out of the rear window, I couldn’t see anything but the angry flash of headlights from other drivers as they resented our disregard for traffic laws.

“I can’t see them.”

“Take this.” He tossed the gun into my lap before dropping a gear. The car roared, and we burst through an intersection, the red lights little more than a blur in my peripheral vision.

I picked up the weighty gun. “But I can’t see them.”

He stole a brief glance my way. “Call your power. You’ll see them.”

Stefan jerked the car to the right. I clung on, leaning away from the turn as the car drifted toward oncoming traffic. If the hounds didn’t kill us, his driving would. I caught him smiling and frowned at him. He was enjoying this.

Straightening the car out, he said, “You might want to start pointing and shooting about now.”

I twisted in my seat, gun heavy in my hand, and peered out of the rear window. Spilling a little of my element into my body, I let it pool outward, dropping a warm veil over my vision. At first, very little changed. As the car twitched and jerked, I struggled to focus. Then I saw the glass windows blow from the ground floor of a nearby building. Ahead of the devastation, a parked car bounced sideways, an entire side caved in. I tried to focus on where I thought the beast to be, using the wake of destruction as a pointer, and saw its hazy outline shimmer into existence.

It was huge, the size of a small car and hairless except for several razor-edged spikes running down its back. Its hideous bulk bounded toward us, bouncing off the city obstructions like a dog through an agility course. I tried to steady the gun on the seatback but the constant twisting and lurching made aiming impossible. “I can’t get a shot.”

“You want me to pull over?”

“No!” I saw a gleam of mischief in his eyes and swore at him. Sarcastic and arrogant, what a charmer.

“It’s gaining!” The hound had our scent, its crimson eyes wide with fury as it chased us down.

I pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

“Flick the safety off,” Stefan helpfully suggested, suppressing a laugh.

I fumbled with the safety, yanked the slide on the barrel back, and fired. The recoil nearly tore my arm off. The bullet punched through the shatterproof rear window, but the shot went high, completely missing the hound. To make matters worse, its pack-mate raced up the street, leaping over slow-moving traffic without breaking its stride.

Stefan’s car slowed. “Don’t slow down,” I said, “They’re almost on us.”

He checked the mirrors and cast a glance ahead at a tourist bus lumbering its way down the street.

I looked back and yelped. The hound’s snout was level with the rear of the car, black tongue lolling, saliva foaming around its mouth. It snapped at the rear fender, bumping its head against the metal. The car broke away, threatening to spin. Stefan steered into the slide, regaining control as we drew level with the bus. The hound slammed a muscular shoulder into the rear door, growling through bared teeth. Head level with Stefan’s door, it thrust its skull into the window. Glass exploded over Stefan. Great gleaming jaws snapped together, inches from Stefan’s shoulder.

“Shoot!” he yelled.

I fired out through the rear passenger window, hitting the hound clean in the rump just as Stefan tugged against the steering wheel and slammed the car into the beast, pinning it against the side of the bus. Shattered glass and screaming metal assaulted my senses, but we swerved free of the coach as it veered off the road, smoke bellowing from its brakes.

Behind us, the stunned hound slumped on the road, its hollow whimpers lost among the squeal of brakes, and the traffic fast backing up behind us. The second beast didn’t hesitate as it galloped past its fallen pack-mate.

“Go, go!” I screamed.

Stefan fumbled with the gear shift, and the car shuddered forward. He muttered something, then found the right gear and rammed the accelerator to the floor. The Dodge growled as Stefan demanded every ounce of horsepower from its engine. As we thundered forward, the hound snapped its jaws at my side of the car. It missed then struck again. This time, its teeth crunched into metal, tearing out the entire rear light cluster and tossing it aside.

As our speed increased, the hound fell back. We were pulling away. I watched the beast closely. The street blurred, and the engine roared in my ears. The Hellhound had me in its sights. Its penetrating stare held me transfixed. Stefan was right. It was after me, and if it got to me, those vicious teeth would tear strips of flesh from my bones. I shuddered and called more of my element.

“You can’t stop it.” Stefan must have sensed the change in me. He probably felt the ambient temperature rise.

“I’ve got to try.”

“We—”

A horn blared. We both looked out the driver’s side just as the truck t-boned into the side of the Dodge. The massive grille and blinding headlights were the last things I saw before my entire world spun. Metal and glass shrieked, groaned and shattered. Abrupt needles of pain dashed against me from all sides. I don’t recall exactly how Stefan’s car ended up on its roof. It’s likely I blacked out and only reawakened when Stefan tugged on my seatbelt.

I heard him calling to me, his voice flowing in and out with the ringing in my ears. Peeling my eyes open, I realized I couldn’t see, at least not at first. My muddled mind tried to comprehend which way was up. I blinked rapidly, clearing my right eye. The car no longer resembled a car at all, just a twisted hunk of metal entombing me. I pushed down on the roof, scraping my bare arms against serrated metal.

“The belt!” Stefan reached in through the compressed passenger window and tugged on my seatbelt again. “Quickly.”

I smelled fuel and heard the tick of the cooling engine. Panic spilled ice water into my veins. “Oh god.” I fumbled at the latch, jabbing at the red button to release me, but my own weight pulling down on the belt trapped the buckle in its latch.

A monstrous howl rippled through the night.

Stefan snapped his head up then pulled back out of sight. I whimpered in frustration, tugging on the damned seatbelt. Weren’t these things meant to save lives? My breath rasped in short sharp gasps. My heart galloped behind my ribs. The tingling sensation of my element trickled forth. The source of it at my core broiled in response to my panic. Considering how I hung upside-down over a pool of gasoline, the last thing I wanted was fire or heat of any kind, but my instincts weren’t listening. Goddamnit, I wasn’t dying there, trapped in a steel coffin. I hadn’t survived years of torture and countless assassination attempts to die like that. I was stronger than that, better than that.

Rage chased away the debilitating effects of fear. I screamed at the damned seatbelt, punching the buckle until it finally released me, depositing me unceremoniously upside down amid the mangled wreckage. Twisting around inch by inch, I managed to get myself into a position where I could grab the passenger door and drag myself through the tiny gap that had once been the window. My head barely squeezed through. My cheek grated against the shattered glass. I reached out with a hand, clawing at the pavement to try and find purchase so I could pull myself free.

I saw Stefan.

He kneeled on one knee in the road. Sparkling vines of ice rooted him to the ground. His entire body, clothes and all, glinted sharply with fragments of ice. But it was the wings that held me spellbound. They rose from his back, insubstantial, not quite solid enough to touch, but very real. Each feather appeared to be made of ice. The light from the streetlights fractured through each fine barb, casting multicolored shafts of light on the black asphalt surrounding him.

I watched, awestruck as he hunkered down, wings flexing behind him while he summoned a sword of ice into his right hand. Jagged fragments of crystalline ice layered one on top of the other, creating a long, thin weapon. I’d been mistaken. It wasn’t a sword but a spear.

A snarling growl tore my attention from Stefan. The remaining hound stood within leaping distance of Stefan. Its monstrous head hung low, lips rippling over glistening teeth. Drool pooled on the road just ahead of its substantial paws. The spines along its back rippled, making a hideous hissing as they scraped together. It stood still, leg muscles bunched, ready to spring forward at any moment.

Then it saw me and cocked its head to one side. Its leathery lips formed a grin.

“Hey. Not her! Me!” Stefan stood, ice cracking off him. Fragments of it tinkled against the road surface.

I heard sirens nearby, but the authorities were the least of our concerns. Clawing again at the road, I attempted to drag myself free, but every movement drew the hound’s attention right back to me.

Stefan growled and flung an ice shard at the beast. It shattered against its thick hairless flesh, doing little damage. I realized we were probably about to die. You can’t kill them, and you can’t stop them. What chance did we have?

He flung a second shard of ice. A third. The hound snarled its fury then sprang off its feet, leaping at Stefan. He hunkered low, wrapping his right arm around the spear and thrusting it up right through the belly of the hound, using its own momentum to fling it over him. The beast yowled, slamming into the road with a heavy thump. Its front leg pawed at the air. Its keening whimpers hollow and chilling.

Stefan came for me, tossing aside the ice spear as he reached down, and clasped a bitterly cold hand around mine. He tugged me free of the wreckage just as the police cars squealed into the street behind us. As his icy visage melted away, wings dissolving into snow and dissipating, he scanned our surroundings. The buildings lining the street huddled closely together.

“There, the alley. Go.”

I ran, adrenalin fuelling my fight or flight response, and kept up with Stefan as we ducked into the alley. A chain-link fence blocked our path. He didn’t hesitate but clambered up a dumpster and leaped over the top. I scrambled after him, landing awkwardly on the other side. Then we were off, sprinting across the small open space of a children’s playground. A howl resonated around the empty space. I managed to find an extra burst of speed, and bowing my head low, I sprinted with every drop of physical strength I had left.

Reaching the other side of the park, Stefan dropped down a set of steps alongside a building and kicked in the door to someone’s basement apartment. Once inside, he slammed the door closed and plucked an aerosol can from his coat pocket. Giving it a token shake, he flicked on the lights and sprayed red paint over the door and wall, creating a large circle with swirling symbols inside. Done with one wall, he proceeded to spray the same mark on the opposite wall.

I heard another howl. The sound sent a shiver crawling across my flesh. “It’s close.”

He didn’t reply, just continued to spray the paint on the wall. Then he shoved the couch into the center of the open-plan lounge/kitchen and stepped onto the cushions, resting one boot on the back of the couch while reaching up to spray paint the ceiling.

I hugged my arms against me and watched the door. If the hound came through, we were dead. I still panted hard, lungs burning in my chest. A full-body ache asserted itself. I hadn’t even noticed I was injured. The adrenalin had worked so efficiently to keep me moving, but now I’d stopped my limbs didn’t quite feel like my own and a throbbing pain tried to punch out of my skull.

Stefan also breathed hard, sucking in air through his teeth. He shook the can and reached up to finish the mark, then hissed and winced, clearly in pain. Blood bloomed across his shirt.

Jumping off the couch, he crossed to the kitchen area and proceeded to spray the kitchen units with the same mark.

“Will these marks stop it?” I brushed my hands up my arms, trying to rub off the goose bumps.

“Yes,” he replied gruffly. “This symbol, it restricts elemental magic. More precisely, demon magic. By placing it around us like this, I’ve created a cocoon, cutting us off from the elements. Once the Hellhounds lose our scent, they’ll return to their master.”

I nodded. That sounded good enough for me.

“It also means you can’t go nuclear on me. So don’t bust a blood vessel trying.”

So, I was trapped in there, with him, unable to call my power, until the Hellhounds got bored. Great.

Only when Stefan had finished marking all four walls, ceiling and floor, of the small basement apartment did he finally stop. He tossed the spray can on the small kitchen countertop and slumped against the cupboards. “We’re safe. For now.”

I couldn’t help glancing back at the door, expecting the horrid things to come crashing in at any moment, but as the seconds ticked on and nothing happened, I breathed a little easier.

Chapter 9

The beige patterns and cream overtones of the small basement apartment were comfortable enough, and thankfully the owner wasn’t home. Perhaps it was a weekend bolt-hole. Either way, I was glad I didn’t have to explain any of this to people not accustomed to demons barging into their lives. I roamed the lounge area, admiring the photos of a man with two young girls who I assumed to be his kids, and felt a pang of guilt for vandalizing his apartment.

Stefan had shaken off his coat and slung it over the couch. The red bloom of blood on his shirt hinted at a wound beneath. “Are you alright?” His expression was almost one of concern.

I didn’t reply immediately. I was trying to work out what was happening. My thoughts ran amok. He had saved me, again. There was no doubt in my mind; Stefan wasn’t sent to kill me, but I was a long way from trusting him. “I think so.”

He crossed the room and reached out, as though about to touch my face. I flinched away, moving around the couch, shivering in my torn and bloody dress.

“You’re hurt… You have a cut over your right eye. I was just… Never mind.” He returned to the little kitchen and stood with his back to me. I caught the memory of his wings and averted my eyes. He hadn’t looked like any demon I’d ever seen before. He’d looked… glorious.

He shrugged his shirt off his shoulders, letting it slip down his back then peeled the fabric away from the jagged gash in his side. A fragment of metal protruded from his skin with blood oozing around its sharp edges. Gritting his teeth, he gripped the shard and yanked it free with a hiss.

“Thank you,” I said, trying not to wince in sympathy. “You didn’t have to do any of that for me.”

He grunted an acknowledgement and tossed the bloodied fragment of metal in the kitchen sink where it rattled. Finding some paper towels, he tore a few sheets free of the roll then dampened them before pressing the wad of paper against the weeping wound.

He turned, leaning back against the countertop. I admired his physique before I could stop myself. I might have glanced away if a tattoo hadn’t caught my eye. On the muscular plain of his navel where his jeans hung low, two entwined scorpions had been tattooed into his smooth skin. I couldn’t help staring. So many questions went through my mind, but I wasn’t sure I had the energy to ask, knowing the answers wouldn’t be easy. Exhausted, bruised, and battered, I didn’t want any part of this madness. I wanted to go home, but didn’t even have one anymore.

“Will you let me take a look at that cut?” he asked after allowing me a few moments to collect my thoughts.

I shook my head. “Stay away from me.”

“Fine.” He tore off more paper towels and proceeded to clean himself up while I watched. I wanted to hate him. Ever since he’d entered my workshop, everything had gone wrong. That wasn’t a coincidence, and yet I was beginning to believe he didn’t want to hurt me. I couldn’t have survived what we’d just been through without him.

“You were right,” I perched on the edge of the couch, hands clasped together on my thighs, knuckles white. “They were sent for me.”

He gave me a cool glance before returning his attention to the wound. “You have many enemies, Muse.”

“But you aren’t one of them?”

“No.”

“Akil said you were.”

Stefan snorted. “Akil. Right.” He rummaged through some drawers and found a small tube of Loctite. “I could use your help… if you can stand to be within two feet of me.”

I stood and approached him. Considering everything he had done, I could hardly say no. “What do you want me to do?”

He handed me the glue. “Would you mind?”

I looked at the small tube then at the two inch wound in his side. “Really?” His arched eyebrow told me to get on with it. I pinched the lid free and tentatively touched the nozzle to the puckered flesh around the wound.

He immediately hissed in a breath. I winced. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m good. Just…” He planted both hands on the edge of the countertop, bowing his head, and smiled. “You’re hot.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

“I mean—your touch—it’s hot, physically.” He laughed lightly, a trickling chuckle that summoned a reluctant smile from me. “Never mind.”

I pinched the wound together, watching lean muscles ripple with tension. Fighting a smile, I squeezed the glue into the wound and held the skin closed for a few seconds. “Best not glue myself to you, huh? I’m not sure how I’d explain that to Akil.”

“Do you love him?”

I frowned. The abrupt question caught me off guard. “That’s personal.”

Stefan looked right at me, his smile gone. “I need to know the answer.” His cold stare could have pierced stone.

“Why?”

He hesitated, his sharp blue eyes searching my puzzled expression. “Because if you do, then it makes my task all the more difficult, and I need your help.”

“What does any of that have to do with whether I love Akil or not?”

He moistened his lips and straightened so that my hand fell away from his side. I looked up into his eyes, sensing the cool energy thrumming inside him. A trickle of power rippled inside me. The warmth embraced my weary limbs, but that was as far as it could get. The marks on the walls surrounding us prevented the power from manifesting outside of me. I felt my demon butt up against my skin, unable to break free.

“Who do you think sent those hounds?” Stefan’s voice deepened.

“It could only be my brother, Val. I don’t know much about Hellhounds, but they’re difficult to summon. Only pure demons can do it, even then they’re virtually impossible to control. Val has wanted me dead for years. Summoning Hellhounds would just be the last in a long list of things he’s done to me.”

Stefan briefly touched my forehead with his fingertips, probably an instinctive touch, but the dance of power that ignited between us immediately jerked me back. The spark had been so intense that it tugged a great wave of energy from inside, briefly staggering me. I reached for the countertop, steadying myself as Stefan stood firm, his cool gaze heavy with intent. What that intention was, I couldn’t be sure.

“Akil sent those hounds, Muse.” Stefan’s voice had lost all of its jovial lightness. The arrogance was back, his tone cold.

It was my turn to laugh. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Akil and I… it’s complicated.”

“I don’t doubt that.” He raised an eyebrow, implying a great deal with that one gesture.

I tossed the glue on the side and snaked my arms crossed, attempting to control the flicker of anger flaring inside me. “How dare you judge me? You don’t even know me.” He shrugged a dismissive shoulder, further infuriating me. “You have no idea what I’ve been through. You were looked after. Someone cared enough about you to keep you safe, to train you. I had none of that. I was sold, virtually given away to the demons as a plaything. I was raised beyond the veil. Do you even know what that means?”

His hard expression softened a little. He rested a hip against the cupboards, his head bowed a little. “Who told you I was kept safe?”

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is, I don’t know you, but I do know Akil, and he’s done nothing but look after me.”

“He’s a demon, Muse.”

“What are we?”

“We’re human.” He ground his teeth, flicking his hair out of his eyes to glare at me. “And believe or not, we hold more power over them than they’ve led you to believe. Why do you think he keeps you so close?”

Because he loves me? I didn’t speak the words, but they’d been there, right on the tip of my tongue. Stefan didn’t need to hear it. He saw it in my expression, in the hopelessness on my face. He shook his head. “I had hoped you’d be stronger than this.”

“Oh, screw you. You’re impossible. You know that? Like a goddamn force of nature. You waltz into my workshop and ruin my life, and now you pity me? I’m sick of it. Sick of you.” I headed for the door.

“You can’t leave. Not yet.”

With a sigh, I stopped a few feet from the front door, feeling the chill of his gaze on my back. “If you’re not an assassin, and you’re not here to hurt me, then what are you?”

“Whatever Akil told you is a lie. I’m an Enforcer. This tattoo you so readily admired proves it. I wasn’t ‘kept safe,’ Muse. I was plucked from my home, stolen from everything I’d ever loved, and forced into this way of life, but you know what, I love it. I hunt demons and thrive off it. I kill the bastards who step out of line, the ones who breach the human world and wreak havoc, and I need your help to kill your brother.”

“I don’t believe you.” I ignored the ‘kill your brother’ bombshell for now because it was insane to even consider it.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe. It’s the truth. Akil means to kill you. Your brother isn’t behind any of this, and I can prove it.”

Stefan watched me closely, waiting for my reaction. I couldn’t believe him. Akil wouldn’t hurt me. He’d saved me from my owner, given me the tools I needed to slaughter the bastard. Akil had been there ever since, my guardian in a world that despised me. No, Stefan was lying. This was Val’s doing. My brother was capable and had a motive. There was no mystery here.

I sat on the couch with a disgruntled humph and dropped my head back, closing my eyes against the physical and mental aches and pains. “Thank you for everything, but when I leave here, I don’t want to see you again.”

“Muse, if you go back to Akil, he’ll kill you.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I squeezed my eyes closed. My headache pulsated. “He’s not going to do that.” Akil wouldn’t hurt me. I’d seen the passion in his eyes, felt the warmth of his arms around me. There was no malice.

“You traded one owner for another, and you’re too blinded by Akil to see it.”

“Shut up.”

“Just because he doesn’t beat you, doesn’t mean he’s not controlling you.”

I snapped open my eyes. “Stop it.”

Stefan glared back at me. “Why can’t you see it?”

“Because…” I winced at my own foolishness.

“Because you love him?”

Maybe I did, but it wasn’t as simple as that. Without Akil, I was nothing. I wouldn’t survive a night without him. The detective at the police department had proven that. “He keeps me safe.”

Stefan smiled bitterly. “You kept yourself safe for five years.”

“It didn’t last. You turned up and ruined it all.”

“I was the reason you were standing on the street when the explosion destroyed your workshop, remember?” His smug grin was back. “Akil set you up. You pissed him off, Muse. You turned your back on him and walked away. Did you think he was going to let you get away with it?”

“Stop it. Just—stop. I don’t want to hear any more of your lies.”

Finally, Stefan gave up trying to force me to believe his propaganda. He came and sat on the couch next to me, resting his boots on the coffee table and propped an elbow on the arm of the couch beside him. He leaned away from me, shuffling down into the cushions and closing his eyes.

“You’re going to sleep?”

“It’s that or listen to the Akil fangirl speech.”

“Asshole.”

He snickered at my insult but kept his eyes closed; the conversation was over.

I watched his chest rise and fall, confident that he couldn’t see me doing so. Stefan’s lean body was built to kill, and evidently he had no qualms about doing so. He’d executed the demon in the stairwell without hesitation and on the run from the Hellhounds, he hadn’t once stopped to consider his actions. He took it all in his stride, like it was part of his day job. I sat there, in a room where the walls were covered in symbols I’d never even seen before and didn’t have a clue what they meant. But they’d worked. He was well trained, that much was obvious. Even the stunt with the superglue, which I was pretty sure he could have done himself, hinted at his no-nonsense get-the-job-done attitude. So he’d been trained, but I’d never heard of ‘Enforcers’; shouldn’t I know about them? Were there more of them? Who trained them? It sounded like fantasy to me. Half-bloods didn’t have the power to go up against demons. It was impossible.

When he’d called his power, let it ride over him, I’d seen the demon that resided at his soul, and it had been astonishingly beautiful. There wasn’t a rule that said demons couldn’t be stunning. They came in all shapes and sizes, but I had never seen anything like him. The wings alone; jeez, you could understand where the angel-myth came from. I had wings, well, used to. Now only one remained, but they had never been as beautiful as his. My owner had sheared my missing wing off with a scimitar. When I went ‘nuclear’ as Stefan had called it, when the demon rides me so completely that you can’t tell us apart, my remaining wing appears, but it’s a sorry specimen, ripped and useless.

Stefan’s breathing had slowed. Asleep, with the Hellhounds at the proverbial door. Typical. I twisted side on to face him and blatantly let my gaze wander across his fine physique. Honed to the pinnacle of physical fitness with an athletic grace, he wasn’t all muscle, but might as well have been. I skipped my gaze down to the tattoo and had to stop myself from reaching out to touch it. That mark had to be significant. His branding, tattooed into his skin and on his gun.

I gave in to curiosity and reached out. My fingers hovered over the tattoo as it rose and fell with his breathing. Sliding my gaze higher, I deliberately let it linger on his body. A curious urge to touch was proving frustratingly difficult to ignore. Just a little touch. Would his skin be cold or warm? I’d never met an ice demon.

I rested the tips of my fingers lightly on his chest and found his skin to be warm. Settling my hand over the ripple of his abdominal muscles, I let the warmth of him soak into my touch. His breathing continued to slowly ebb and flow. He wouldn’t know how I’d admired him in more ways than one. He was a half-blood, just like me: human but for the demons slumbering at our cores. Ever since I could remember, I’d been deemed unworthy, a lesser being, a mistake, but Stefan oozed confidence. He carried himself as though he didn’t give a damn about what he was; almost as though he knew he was better in some way.

He had hinted that he knew about my past, that my owner had beaten me, but he didn’t know the half of it. It had been worse than that, night after night. Beaten, raped, cut, abused. I’d only survived because Damien wouldn’t allow me to die.

As the memories flowed unbidden, I pulled my hand back from Stefan’s alluring body and stood up, moving away to roam the apartment, my thoughts darkening. Finding a single bedroom, I opened the wardrobe door, looking for some clothes to change into but found only suits and shirts. Come to think of it, the apartment was lacking a woman’s touch. Perhaps the owner was a single guy, separated, who saw his kids on the weekends. I began to feel inexplicably sad for a man I didn’t even know before realizing the sadness I felt wasn’t for him; it was for me.

For as long as I could remember, I’d been in chains. Occasionally, Damien had released me, finding it amusing to let me go and then parade me in front of his peers. I spent so long with him that it became all I knew. It was life. It was normal. So I took the abuse, only summoning the demon inside me when Damien wanted it, so he could torture her too. She is me and I her, irrevocably connected and yet different entities occupying the same human body. And oh, how he despised my human body. I bore many scars, only a fraction of which were physical.

I’d met Akil through Damien. So proud of how he’d beaten his pitiful half-blood into submission and kept her like a pet, Damien had presented me to Akil one night, showing off his accomplishments to one of the Seven Princes of Hell. I’d looked at Akil, at the smartly dressed business man and saw only another anonymous face leering at my disgusting existence. But he hadn’t leered. He didn’t do anything at first. Then he asked Damien to ‘lend me’ to him. Damien couldn’t refuse one of the Seven Princes, so he handed me over to Akil.

I’d expected a whole new world of pain to begin, but Akil hadn’t touched me. All he did was look at me cowering on the floor. He didn’t speak, didn’t do anything, but he watched. In some ways, that had been more terrifying. I didn’t know his name, didn’t know who he was or what he was capable of, but I felt the elemental power radiating from him. I expected him to kill me with one swift, decisive movement, but he didn’t move a muscle.

I began to look forward to my time with Akil. I was terrified of him, of the power coursing through him, but he hadn’t hurt me, and my time with him separated me from Damien. Eventually, Akil coaxed me into speaking. Damien didn’t like to hear me talk, but Akil did. He wanted to know my name.

He calls me Muse. I was Damien’s muse, as though I inspired hatred and disgust in him. My existence gave him leave to hurt me in ways I didn’t even know he could. I was art to him, a bloody, damaged, and violated piece of fragile art. In some sick and twisted way, he thought he was liberating me, that I should be grateful for lashings that split my flesh.

The memories turned my stomach. My reflection in the mirror above the sink paled. I clasped my hands either side of the washbasin and peered at the woman looking back. The gash across my right eye had scabbed over, but the bloody mess down the side of my face was worse than I’d expected. I had glass in my hair and dozens of grazes across my arms. My dress was torn and bloody. Patches of oil or gasoline splattered across the once vibrant red fabric. No wonder Stefan had wanted to clean me up.

I scrubbed my hands with soap and tried to wash the blood off my face. I’d spent a great deal of time washing the filth from my own skin, imagined and real. My hands shook, perhaps from the late onset of shock, or from the assault of memories. Either way, I needed to get a grip of myself. This wasn’t over. I was safe for now, hidden behind Stefan’s clever graffiti, but as soon as I stepped outside that door, I was a target, and it was open season on me. By now, word would have reached the demons. Not only was I still alive, but I wasn’t with Akil. They wouldn’t care that he’d forbidden killing me. Look at the detective at the police department. He hadn’t cared. He’d just wanted me dead. They were all the same.

At least Stefan was different. He’d survived. He may or may not have been protected, but he could clearly look after himself. Nobody had bothered teaching me a damn thing. I only had a name because my owner found it amusing.

“Damnit!” The blood wasn’t coming off. I fell against the sink, gripping the white porcelain so hard that my fingers blanched. My stomach churned as my body rebelled against my attempts to remain calm. What Stefan didn’t seem to realize was that without Akil, I was dead anyway, so what did it matter? What did any of this matter?

I stumbled from the bathroom and dropped my weary body on the edge of the bed. The apartment was alien, the man who’d brought me here had his own dubious motives, and I had nothing.

“You okay?” Stefan’s voice held a softer tone than I’d heard from him.

I didn’t turn, couldn’t find it in me to look at him. He probably stood in the bedroom doorway and could stay there for all I cared. Head bowed, body trembling, I knew how I looked. He’d think me weak, just as he had earlier. Maybe he was right.

“You’re not like me.” I flicked my head around to glare at him. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything. I’m not helping you kill my brother, an impossible task by the way as he’s immortal. I don’t care what your issue is with him. I don’t even care that you think you have proof Val isn’t behind this. I don’t want to know.”

He looked as though he might say something; clearly, he had some sort of witty retort on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it back. Without another word, he left the bedroom. I was glad he’d gone. His presence only served to remind me how pathetic I was in comparison.

I growled and flung myself back on the bed, falling into a fitful sleep within minutes.

The quiet was complete beyond the veil, the netherworld air thick, like soup. I had to drag it through clenched teeth to breathe. Ripples of pain rode through my body. My fragile human skin glistened with perspiration beneath the touch of moonlight, but I had come to embrace the agony. It meant I was alive. I could see my owner’s silhouette only when I lifted my gaze through matted hair. He might have appeared human but for the huge bat-like wings that relaxed behind him.

A flash of pain darted down my back. The wounds he’d inflicted gaping like hungry mouths. The chain coiled around my owner’s right hand dripped with my blood. I couldn’t see his smile. His face was lost in shadow, but I knew it was there. Clouds broiled in the dark sky, briefly smothering the blue moon, snuffing out its waning light. My mortal eyes failed to pierce the complete darkness, but it didn’t matter. I knew what was coming.

When the washed-out light from the moon flowed once more into the clearing, he towered over me. I reared up, baring blunt teeth in a snarl. He could beat me all he wanted. I was not giving up without a fight. He pulled the chain tight in front of him, links rattling. I had enough time to fill my lungs with the cloying air before he wrapped the chain around my neck and pulled it tight. My demon clawed within me, thrashing against my restraint in a bid to be free, but I held her back. I would not let him win. Her talons sunk into my resolve even as my chest burned for air. My head throbbed.

He leaned in, tugging me off my knees, clutching me close to his leering face. When he laughed, the sound boomed about the clearing. Nobody—nothing would hear us. Even if something did, it wouldn’t care.

“The Prince believes he can claim you.” The snarling voice drilled into my skull. “You are mine.”

I woke with the memories still bubbling in my head, threatening to spill over into reality as they had at Akil’s hotel. Sitting bolt upright, I reined in my fears and swept them back into their mental box where they belonged, sweeping my hands down my face to chase the remaining fragments of the nightmare away.

Thoughts grounded in the now, I realized I was alone. Nothing unusual there, but I knew Stefan had left the apartment. The room was warmer, for a start. Sunlight streamed in through the high basement window, instantly brightening my mood. I had no idea what day it was, or where I was, or what I was going to, but it was okay because I was alive.

The lounge looked the way I remembered it: trashed. Perhaps I could mail the apartment owner some cash. He was going to need it.

On the countertop, Stefan had left a note, scrawled on an unopened letter.

Gone for the evidence. Stay here. Do NOT go back to Akil.

No, ‘Love from Stefan,’ Ha. If he was gone, that meant the hounds had gone too. I tossed the note aside and strode out into the daylight. No money. No phone. My only choice was a long walk. Dressed as I was, blood-splattered and disheveled, I soon caught a few wayward glances. Some people even crossed the street to avoid me.

Retracing my steps from the previous evening, I came across Stefan’s wrecked car. Crime scene tape flapped in the breeze, cordoning off the crumpled barrier and dented lamp post. Gouges in the pavement further up the street and a trail of shattered glass made it clear where the car had rolled. The truck remained, front end caved in, awaiting recovery. I ducked on by with guilt sitting heavily on my shoulders. At least it didn’t look as though anyone had been seriously hurt.

After I’d walked for twenty minutes, a black limo pulled up beside me. I stopped, planted a hand on my hip and admired my bedraggled and distorted reflection in the privacy glass. The door opened, and Nica smiled up at me. “Wow, rough night?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“Get in.”

It became clear she had no idea what had happened to me. Akil had asked her to take a car and driver to the street she’d picked me up on. Apparently, he was working. My invite would have given him knowledge of my whereabouts. She fished for answers, but I was in no mood to talk. I feigned tiredness and pretended to sleep the rest of the way.

Chapter 10

Left alone until that evening, I was grateful for the time to clean myself up and to think. Nica had left some clothes for me, asking if I wanted to have my things brought over from my old apartment. I smiled and didn’t answer. ‘Some clothes’ turned out to be a black lace dress. I groaned and rolled my eyes at Akil’s choice of clothing. Give me jeans, and I’m happy. Dresses just felt plain wrong, but tonight I had a plan.

I held the dress up against me in front of a full-length mirror. Considering what I had in mind for the evening ahead, it was the perfect combination of intricate lace with conservative coverage. I dressed and left the bedroom, scrunching my damp hair in my hands as the tinkling of piano keys drifted down the hall. Fantasia in D-Minor, Mozart. A peculiar mix of haunting melody and light upbeats. One of Akil’s favorites.

I followed the sound of the music, padding barefoot down the hall, passing the lounge until I reached what appeared to be a study. A speaker-dock on a shelf played the music. Equalizer bars jumped on the docked phone. A fire flickered in a modern alcove fireplace, and glass across the front sealed in the dancing flames. Books sat neat and orderly on their shelves, some very old with weathered spines and tanned leather covers.

Then I saw him, suited up and seated leisurely in a high-backed chair, glass of red in one hand, open book in the other. His laden gaze rested firmly on me. I swallowed, vision briefly blurring. The weight of his stare quickened my pulse, stealing away the confidence I’d embraced all day. I bit into my lip, feeling as though I were shrinking in size with every second that ticked by.

The music stopped. The fire crackled behind its glass cage.

Only when he looked away did I breathe again. He closed the book, stood, and placed it neatly on a desk. An eclectic collection of swords displayed on the wall behind the desk drew my attention: six stunning swords from various locations around the world, although one appeared to be missing. Its brackets were bare.

Akil set down his glass of wine, fingertips teasing across the rim, making the crystal sing. He came toward me with clear intent in those dark eyes. Fear threaded through my limbs so that I stumbled back. I may even have yelped a little right before he clasped my face in both hands and kissed me. The urgency of that kiss surprised and excited me. I responded in kind, devouring him as the fear quickly turned to fire in my veins. His element called to mine, sinking heated tendrils through my flesh and drawing the slumbering power out of me. I pulled him tight, needing him close, grinding my hips against him while his hands slid down my back, cupping my behind. He lifted me, and I instantly hooked my legs around him, throwing my head back as his mouth teased kisses down my neck.

He carried me to the desk, sweeping its contents aside before planting me on the edge. His sultry touch rode up my thighs, hitching back my dress. The demon in me purred her glee, curling power around my flesh and reaching out to him. As I let down my guard, my element flared within me, spilling over my human body, revealing the truth about me: a human-demon hybrid. The unfurling of my one insubstantial wing completed the transformation. I flexed my power outward, stretching my ethereal wing higher. It felt like stepping out into a glorious summer’s day. The weight of control lifted from my shoulders. With Akil, I could be me—all of me. I didn’t need to pretend.

Akil growled low in his throat, fingers teasing out the ribbon of my dress. He sunk his other hand in my hair, holding it there as his mouth found mine once more.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he breathed. “I searched...” He pulled back enough to peer into my eyes. “Don’t ever do that again.” His growl teased my desire even higher.

I grinned and nipped at his lip, fingers fumbling with his shirt buttons. I gave up and tore it open, pressing my warm hands against the sculpted contours of his chest. I felt my own magic flexing around me, my one deformed wing trembling as he slipped my dress from my shoulders. Arching back, I let his mouth roam, his occasional nip sending ripples of pleasure through me.

His hand on my leg pressed higher, easing my thighs apart. I wanted him, but it was more than desire, I ached for him. Human and demon, all of me. I was his. His touch smoldered against my skin. His hands awakened wave after wave of power, calling it from every cell in my body. I blazed with energy, and he wanted it. I could see the hunger in his eyes. His power raged an inferno inside him. Blinded by the all-encompassing heat of desire, I couldn’t have resisted him if I’d wanted to.

He tore my underwear free, jerking me off the desk against him. The short-lived dress slipped down over my hips and pooled at my feet. He backed up a few steps. His heated gaze devoured me, drinking in my hybrid appearance. Where others had considered me grotesque, he had always enjoyed the intimacy every time I laid all of me bare.

I stepped up to him, clutched his torn shirt in both hands, and pulled him into a fevered kiss. His hands found my hips, but I knocked them away. He growled a warning just as I turned him and shoved him back against the desk. He panted through clenched teeth, lips pulled back in a wolfish grin. I stepped up to him, sliding my hand down his chest and dipping it below his waistband. It was his turn to arch back. A humble groan escaped him.

I had power over him. Nica had been right, but it wasn’t something I could use lightly.

Withdrawing my hand, I held his stare as he lifted his head, then shoved him down onto the desk. He didn’t resist but opened his arms, completely giving in to me. I tugged his trousers lower before climbing over him, trailing moist kisses up his navel, tongue teasing across his rippled chest before swirling around a nipple.

“Muse…” he growled my name, bucking a little.

I reared up, stretching my wing high behind me, and straddled him. He groaned something, the words lost as his original accent slurred them, before locking his molten gaze on me. I began to rock my hips. I had him. All of him. Utterly and completely at my mercy and I liked it. My element spilled from me, rolling in and out like waves on a beach, as his reservoir of power flooded over me, into me. I lost myself in it. My memories, my fears, my suspicions, they were all chased away by the insatiable need to have him inside me. The rush of delight rode higher. The lights above flickered. The fire in the hearth roared. I summoned the residual energy into me, calling to the latent element found everywhere and letting it bloom inside of me until I couldn’t take any more The pressure released, snatching a cry from deep within. Akil bucked, fingers digging into my thighs as he threw his head back.

He didn’t see me falter, but he heard me whisper, “Would you ever hurt me?”

He cried out, the human part of him spilling his seed into me. But I saw what I needed, the glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes, the briefest flicker of doubt. He’d answered my question before he could stop himself, too lost in desire to lie.

I fell forward and kissed him hard, deliberately nipping at his lip and drawing blood. He pulled me down and turned me onto my back, so he had the advantage. As his kisses burned down my breast and his fingers kneaded, I blinked back tears, quickly sweeping them aside before he could see. I feared the truth and what it meant, feared that Stefan had been right.

Akil was lying to me.

I had to find Stefan, but first, there was one last thing I needed to do: talk to my brother.

Moonlight spilled through the drapes, its milky caress draining all color from the room. The quiet seemed complete, as though the world outside had been smothered while I dosed. Carefully easing the sheet off me, I sat up in bed, slowly turning my head to look down at Akil. Moonlight lay across his face and chest. The sheet bunched around his middle, one arm cast behind his head. He was like temptation personified, which of course was deliberate on his part. Nothing about his male physique was an accident. His vessel hadn’t been born in the natural way of things. It had been constructed in the image of this era’s notion of perfection. It was an act—a mask—deliberately designed to seduce, and it worked on me. Sure, I knew what he really was, but I certainly wouldn’t have jumped his demon-bones if he had revealed his true self. My head was too full of human desires for that.

I ached in all the right places, my lips flirting with a smile. I could so easily have lain back down, eased my arm across that delicious body, and stayed that way until the demands of the real world pulled us apart, but that was the coward’s way out, and a coward was one thing I had never been. I gently rose from the bed and tiptoed out of his room before jogging quietly back to the guest room where I quickly dressed in jeans and a sleeveless top. I had a jacket somewhere and would need it. It was approaching 3am and would be near to freezing temperatures outside. I found my suede jacket and tugged it on, peeling my hair from inside the collar. A figure in the doorway blocked my exit.

“It’s late,” Akil said. “Or early, depending on your perspective.” He paused, giving me a moment to fill the silence with an explanation.

In the low light, it was difficult to see his expression, not least because I couldn’t ignore the fact he was naked. My wide-eyed gaze roamed all over him. “I er… I was…” My voice quivered, a croak fracturing my attempt at confidence. “My cat.” Yes, blame the cat. “I need to feed Jonesy. I’ve not been home and he’s—”

“Resourceful, I’m sure.”

I definitely detected irony dripping from those three words, or was it barely concealed anger? He sauntered toward me, the light from the window silhouetting his body. I didn’t move, didn’t dare to. That stare of his crawled over me while his expression remained impassive. He moved around me, circling me, easing closer with every step until he stood before me and tilted my chin up.

“Why did you ask me whether I would ever hurt you?”

And there I was thinking I’d gotten away with that little gem. I couldn’t lie to him, not when he glared right into my eyes. He’d know a lie immediately. I chose instead to stand firm and glare right back at him. “I don’t trust you.”

“When have I ever given you reason not to trust me?”

His teeth appeared perfectly white. His eyes were a little brighter than the ambient light could account for. Even his expression had lost its human fluidity. His whole body tensed. He had never given me a reason not to trust him. That was what made all of this so difficult to digest, but he couldn’t deny his very nature; could he?

He released my chin and stepped back. “What did he say to you?” I blinked, trying to pluck one of Stefan’s pieces of advice from my memory, but I’d already hesitated too long. “Don’t lie to me, Muse. I will not tolerate lies.”

That was rich, coming from a demon masquerading as a man.

Akil clench his right hand. “You were with Stefan. Were you not?”

“Yes,” I replied, struggling to retain my stubborn bravado. “He saved me from the Hellhounds.”

Akil arched a single eyebrow. “Ingenious, isn’t he?” he said dryly.

Ingenious indeed. “Why didn’t you help me?”

Akil regarded me, eyes narrowing a little as he considered his reply. “Your brother Valenti sent those hounds. You know I cannot interfere with his intentions.”

The convenient ‘gentleman’s agreement between demons’ excuse. The Princes had agreed never to dabble in each other’s lives. Apparently immortality bred contempt. They lived too long to get along, so instead they agreed to disagree and moved on, preferring to dabble in the lives of humanity. The same agreement bound the Princes’ offspring, Val, being the son of Asmodeus, was obliged to follow the same ground rules. Akil could no more meddle in Val’s machinations than Val could in Akil’s. Didn’t seem to stop Val from trying to kill me though, a crime for which one detective had recently been skewered.

I dropped my gaze, unable to carry the weight of Akil’s stare on me any longer. “Those hounds could have killed me. Stefan was there. He saved me.”

“What lies did he tell you?” He seemed more concerned about what Stefan might have said than about the fact that I could have been killed.

“Akil.” I smiled thinly. “What is this? Why are you behaving like this?”

“I’m not the one sneaking out the door.” Akil moved closer again, taking both my hands in his warm grip and lifting them between us. “He told you I sent those hounds. Didn’t he?”

A shiver rippled through me. I closed my eyes. Somewhere amid all the uncertainty, the doubts poking holes in my perception of Akil, the seed of mistrust had been planted. Its creeping vines strangled my conviction.

“What else did he tell you?” His voice had softened, but as soon as I opened my eyes, I saw the barely suppressed anger tightening his smile. I would need to tread carefully, like walking on hot coals.

“Let me go.” I yanked my hands free and staggered back. “He said you sent the hounds—okay—then told me not to come back here.” I threw up my hands. “What do you want from me? It’s not like I wanted to be there with him. I had no choice. You’re lucky I’m here at all, Akil. Those hounds…” My stomach flipped just thinking about how close they’d been. Stefan had faced one of those creatures head-on. Who does that?

Akil had fallen quiet. I could have left it at that, but I knew of one more chink in his armor, one last little shard of truth that would unnerve him. “Stefan said I’d swapped one owner for another. To be honest, right now it’s beginning to feel that way.”

Anger immediately flared in Akil’s eyes. “Do not ever compare me to your previous owner—that despicable excuse for a demon—Muse.”

I took a deep breath. “Stefan said you were too demon to love me.” I watched Akil flinch back as though I’d hurt him. “That you were just playing with me, a cat with a mouse. He implied that when you got bored of me…” I shrugged a shoulder. “You’d kill me.”

For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. I watched him closely for any clues as to what might be going through his head, but he’d locked away his emotions. Then he quite unexpectedly laughed.

“He’s got balls. I’ll give him that.”

I frowned. Laughing hadn’t been the response I’d expected. Fury, I’d expected. Akil’s crooked grin confused me. Why wasn’t he angry? He stopped before me, bowing his head so that his lips brushed mine. “He is nothing, Muse. How can he possibly understand what we have?” The words whispered against my lips, tugging at the embers of desire settling inside of me.

I chased the tease of a kiss as Akil pulled back a little, leading me in to him.

“He cannot know you, Muse. Not as I do. I would not have bothered with you in the beginning if I didn’t see something in you I admired. You were a crushed and broken thing, like a butterfly crumpled in the hand of a child, but I saw the beauty in you. I found you, Muse. I created you. Someone like Stefan, he will never understand what we have.”

“I didn’t believe him,” I whispered. Placing both hands flat on his chest, I soaked up his warmth. “I just… I was afraid.” It wasn’t strictly a lie, but neither was it the truth.

“I know. Don’t worry about him. He’ll be dead soon.”

I let Akil pull me against him, hiding my spike of fear behind the flush of desire. I couldn’t ask what he meant, not without rousing suspicion, but I couldn’t get away either. I would have to wait until morning before I could make my escape. Until then, the only action I could take was to convince Akil I had no doubts about him. I was a rather convincing liar when the situation demanded it. Lying to Akil with my body was easier than lying with words. A trait beaten into me to aid in my survival. It would serve me well now.

Chapter 11

The flame twisted on its wick like a tiny exotic dancer. In the gloom of the humble basement apartment, the candle barely penetrated the shadows loitering beyond the coffee table. Stefan’s artwork still adorned the walls, and those marks were the reason I was back. They subdued elemental magic, and that’s exactly what I needed if I was going to survive an encounter with my brother.

Stefan wasn’t there. I hadn’t really expected him to be, and yet my own disappointment surprised me. He could clearly look after himself. While Akil had hinted Stefan’s number was up, I was quietly confident the so-called ‘Enforcer’ had dealt with such threats before. Besides, there was nothing I could do. I didn’t know where Stefan was or what Akil planned. I could only look out for myself.

The flame spluttered. A dribble of wax spilled over the candle lip, dribbling down its side and onto the coffee table where it hardened. I straightened the kitchen knife beside the candle, going over the incantation in my mind. Summoning a demon isn’t as difficult as you’d think. In fact, all you need to do is invite them by name, but you have to be careful. They’re slippery bastards, and my brother was no exception.

I picked up the knife then put it down again, wiping my clammy palms on my jeans. “I can do this.”

Outside the basement apartment, the city noises mingled in a cacophony of passing cars, high heels clicking on the sidewalk, and the occasional blaring horn. I found it all comforting. I always had. Silence made me nervous. I picked up the knife again, wrapping trembling fingers around the handle. My brother Val would sense my fear. He’d enjoy it. If I was uncomfortable, he was happy. It had always been that way, but he wouldn’t be pleased I’d summoned him. At least the marks would keep him under control—hopefully.

“I must be mad,” I muttered. The one demon I know without doubt wanted me dead, and I was summoning him. What part of that was sane? But Val would have answers.

Kneeling, I leaned forward over the table, my face close to the flame. Knife in my right hand, I clasped my left hand around the blade and tugged. The cut stung, but it was a necessary pain, part of the payment for the summoning. Squeezing my hand into a fist, I lifted it before the candle and watched a few droplets of blood trail down my pale skin.

“Valenti, first born of Asmodeus, Son of the Seven, Guardian of the Dark, Brother by Blood, I— your half-sister—summon you into this time and place. I invite you to share with me your presence.” My throat constricted. The sudden grip of fear strangled me. “You will not harm me.” My voice trembled, “I bid you heed my words. By this flame, our element, I welcome you.”

Nothing happened.

I looked around me, expecting some sort of movement, but besides the little candle flame, nothing moved. There was the chance the marks might have prevented me from summoning him, although a summons itself was not elemental magic. It was just an invitation extended between two layers of reality.

“Sister,” he hissed.

I twisted to face the source of his voice and scrambled backward, knocking an elbow against the table, making the candle wobble.

Val stood motionless by the door, head slightly dipped, gazing from under snow-white lashes. His storm gray eyes were beautiful. I’d always thought so. Hair as white as snow cascaded over one shoulder. A simple leather strip tied it together. The weathered leather coat, which hung from his shoulders to his grey lace-up boots, was more cloak than coat. Supple black leather trousers and a black leather vest completed the ensemble. I could pick out the close-set tubercles in the cuts of animal skin and might have placed the leather as shark, but there are no sharks in the netherworld. There are however plenty of vicious, saw-toothed demons. I didn’t want to think about what demons might have died to satisfy my brother’s leather fetish.

Nerves fluttered in my chest like butterflies in a jar. My element stirred within me, but the marks adorning the walls prevented it from manifesting. In fact, all I felt was cold. The trembling in my body completely betrayed the depth of fear my own brother roused in me.

He had a look of perpetual amusement, as though this world and its people were an infinite source of humor. His lips constantly flirted with a smile, and his eyes were alight with infinite knowledge. He might not have been one of the Seven Princes like our father or Akil, but you wouldn’t know it from the sheer confidence he exuded. He lifted his head, finally detaching his powerful gaze from me and sweeping it around the room.

I fought not to sigh with relief, trying desperately to keep all of my emotions locked tightly away.

“Curious,” he mused, approaching the kitchen to admire Stefan’s hastily spray painted artwork on the cabinets. “These will be the reason I cannot shake off this mortal guise.” Every word was a precise study in elocution.

He had wanted to arrive tooled up in his full demon guise as opposed to the man-suit he wore now. I was glad he hadn’t been able to. When he looked human, I could at least pretend I might have a hope of talking with him. I silently thanked Stefan’s ingenuous symbols.

As I clumsily got to my feet, Val swung his attention back to me, pinning me to the spot. I froze, giving him the typical deer-in-headlights expression because it was all I could do not to run through the door out into the street. I hadn’t been this close to him in nearly a decade. I’d been a young girl then. He hadn’t aged at all.

He very slowly tilted his head to the side. “I had hoped you’d be dead by now.”

“Did you send Hellhounds after me?” I blurted. The less talk, the better. Neither of us wanted to be here, in each other’s presence, so the sooner I could get the truth from him, the sooner we could go back to our lives.

“Hellhounds are so archaic…” He continued around the small room, admiring the markings. He was certainly more interested in those than he was my presence.

Hellhounds archaic? No more, or less, than he was.

“Did you paint these symbols?” He flicked his hand.

I didn’t reply. He could think that I had. It might make him wonder what else I knew. He smiled at my silence, not in the least bothered whether I answered or not.

“No, I see not. This cage is beyond your rudimentary thought processes.”

It wasn’t an insult, not in his eyes. It was fact. I clamped my teeth together, refusing to react to his words. They were, after all, just words.

His tour of the lounge complete, he stood opposite me, mere feet between us. I had a fleeting thought that if Akil knew I was doing this, he’d never let me leave his side again. Val reached inside his coat and withdrew a rapier, the type of sword one might use to pierce one’s opponent through the heart. The point would be needle sharp, the edges less so.

I smiled, an odd reaction, but I could appreciate a well-crafted weapon, and his rapier was indeed a work of art. The blade appeared to ripple. Light glanced off its mirror smooth surface. There was no elaborate flare about it, just ruthless efficiency. “Really? Swords? I mean, I’m unarmed, I’m half human, and I’m a female. Strapping guy like you, you don’t need a sword to kill me.”

He lowered the sword until the tip hovered a few inches from the floor. “Looks can be deceiving, especially in your case, Muse. You’re wasting my time.”

Right, time meant nothing to him. I slowly lifted both hands. “All I need to know is if you sent those hounds after me.”

“You think your fleeting existence occupies my thoughts? You insult me, Muse.” He didn’t look particularly insulted, just amused. I imagined some cats have that expression, right before they bite the heads off their prey.

He hadn’t approached me, so perhaps he didn’t intend to use the sword. “Is that a no?”

“Tell me who crafted these symbols about the room, and I’ll tell you the truth.”

I remembered then how Stefan had told me he’d wanted my help to kill Val. They obviously had a history of some sort and here I was, caught in the middle of it. “His name is Stefan.”

Val’s level expression ticked. His fingers twitched on his sword. “He helped you?”

“Now answer my question. Did you send the Hellhounds?”

“No.” He smiled, enjoying the fleeting emotion he saw skip across my face and my subsequent attempt to hide it.

Akil had sent those hounds. Nobody else was capable of summoning them. Nobody had enough power to control them. Akil had sent them. He meant to kill me. Had he set the explosion at the workshop? The demons at the party? Even the detective? No, not him. Akil had slain him to save me… No, not to save me, to save his own honor.

Val laughed as he read the panic in my eyes. Irony dripped from that laughter. Its menace unbalanced me, and a peculiar lightness swept over me. I swayed a little, reaching for the couch. Val lunged forward as I knew he would, stealing what he thought to be a moment of weakness on my part. I sprang back, snatching the kitchen knife from its snug little hiding spot, tucked into my jeans against my lower back.

Val slashed the sword toward me with a snarl. The kitchen knife wasn’t the most appropriate weapon against a sword, but it was all I had. He kicked over the coffee table, toppling the candle onto the floor where it snuffed itself out.

Val immediately pulled back, realizing his mistake. With the tiny flame gone, he had no anchor to hold him there. With the summoning revoked, he could do nothing but let it happen. His human form began to dissolve before my eyes, blurring around the edges first. The white of his hair smudged against the shadows like a chalk drawing in the rain.

He peeled his lips back, those eyes as dark as thunder clouds. I’d escaped him this time, but I’d also reminded him I was still alive. If he hadn’t been trying to kill me before, he might just step up his efforts now. I saw him casually slip the sword back into his scabbard before he fixed me once more with a threat-laden stare. He didn’t need to say a word for me to know what he was thinking.

Only when every swirling speck of his image had vanished from the room did I breathe again. It took a few minutes of measured breathing to regain anything resembling composure, and it didn’t last.

The front door of the stranger’s apartment beckoned, but outside Akil would find me. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. How was I meant to stand next to Akil and not let him see how afraid I was? Just that morning, I’d believed he cared for me. He was right. He had never given me reason to distrust him, and yet here I was, going behind his back and summoning my brother to answer my suspicions. Val hadn’t given me a name. He wouldn’t have even if I’d asked. He’d rather see me suffer than tell me the whole truth. But he’d given me enough.

Thoughts rushed through my head as I attempted to clean up the apartment, working on auto-pilot and trying to think of a plan. I left a note for the owner, apologizing for the mess and left a few hundred dollars. It was all I could afford.

I had to find Stefan. He was the only person who appeared to have an interest in keeping me alive. If Akil realized what I’d done, how I’d summoned Val, I couldn’t even imagine how he’d react. He’d been less than jovial when he’d demanded I tell him everything Stefan had told me. Stefan had proof. Akil knew it. That must have been why he’d demanded to know everything Stefan had told me.

I leaned back against the kitchen cupboards, folding my arms crossed and chewing on my bottom lip. The second I stepped out of that door, I’d be fighting for my life. I could run. I might even escape the city, but Akil would find me. I’d invited him in and when you invite a Prince of Hell in, they don’t just get access to your home, but also your life. He would know where I was until the day I died. What an idiot I’d been.

Not all was lost though. There were ways of revoking an invite. I’d never looked into them because I was never going to be stupid enough to invite a Prince of Hell into my life, but it could be done. Stefan seemed like the type of guy to know how. In fact, Stefan’s company looked mighty appealing, considering the alternative.

I noticed a phone propped up in its cradle at the end of the countertop and on the spur of the moment, picked it up and dialed Sam’s number. He was the only person in my life who wasn’t out to get me in one form or another. I needed that normality.

“Hi, this is Sam Harwood, Architect. Leave a message, and I’ll call you back between the hours of nine and seven.” Even the sound of his voice on his answering message lifted my mood.

“Hey.” I sounded gruff in comparison. Glancing at the door, I wondered if I’d ever see him again. “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. For everything. You’re a good man, Sam. The best. You…” My vision blurred, forcing me to lift my head and blink. “We had some great times. I’m sorry if I hurt you. You didn’t deserve that. But I’m not who you thought I was. I’m not a good woman, Sam, and the people around me, they’re dangerous. I just… I just wanted to hear your voice again before…” The phone beeped, cutting me off.

I wanted to go to him. He was honest, and I’d meant what I’d said. He was a good man. Too good for me. He would wrap me in his arms and listen as I talked. We’d crack open a few beers, rent a movie, and I’d curl up beside him on the couch, head resting against his shoulder while his arm hooked around my waist.

I could no more go to him than I could go to the police and tell them I was being hunted by my demon boyfriend, not to mention the dozen bit-part demons that thought it was their duty to separate my head from my neck. I placed the phone back in its cradle and cast one last look around the basement apartment. The closed front door loomed in the corner of my eye.

“Here goes nothing.” I shoved away from the countertop and left the apartment.

Chapter 12

It took all of about thirty minutes for Nica to arrive and sit herself in the comfy armchair across my table in Starbucks. I’d been sipping a grande latte while people-watching as I waited for her to arrive, hoping the safety in numbers theory applied to me. The coffee house buzzed with activity. Professionals tapped away on their laptops. Some teens sat engrossed in a game on an iPad beside a line out the door for coffee. It was exactly what I needed. Should Akil or Val show their faces, they weren’t likely to try anything untoward in such a public place. That didn’t mean they couldn’t though.

“Thanks for coming.” I smiled at Nica, hoping it reached my eyes.

“No problem.” She crossed her legs, straightening her pencil skirt as she watched me sip my coffee. “I’m due about a dozen lunch breaks, so figured I was owed a little personal time.” Her bright smile had already begun to lift my mood.

“You didn’t tell Akil?”

She shrugged. “I doubt he’d be interested in the fact we’re having coffee together. It’s not exactly high on his agenda.”

This time my smile hitched a little higher. I’d called her from a public phone and asked her to meet me. In all likelihood, Akil would have sent her after me as soon as I’d left the safety of the basement apartment, so I figured I might as well preempt his move with one of my own. “You know that file you gave me on Stefan?”

“The assassin?” She tucked her short blond hair behind her ears and leaned an arm on the table.

“Yeah, whatever he is. Did you discover anything about where he lived?”

“No, he covers his tracks really well. But there was something… We had a lead on a guy who deals in guns. He’s sold some ammunition to Stefan in the past. The gun Stefan uses, the one with the scorpion branding on it, it’s a fifty caliber brushed chrome Desert Eagle. A gun like that gets noticed.”

I wondered briefly if Stefan had retrieved the weapon from his car after it rolled. I hadn’t seen it on him afterward, and I’d had an eyeful of him post-accident, but something told me he wouldn’t leave a gun like that behind.

“Why?” Nica’s smile teased across her lips, her eyes brightening with mischief. “What are you planning?”

“Who says I’m planning anything?” I placed my cup down on the table, licking my lips. I couldn’t trust her; I barely knew her. She worked for Akil—spent every day with him from what I could gather. Whatever I told her, I could assume would go straight back to him.

“Okay.” She tried to catch my eye. “I can get you the address of the dealer if you want.” She plucked her phone from her bag, fingers tapping out the security code to unlock it. “Why do you want to find Stefan?”

I had to tread carefully. “I want to know what he knows.”

“Even if he tries to kill you?” Her thumb navigated across the touchscreen of her phone.

“He won’t.”

Nica lifted her gaze over the phone to question me with her eyes. “What makes you so certain?”

He saved me from the Hellhounds, saved me from the explosion at my workshop, saved me from the demon in the stairwell. Right now, anywhere he occupied was the safest place for me. “I’m not that easy to kill.”

Nica grinned and showed me a map on the screen. “If we take my car, we’ll be there in less than fifteen minutes.”

I nodded. “Won’t Akil miss you if you don’t return to work?”

Nica flicked her hair back, suddenly becoming animated with excitement. “No. He’s out most of the day. I can catch up with paperwork tonight. I’d much rather be shaking down a back alley arms dealer than filing tax returns. Wouldn’t you?”

I chuckled. “That’s not what this is. I’m just going to ask some questions.”

“Right, and he’s going to tell two uptown girls what we want to know because he’s a nice guy?”

“You’re uptown. I, most certainly, am downtown. Trust me.”

At least it wasn’t night. The dead end street would have looked much less appealing draped in darkness. In full daylight beneath the winter sun, the dumpsters glistening wet from a recent rain shower, it didn’t look quite as foreboding, but it still wasn’t going to feature on a tourist map any time soon. Air conditioning units hummed from the mismatched buildings lining the narrow back street. An abused 70’s Corvette sat beached unceremoniously on bricks outside a car workshop, its wheels gone. Either it was in a state of repair, or in the process of being picked-clean by local thieves.

A group of three young men loitered on the corner of a side street, hoods up, watching Nica and me climb from her silver Mercedes. I had to wonder if her car might resemble the Corvette on our return.

“I have mace.” Nica said, not all that quietly, as she walked beside me, clutching her bag a little tighter.

I smiled. “Don’t worry. Mace will be the least of their concerns.” A tingle of energy trickled through me. My demon half stirred at the promise of violence. I shook the thrill of it from my hands, pushing back the thirst for chaos.

Nica gave me a sideways glance. She saw my smile and loosened her white-knuckled grip on her bag. “I forget what you are sometimes.”

“Thanks.” I took it as compliment as we approached a solid black back door in a three-story brick building. A scribble of unintelligible graffiti adorned the wall beside the door, but it was the small symbol etched into the painted wood beside the handle that caught my eye. The entwined scorpions stood out because they’d been painted white against the black of the door, but they were small, barely larger than a dime, not meant for the whole street to see. Just visitors. Nica saw it too. We shared a knowing glance before I knocked on the door.

Behind us, the three hoods watched our every move, muttering among themselves. They were unlikely to represent a threat, just curious as to why two young women were entering their neck of the woods. Nica and I probably weren’t the usual type of client for these parts.

The door opened, revealing a man who looked as though he’d just rolled out of bed with creases everywhere. His jeans and shirt crumpled like waste paper. Even his face had creases, hiking my age estimate to late thirties. He peered through narrow eyes at us, chewing on a toothpick. In dire need of a shave, his bristly chin and short ruffled hair completed the ‘disheveled and don’t care’ look.

He seemed to like what he saw in us because he grinned and draped an arm against the doorframe. “Hello ladies. Yah’ lost?” He slipped his attention past us to Nica’s car. The spotless paintwork gleamed like a beacon of temptation for any would-be thieves.

Plucking the toothpick from between his teeth, he pointed it at me. “He won’t be happy you parked that hunk of German metal outside his shop.”

“Are you David Ryder?” I asked, not in the least perturbed.

He tucked both thumbs over the waistband of his jeans. The last few buttons of his shirt were open. Evidently, he had problems dressing himself. I wasn’t surprised.

“Ryder, sure. Whatever. What d’yah fine ladies want?”

“Can we come in?”

He took another long look at us then glanced over his shoulder into the dark hall. “Well, sure, why not.”

Nica and I helped ourselves inside. The oppressive atmosphere of the hallway embraced us as she closed the door. I followed Ryder’s quick retreat down the hall, passing several closed doors before we reached what had, at one time, been a kitchen but now resembled a workroom. Cardboard boxes were stacked high in one corner. Beside them on a small round table, two guns had been stripped and were in the process of being cleaned. Small rectangular ammunition boxes lined the countertops beside half-finished mugs of coffee. Some harbored islands of mold.

“’Scuse the mess. Wasn’t expecting guests.” He made a half-hearted attempt at cleaning a space on the countertop but quickly gave up.

Nica stood very still beside me, hands clasped in front of her, as though afraid to touch anything. “Those marks on the door?” she asked in a rather curt voice. “The scorpions…”

Ryder shrugged. “Previous owner of this place, I reckon. Why? You recognize them?”

“No.” She smiled a little too sweetly to be convincing.

“Yes, actually.” I intervened. “I want to ask you about a man who has that exact same mark on a gun, a Desert Eagle.”

Ryder leaned back against the countertop, folding his arms crossed. His beady eyes assessed me. “Nice gun. Don’t get many of those ‘round here. Too big, bulky. You can’t stash ‘em easily, if you know what I mean.”

Not really. “The guy who owns that gun. He’s a friend of mine, and I just need to find him.”

Ryder suppressed a smile. “A friend, and you don’t know where to find him, huh? Maybe he doesn’t want to be your friend.”

“He’s tall. Blonde hair, about this long.” I touched the corner of my jaw. “Has a thing for red leather. Drives an old Charger—well, used to.”

Ryder’s smile had begun to fade away, the laughter fleeing from his eyes. He knew Stefan alright, but I was getting a distinct angry vibe off this guy, so perhaps they didn’t get along too well. Not surprising. Stefan appeared to have that effect on people.

“What did you say your name was?” he asked.

“Charlie. And this is my friend, Nica.” I held out my hand only for Ryder to look at it as though I’d just offered him a dead rat.

He popped the toothpick between his teeth, chewed on it, then grabbed my hand in his and shook it hard. Only when I tensed to pull away, I realized he wasn’t letting me go. I tugged, frowning, about to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing when he yanked me forward.

“I think you lost your way.” He leered down at me. “Best you run along now. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you fine ladies, now would we?”

Perhaps he expected me to squeal and flee. His leering face certainly betrayed a confidence in himself. I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t look like much. Perhaps it was the way I held his stare and smiled a little, or he may even have sensed the temperature change in the room, but he was human, so he couldn't have seen the elemental magic spilling down my arm. It heated my hand. From the widening of his eyes, I knew he felt my grip tighten. The rising heat radiating from my palm must have been uncomfortable.

“You’d better leave,” he warned.

I pulled him toward me. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know who…” He yanked on my hand, trying to pull himself free, then growled when he realized I wasn’t letting go. “What the hell are you?” He twisted, trying to writhe free, but I wasn’t budging. The acrid smell of burning flesh permeated the air.

“Okay, okay!”

“Where?”

“I’ll take you! He’s right across the street.”

I released his hand and watched with a little too much glee as he quickly turned toward the kitchen sink and plunged his hand under the cool water.

Nica arched an eyebrow. She had her hand in her bag, ready with her can of mace just in case.

“Holy crap.” Ryder stepped around a knee-high tower of magazines and tugged open the rusted refrigerator. With his burnt hand, he reached inside and grabbed a can of beer, clasping it in his hand with an audible sigh of relief. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

“That’s nothing compared to what I can do, so don’t get any ideas.”

Ryder didn’t look surprised by any of this. No flurry of questions about how I could heat my hand to those temperatures without burning myself. It made me wonder what he knew about demons. Despite appearances, he was not a typical gun dealer.

Nica and I followed Ryder back outside. The hoods had gone, and Nica’s car had survived intact. Ryder jogged across the street to the workshop, and snatching the handle at the bottom of a garage door, he lifted it high above our heads to reveal another classic car in the throes of restoration, this one stripped back to bare metal and awaiting its body panels. Mechanic’s tools hung on the walls. Every inch was covered with assorted equipment, from wrenches to jumper cables, hub caps to hood ornaments. The pungent odors of oil and metal reminded me of my lost workshop. A pang of sadness stabbed me in the chest, and a brief grimace touched my face.

I heard Stefan’s voice coming from the back and nodded at Nica behind me.

“Yo, Stefan,” Ryder called out.

I followed Ryder’s path past the partially restored car into the back of the workshop and through a doorway.

Stefan sat behind a desk, rocking his chair back, boots up on the desktop, legs crossed at the ankle. He cradled a phone between his chin and shoulder. When he laid eyes on me, his conversation came to an abrupt end. He hung up on his caller and tossed the phone into a pile of papers strewn about the desk. Making no attempt to stand, he flicked his cool gaze across the three of us.

“Hell must have frozen over,” he drawled, looking particularly pleased with himself.

“She fried my hand.” Ryder lifted the beer as though that explained everything and then cracked it open and took a few gulps for good measure. “She made me bring her.”

“S’okay. I’ve been expecting her.” Stefan stared straight at me, waiting for me to speak. I deliberately stayed quiet, drawing out the silence. Nica shuffled behind me, her fingers tapping out a restless little tune on the side of her bag.

Ryder cleared his throat. “Anyway… As I’ve opened the beers, anyone else like to partake?”

Nica looked at me, saw my encouraging expression, and sighed. “He’s an animal.”

“You have mace.” I grinned.

Ryder scowled at the both of us. “Standing right here.”

With a grumble, Nica reluctantly followed Ryder back into the workshop. I heard him attempting to engage her in small talk, but she wisely avoided him. If he tried anything, I’d be out there in a shot, but given Stefan’s reaction to Ryder, I was confident he wasn’t going to cause any trouble.

Stefan on the other hand… He hadn’t moved, and I wasn’t entirely sure how he’d react to my being there. His office–if you could call it that –was surprisingly normal. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. Having seen him in action, perhaps I was hoping for something like my old workshop: weapons on the walls, maybe a demon head or two—not that I had those, but he might have.

“You’re a mechanic?” I failed to keep the surprise from my voice.

“When I’m not working.”

His half smile wasn’t budging but if he wanted an apology, hell would indeed have to freeze over.

I absorbed the normality of the surroundings. Apart from the mess of papers on his desk, the room was tidy, sparsely furnished, with one metal filing cabinet in the corner with a plant in a plastic pot on top as though that would make all the difference. It was an office in which he didn’t spend much time. That was clear.

He planted both boots on the floor and stood, moving out from behind the desk with a fluid stride. His blue jeans were worn threadbare in places with a few smudges of oil and grease across his thighs. His gray t-shirt sported the occasional oil stain, a trend which continued onto his face where a smudge of grease had been brushed across his forehead. He looked decidedly normal, and it completely threw me.

“How’d you find me?” He leaned back against the desk.

“Nica has a file on you.” I listened, hearing her clipped voice respond to something Ryder had asked. “I don’t trust her.”

“What does she know?”

“They think you’re an assassin, or a bounty-hunter, depending on the money at stake I guess. She’ll tell Akil about this place.”

He didn’t look concerned. In fact, he still had that smug smile on his lips. Placing his hands on the edge of the desk, he dropped his head. “I told you to stay in that apartment.”

“Yeah, I know.” I snorted a laugh. “I’m not very good at following orders.”

“This isn’t a game, Muse.” The smile had gone. In its place, he’d summoned concern from somewhere as though he actually cared.

“No?” I felt the power turning over inside me, roused by a little shiver of anger. “It feels like it is. Like some elaborate game and I’m the only one who doesn’t know the rules.”

“You’re right. You don’t know all the rules. They’ve been deliberately kept from you by a succession of owners, most recently Akil.”

“So why don’t you enlighten me?”

He shoved away from the desk and strode toward me. I straightened, refusing to give an inch. He stopped beside me and leaned in close. “I will, but first there’s something you need to see.”

Chapter 13

Nica was enjoying a beer by the time we left the office. She appeared to be relaxing around Ryder, who had ditched his surly persona for a friendlier version. I’d been about to advise Nica to slow down on the beers when Stefan had stopped me. He surreptitiously extricated her phone from her bag and removed the battery, placing just the phone back in her bag. He didn’t want her making calls, and quite honestly, neither did I.

Turning back toward me, Stefan ran a hand down the bare metal of the car that sat squarely in the middle of the workshop. “She’ll eventually replace the Dodge I wrecked the other night.”

I couldn’t help feeling a little responsible for that, seeing as the hounds had been after me. “Akil sent those hounds,” I blurted.

Stefan scratched at the smudge of grease on his forehead and nodded, for once avoiding the smug-son-of-a-bitch expression in favor of a sympathetic frown. “Follow me.”

He squeezed by me. The car’s bulk left little room to maneuver. A peculiar flutter of excitement flipped in my chest as he brushed against me. The fleeting reaction distracted me completely, briefly emptying my mind of rational thoughts while I watched him walk toward the back of his workshop.

“You coming?” he called, disappearing through a narrow doorway.

“Huh? Yeah.”

Nica and Ryder were deep in conversation. Ryder tossed me a wave, apparently enjoying his babysitting task. Who’d have thought Nica would be so easily led astray? Maybe she had a hidden desire for bad boys. She was distracted, and that was all that mattered. I’d worry later how I was going to prevent her talking to Akil.

Following Stefan’s path through the doorway, I found myself in a narrow hall. Bare bulbs flickered above, poorly illuminating unfinished, plywood walls and a bare concrete floor. A chill swept over me, snagging my thoughts. I glanced back, expecting to find someone watching me, but the doorway stood empty. I could still hear Nica’s voice, but it felt oddly distant. A little hesitantly, I emerged through a second doorway into what could only be described as an armory.

Symbols covered every inch of the walls, similar but not identical to those Stefan had used to ward off elemental magic. They were likely the reason for the chills I’d just experienced. My human senses never failed to detect forces that didn’t belong on this side of the veil.

Workbenches butted against the walls, stretching from one end of the room to the other, on them the array of weapons boggled the mind. Knives, daggers, swords, axes, guns. A deadly weapon for every occasion. Need a two-handed axe? A broadsword? A rifle? The room bristled with sharp edges like an underwater cave brimming with spiny urchins.

“That’s quite a collection.” I absently reached out to touch one sword in particular, a broadsword with substantial pitting on the blade. Before I realized I’d even touched the metal, a flood of images burst through my mind in such a flurry that the onslaught nearly floored me. It was only Stefan’s sudden grip clamped around my arm that brought me back. Stumbling against the workbench, I sucked in a few deep breaths. Usually, it requires blood to secure a link between my mind and the metal, but not this time. That sword wanted its history told.

“Don’t touch anything,” he warned, his azure eyes brilliant in the subdued lighting.

The sword beckoned, even now, its secrets demanding to be told. “I saw…” I couldn’t be sure what I’d seen. Blood, but that’s normal. You don’t read the history of a sword and see happy endings. It was almost always horrific and one of the reasons I didn’t like to do it. I tried to isolate the images in my mind—horses foaming at the mouth—a woman cowering over her motionless child—but Stefan’s voice pulled me back.

“You don’t want to know. There’s enough history in that sword to knock you out for a week.” He touched my face, fingers lightly brushing my cheek. I gasped, not meaning to, but my mind was elsewhere, and his touch so unexpected that a brief flicker of heat bloomed defensively inside me, an instinctive reaction to a perceived threat. He must have sensed it because he turned his back on me, instantly severing the peculiar moment.

The ghost of his touch still brushed my cheek. I lifted my hand to my face where the cool imprint lingered. It hadn’t hurt—quite the opposite. It was as though his ice element had briefly eased through my skin. It was a natural reaction for two demons, like an elemental handshake, but our opposite elements made for an interesting interaction. I found it quite intriguing and deeply confusing.

“This is the sword that’s caused all the trouble.” He lifted a katana from its cradle and presented it to me in such a formal manor that I didn’t want to take it, especially after just having one sword download a gruesome fragment of its history into my head. The elaborate guard, unusual for a katana, confirmed it as the same sword he’d brought to my workshop.

Seeing my hesitation, he set the sword down on the workbench. “You need to read this.”

In my workshop when I’d first laid eyes on the weapon, I’d instinctively touched it, sensing a connection with it. Now though, I recognized my hesitation as fear. The undulating ripples along the surface of the blade were the result of the metal being folded over and over during its forging process. Each fold strengthened the blade and made the weapon unique. Like a fingerprint, those marks could never be reproduced. Whatever secrets it contained were there forever.

Stefan stepped back, giving me room, but I didn’t move. “It’s not going to be easy,” he warned.

“Why don’t you just tell me?” I shivered and clutched my jacket tighter around me.

He hesitated, as though considering it. “You won’t believe me.”

I didn’t like the sympathy in his eyes or the weight of his words. “This is the proof… About Akil?” I chewed on my lip.

“It’s all in there.”

“How far back do I have to go?” Old weapons have many memories. If I was going back more than a few years, it would take time and effort.

“Monday morning.”

“A few days, not long. Good.” I stalled. The recent event should be easy to pin down. All I need do was look for Akil. “Will I see you?”

“Possibly.” He thought for a few beats. “Probably.”

I stepped up against the workbench but kept my hands back, locking them against the edges of the bench. I had my suspicions about Akil. My brother had denied all involvement. In all likelihood, Akil was the one behind the Hellhounds, but I didn’t have proof. Proof meant I’d have to believe it, and inside, I didn’t want to. Without Akil, I was alone in a world that wanted me dead, and that was not somewhere I wanted to be. Sure, I’d tried to run away, but Akil had always been there, watching over me. If I had proof Akil was trying to kill me, I had no idea what I was supposed to do about it.

“Would you prefer I leave?” Stefan tried to catch my eye, but I couldn’t look away from the sword. I flexed my fingers beside me.

“No. When I go under… I’ll need you here.” A quick glance told me he watched closely. “I don’t know how I’ll react.”

Stefan nodded. “You won’t be able to summon much of your element here. The marks you see on the walls, they’ll prevent you drawing on the energy outside this building. Like at the basement apartment. The worst you can do here is blow a few bulbs.”

His brief smile held more warmth than I’d seen from him all afternoon. Even those bitterly cold eyes had softened. It occurred to me that he might actually care until I realized what that must mean. Whatever was hidden in the blade, it wasn’t going to have a happy ending.

I deliberately ran my left hand down the katana’s edge. The blade was so sharp I hardly felt the cut at all, but the blood flowed freely. A few drops pooled together on the workbench. I wiped my hands together, smothering them in blood. It would seal the link to the past more easily if the blood was fresh. Wrapping my left hand around the cool metal, I immediately felt the weight of knowledge bear down on me.

“We have a problem.” Ryder’s gravelly voice penetrated my wandering thoughts. I’d have fallen into the past had Stefan not touched my hand. His warm fingers resting over mine tugged me back before I could slip further into the blade. He eased my left hand from the sword, fixing his eyes on mine before turning his attention to Ryder. It took a moment to clear my head. I’d only touched the blade for a few seconds, but the weight of its secrets had quickly tugged me under. Left any longer, I wouldn’t have been roused so easily. Ryder showed Stefan the screen on his phone and dragged a hand down his bristly chin.

“Damnit. How did he find us?” Stefan and Ryder looked at me.

“What?”

Stefan presented the phone to me. On the screen, I clearly saw the black limo parked adjacent to Nica’s Mercedes, blocking the street outside. I winced. “Yeah, I was going to ask you how to revoke an invitation…”

“You invited him into your life?” Stefan’s gaze widened. “Are you insane?”

I clamped my jaw shut, grinding my teeth. “Hey, don’t judge me. Okay? It’s your fault.”

“My fault?” He barked a laugh. “And how exactly did I force you into signing your life over to a Prince of Hell?”

“You wouldn’t leave me alone.” I clenched my hand around the cut in my palm. The slight sting of pain was oddly welcome. “When you showed up at my apartment, I had to reveal what I was, but after you fled, I couldn’t control the energy.” I frowned. “With no outlet, it turned on me. Akil was…” Stefan’s stare bore into me. I felt the disappointment roll off him in waves. “He was there. Okay? When I needed him, he was there.”

Stefan tossed the phone back to Ryder. With his back to me, he ran a hand through his hair and took a few moments to think. “He knows you’re here.” He faced me once more, his blue eyes crystalline. I felt the temperature in the room drop a few degrees. “Go to him. Lie to him. Whatever you have to do. You brought him here, Muse. You get rid of him.”

It wasn’t that simple. “I can’t lie to him. He’ll know.”

Stefan scowled. The displeasure on his face darkened my mood even more. “There’s no other option here,” he said. “If you don’t lie to him about why you’re here, he’ll tear you, me, and this place apart.”

Ryder gave me a sympathetic glance. At least he seemed to realize exactly what Stefan was asking of me. “He only knows you’re here, Muse. He doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t know Stefan’s here. Just tell him the Merc died on you. I’ll back you up.”

“What about Nica? She’ll tell him.”

Stefan plucked a short sword from the workbench. “I’ll talk to her. Just get out there, Muse, before he comes looking for you.”

“Don’t hurt her.”

Stefan gave me a weary sigh. “I’ll find you. Just keep Akil happy. I’ll get to you.”

Ryder beckoned to me, and I had no choice but to follow, my steps heavy with dread. After a quick stop in a washroom to clean the blood from my hands and stem the flow from the cut with a paper towel, we returned to the workshop. The shutters were closed, thankfully, so Akil couldn’t see inside. It didn’t stop me from sensing him though. My body trembled a little as the sheer weight of his power lingered in the air like the threat of an oncoming storm.

“I can’t do this.”

Ryder clutched my shoulders, all authoritative. “You get out there. You tell him what he wants to hear. It’s not just your life that’s at risk here. You’ve got to do this.” He released me and beckoned Nica forward. She’d been watching quietly, aware that something was very wrong.  I nodded, indicating she should do as Ryder asked while wondering what Stefan would do to her. I didn’t think he’d hurt her, but I couldn’t be sure. She was Akil’s personal assistant, a spy in our ranks and liable to reveal all.

As Ryder escorted Nica out the back door to the armory, I stood behind the personnel door in the front of the workshop, hand gripping the handle. Akil’s elemental magic wrapped its explorative tendrils around me, calling to me. I was about to lie to a Prince of Hell, Mammon, the Prince of Greed. Had I been full demon like my brother, I might have been able to pull it off, but half human, my emotions were my weakness. I wasn’t capable of it.

I shoved open the door, shielding my eyes from the piercing brightness of the winter sun. Crossing in front of Nica’s car toward the limo, I tried to plaster an easy smile across my lips, but it felt wooden, like trying to snap twigs. My hands trembled. I clutched them in front of me as the limo’s rear door opened. I can’t do this… I can’t do this…

Akil emerged from the back of the car. The sunglasses shielding his eyes made it impossible for me to accurately read his expression. He wasn’t smiling. His lips pulled thin. My heart did a little skip. I can’t do this.

“Hey,” I gushed, forcing too much glee into the single word in my desperation to appear innocent.

Akil stood behind the open door, a hand placed on the roof of the car. He turned his head to take in Nica’s car beside us, and the closed shutters on the workshop. I smiled brightly, but figured it probably came off as a grimace.

“We—er—we had some car trouble.”

“Where’s Nica?”

His voice betrayed nothing, its tone flat. I assumed he was angry, and the stoic mask was there to cover the simmering rage. He hadn’t called his element, but that only meant he wasn’t concerned.

“She’ll be out in a minute. She’s talking to the mechanic… You didn’t have to come all this way. We were having coffee.” I shrugged. “A girls’ afternoon out.”

His gaze dropped a little. The direction of his attention was difficult for me to ascertain behind those dark glasses. Then I realized he was looking at my hands. I clasped them a little tighter together, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. Akil slammed the car door and strode toward me. He took my hands in his and turned them over, revealing the two cuts across my left palm: one from summoning Val and the other from attempting to read the sword. He wouldn’t know why the cuts were there, but there was no way I could disguise my sharp intake of breath.

“What did you do?”

I looked up at him. “I…I summoned Val.”

Akil dropped my hands and snatched the sunglasses from his face. He slowly folded the sunglasses and tucked them over the waistband of his trousers, each movement precise and deliberate. I wasn’t sure how long I could stand there waiting for him to rage at me. My knees were about to give out.

“Why would you do such a foolish thing?” His voice still level, he fixed his dark eyes on me. I’d preferred him with the sunglasses on. Now I had the full weight of his stare on me. I refused to look away, knowing if I did, it would give him the hint of guilt he needed.

“I wanted to ask him why he sent the Hellhounds.”

Ryder stepped from the door with Nica in tow. He swaggered up to Akil, thrusting out a grubby, grease-covered hand. “Nice car, but I wouldn’t leave it around here for long.” Ryder indicated across the street with a nod. The hoods were back—five this time, a veritable crowd. They watched us, hands tucked in their pockets, shoulders slouched, but I began to wonder if there was more to them than first met the eye. Perhaps the little collection of fine cars had brought them out, or Ryder knew them. Were they back-up?

Akil barely registered their presence. He regarded Ryder’s hand with a slight curl of his lip. Once Ryder realized Akil had no intention of shaking his hand, he tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, not in the least bit bothered by Akil’s brush off. “These ladies, huh? Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.” He slapped a hand on the hood of Nica’s car. “Ran out of fuel. Would you believe it? They’re lucky I’m a nice guy. Especially as this little doll here has had a few too many beers.”

Nica flicked her hair out of her face. “I’m fine. Thank you, but… Charlie, you should drive.”

“Sure.” I was all too happy to get in her car. The thought of riding back with Akil made me nauseous. She tossed me the keys. Grateful for the excuse to get away from Akil, I hurried around the car and ducked in the driver’s side, acutely aware of Akil’s stare burning into me. Nica climbed in beside me, and we both watched Akil say a few words to Ryder. Whatever they had been, it was enough to wipe Ryder’s smile off his face. We drove back in virtual silence, the limo a constant presence in the rear view mirrors.

“I won’t say anything,” Nica said.

She wouldn’t meet my glance and didn’t say another word for the entire journey. I believed her, but I wondered what Stefan had said to her to guarantee her silence. I had more to worry about than Nica’s silence. Akil would have questions, and he wasn’t going to like my answers.

Chapter 14

The superb surroundings of the Trade Restaurant bustled with Boston’s elite. Glasses chinked while laughter tickled the air. An authentic décor hinted at its waterside location. Pieces of driftwood decorated the room like well-placed works of art while leather and glass gave the place an air of quality. It was delightful, but I was miserable.

Nica had called Akil’s apartment to inform me that my presence was requested here at 7pm. Akil couldn’t even be bothered to ask me himself. That annoyed me. Nica’s cold shoulder annoyed me. The fact I had no idea how I was going to get myself out of this mess angered me. Frankly, I could barely contemplate surviving another night. I told myself it wasn’t as bad as all that, and then remembered where I’d been before Akil had plucked me out of obscurity. There are things worse than death.

Akil was late. When he eventually arrived, someone accosted him in the doorway, shaking his hand as though he were royalty. Maybe they knew what he was. Maybe they didn’t. It didn’t really matter. Human or demon, he was untouchable. He had it all. Money. Respect. Anyone of the women in the restaurant would have gladly followed him home. All he needed do was catch their eyes. He was a force of nature. An elemental demon walking amongst men. A god.

How the hell was I supposed to beat that?

Akil noticed the half empty wine bottle on the table and suppressed a smile as he sat down opposite me.

“You’re late,” I grumbled.

“Traffic.”

I snorted a laugh. Traffic? He could bend reality around him, and a few stop lights had prevented him from being on time. Right.

A waiter appeared and offered Akil a choice of wine. I glared at him through the brief exchange, watching him taste the wine and express his preference before the waiter poured him a glass. Once the waiter departed, Akil met my stare, his smile hitching up a little. “You’re angry.”

I shrugged. “No.”

He leaned forward, swirling the wine in his glass. “You are angry with me.” He, on the other hand, appeared to be in quite a good mood, as though my anger pleased him.

“Yes.” I sat forward, planting an elbow on the table and picking up my wine. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“Sometimes.”

I bit into my lip. A flicker of anger ignited inside me like a pilot light. From that one little light, an inferno could blaze, but right now it was controlled. “What are you doing, Akil?”

“What do you mean?” Oh, playing coy now was he?

“Let’s cut the bullshit.” A few of the other diners in the restaurant glanced our way. Akil also found that amusing. “What’s going on? The workshop? The Hellhounds? Did you know a demon attacked me in the stairwell at your hotel? Damn thing nearly chewed my face off.”

“You’re surprised?”

That little flicker of anger, it flared brighter, my element stirring, awakening. “Are you doing this to me?”

“No.” He said the word softly. Both of us leaned close enough that he didn’t need to raise his voice. “How many times do you need me to say it?”

“It’s not Val. I asked.” I waved my left hand. The wounds from earlier in the day were scabbed over but still sore.

“That was idiotic.” He pointed a finger at me, smile failing. “You’re very lucky he didn’t turn you inside out.”

“He couldn’t. I protected myself.” Ha! See? Not so stupid. I decided not to mention how my brother had tried to skewer me. “He said he didn’t send those hounds, so who else, Akil? There’s only one other demon I know who has enough power to control those beasts.”

“And this one demon you say you know, did he save you from an abusive owner, the very same owner that sheered a wing from your ethereal body and destroyed your mind? Did this demon give you the tools you needed to exact your revenge on your owner? Did he protect you from that day to this one? Has he ever hurt you? Ever?” Embers of heat briefly sparkled in Akil’s dark eyes before vanishing as he blinked.

And that’s where my argument always fell over. I sucked in a breath and closed my eyes, rubbing my hand over them. “No.”

“I don’t deserve your anger, Muse.”

I opened my eyes to see him watching me. “So who does?”

“I don’t know. Why does one demon have to be to blame? You’ve ruffled enough wings to infuriate a whole hoard of demons. Look at that detective; who I saved you from, in case you’d conveniently forgotten that as well. He was just one of many. What does it matter? If you did as I asked and stayed with me, none of this would happen.”

He knew all the right words, but it wasn’t enough anymore. “Why me? I’m just a half-blood. Why do they even care if I live or die?”

The waiter appeared with his pen and pad. “Are you ready to order?”

Akil glared at him with enough force to make the poor guy squirm in his shoes and slink off. Akil picked up his glass of wine and took a generous sip. “There is something I’ve… neglected to mention.”

“Oh?”

He swept a pertinent gaze about the restaurant. “Not here.”

“Then let’s leave.” I pushed my glass to the middle of the table, about to stand, when Akil’s hand covered mine, his warm fingers closing, holding me tightly.

“No. We order. We eat. And we enjoy each other’s company.”

The heat from his hand wove its way up my arm, its sensuous touch rooting me to my seat. His words weren’t a request. A part of me resented being told what to do, but the power in his words teased through my human barriers and did peculiar things to my demon half. There was no denying the control he had over me, over the demon inside of me. She would roll over and let him tickle her belly if she could, and I couldn’t blame her. She was me, and there was a large part of me that desired everything about Akil. How else does a woman fall in love with a demon?

Once I’d shrugged off my anger, I’d actually enjoyed the meal. The food was fantastic and Akil had all the right levels of charming with an undercurrent of wicked innuendo that had me nearly salivating with the thought of what we might get up to. He hadn’t got to where he was by bullying his way to the top. His suave exterior, irresistible charm, and outright sexy demeanor were virtually impossible to deny. The evening air had a frosty bite when we left the restaurant, prompting me to pull my coat tighter around me as we walked along the waterfront. Yachts of all shapes and sizes bobbed in their moorings, rigging clinking against the masts. We leaned against the railing beside a vast yacht with a helicopter on its retracted top deck.

I took a deep breath of sea air. There was something pure about the sea, its endless ebb and flow, timeless and constant. It would be there long after I’d gone, maybe even outlast my brother. I hoped so. Akil hugged me against his side. His jacket was over my shoulders, keeping out the worst of the chill. We stood like that for a few minutes. I listened to his breathing, let the warmth of him soak into me. The sky above sparkled with diamond stars. The water below was a bottomless black darkness.

He turned me to face him. The press of his body, coupled with the lightheaded effects of the alcohol, conspired to rouse temptation in me. As he lifted a hand to my face, I leaned my cheek into his palm, closing my eyes and sighing.

His lips brushed mine. “Why did you leave me?” he whispered.

It was the only single question I could never answer in a way he would understand, and perhaps that was an answer in itself. He would never understand what it meant to be human. He could pretend, but he had none of the fragility of life. It wasn’t even that though. He wouldn’t know the joys of the simple things in life because he was always playing the grander game. We were like ants to him, milling back and forth, our destinations of no interest. I’d only caught his eye because I’d belonged to Damien.

Five years I’d been Charlie, and it had been the best five years of my otherwise wretched life.

“I didn’t leave you.” I rested my forehead against his, moistening my lips as a depth of sadness dragged my mood down. “I left behind the part of me that’s demon.”

“After everything I did for you.” His hand pushed against my face. Only when I felt his touch tremble, did I open my eyes. I searched his eyes. Slivers of heat fragmented the dark irises. It had never really occurred to me that I could have hurt him. But standing beside him, my gaze lost in the maelstrom of emotion in his eyes, I realized I had. I’d walked away from him after everything he had done for me. I’d turned my back on him.

I stood on my tiptoes and pressed my lips against his. When he didn’t immediately respond, I pulled back a little. “Akil?” The way he held my gaze, his eyes ablaze with heat, told me something was wrong. I caught a glimmer of emotion like nothing I’d seen from him. Before I could process it, his lips met mine with a ferocious hunger. I immediately succumbed, but a fragment of uncertainty had splintered in the back of my mind. I’d seen something in Akil that struck fear through my heart like the piercing jab of a rapier. Hatred.

“You want to know why they seek your demise?” he breathed, pinning me back against the railing. His hand roamed down my waist, over my hip, and gripped my thigh, hitching my leg up, enabling me to hook it around him and pull him tighter against me. I couldn’t think clearly. His kisses burned on my cheek, my neck, branding my trembling skin.

“Yes,” I hissed.

“You’re not half a demon.”

He let his element roll over me. The warm flush of it across my skin aroused my element. My demon woke from her slumber, summoned like a cobra at the beckoning call of her charmer. I struggled to pull her back, fearing she might spill over my skin and reveal herself right here by the marina.

He smothered my mouth with his, blunt teeth nipping gently at my lip. “There is no such thing as half a demon. Inside…” He splayed a hand across my chest. “You are whole.”

His hand roamed higher, fingers easing behind my neck. “You’re entirely human and demon, and they despise you for it.” His grip tightened around my neck while the demon inside me rode higher, fighting to be free. I tried to rein her back in, but Akil’s hardened grip distracted me. I couldn’t breathe. I dug my fingers in behind his, trying to pry his hand free as my demon burst out of my flesh, enveloping me.

Akil took a few steps back to admire his handiwork. I stood bathed in my demon form and tried to consider my actions, tried to think clearly about what I was doing, but the chaos spiraled out of control. I couldn’t reason with chaos. It wanted the madness, the hunger, the glory of destruction. He could see me battling for control but wasn’t preventing me from manifesting. If anything, he was enjoying his personal freak show and my outright failure.

“What are you doing?” I panted. My wing sprouted from my back, tugging at my flesh as it unfurled. My right side slumped. The weight of the one wing pushed me down, while the opposite stump protruded uselessly.

“You’re beautiful.”

I was dangerous, not beautiful. He was calling my element, luring all of it out of me but with nowhere for it to channel, I would fall victim to its wrath.

“Stop.” Another wave of heat washed over me, its receding edge dragging the last vestiges of power out of me. I dropped to my knees, giving myself over to her completely because it was inevitable. I couldn’t control her, not like this, not with a demon of Akil’s lineage pulling my strings.

“Akil, please… Don’t do this. I can’t…” I slumped over, one hand on the ground. “I can’t control it.” Heat from the earth pooled about me. I felt the residual warmth from the city shoring me up, an unending supply of chaos to fuel my lust for destruction. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but before long I wouldn’t have a choice.

Akil stood over me. “This is what you are.” He took my hand and pulled me to my feet, apparently impervious to the tendrils of my power lashing around him.

“How dare you?” A snarl rippled across my lips. “You think I won’t use this? You think I can’t? You have no idea what you’ve done.” My voice no longer sounded like mine. My demon spoke through me. The words echoed in on themselves.

Akil reached a hand through the shimmering veil surrounding me, as if to stroke my face, but the thought of his invasive touch only angered me further. How dare he play me like this? I batted his hand away with a growl. When he tried again, I planted both hands on his shoulders and shoved him back.

He just smiled. I peered through my demon guise and watched his demon form emerge, framing his human vessel so that both man and demon existed, one layered over the other. Mammon leered at me, his leathery wings held aloft. Embers fizzed along their ragged edges. I cocked my head to the side, closing the fingers of my right hand into a fist while pooling energy into my arm. It came willingly, like an eager pet, rushing into me. I flung the blast of heat outward, feeling it peel over my arm and spill from my fingers. Akil staggered back, lifting a hand, palm out. He laughed.

By that point, I’d had enough of the games. I summoned everything I could call, pulling heat from every surface, teasing it from the tiniest of molecules and drawing it into my very being. I drew the lingering heat from the metal of the engine of the boat behind me. The lights, central heating systems, electricity cables, even the residual warmth inside the walls of the nearby buildings, the ground beneath our feet. It came freely to me, rushing from every crevice to bolster my strength.

“Nobody uses me, Akil,” my demon snarled. “And you’re a fool if you think you can.”

He backed up and gleefully shook off his mortal appearance. His truly demonic being appeared before me. He smiled, betraying rows of pointed teeth behind black lips. A chuckle rumbled through him like distant thunder. I lashed out, cracking a whip-like tendril of fire in the air before thrashing it across his chest. He flinched but opened his arms, his muscles quivering as the wound I’d opened instantly resealed itself.

I lashed the tendril of heat at him again, catching him across the face. A gash smoldered across his cheek before the leathery skin stitched itself back together. My demon roared her frustration, not just at him, but at everything. The torture we’d endured, and then my attempt to forget she even existed and now these numerous attempts on our life ignited a molten river of rage. I lifted both hands, holding them in front of me and balling the free-flowing energy between them. My fingers, blackened like coal, framed the pulsating sphere. Its heat rippled in the air around me.

“You can’t hurt me, Muse.” Mammon’s voice resounded in my head.

“I already did.” I saw him falter. Even with him in his demon state, I could see his features pitch into a frown. I launched the radiating sphere at him, cast with it every ounce of anger and frustration in me. I funneled it all into that attack with a scream of rage that shattered the glass in the buildings behind him. Alarms shrilled in the air as the flow of energy slammed into Mammon. He deflected it with ease at first, but as the flow strengthened, its blanching heat flooded over him, forcing him to stumble back. Seeing him hesitate only drove me forward. I called more power into me, letting it flow through me and blast outward, taking with it a lifetime worth of fury.

Mammon found his back against the wall, wings pinned flush against the granite blocks, and still I poured everything through me, channeling it all down my arms so it could spill from my hands. Suddenly he lunged, plowing a shoulder right into my stomach to drive me back. I hadn’t seen him conjure the ethereal blade, but I saw it now, right before he lifted it above his head. I had a moment to appreciate the beauty of its shimmering blade before falling. Mammon’s demon face sneered down at me as I reached for him, but I was fast falling away from him. A cool breeze brushed against my smoldering flesh right before the water engulfed me, quenching the blazing rage within a few breathless seconds. My demon retreated inside me so quickly that she knocked the air from my lungs. I gulped water, a current of bubbles fluttering in front of my eyes. My lungs burned for air. My head pounded.

I didn’t know which way was up. I kicked out and twisted, desperately seeking the surface but saw only darkness. My demon cowered inside me. The water completely robbed her of any helpful input. My attempts to summon my element were met with spluttering denials.

I’m drowning…

That wasn’t quite how I’d envisaged bowing out of this life and certainly not by Akil’s hand. Quiet descended over me. I still thrashed, my limbs desperately seeking purchase in the endless black. My chest heaved, lungs flooded with water, but I didn’t mind so much. I could watch it all from afar, as though it were happening to another poor soul, not me. It was okay. I’d be okay. It no longer hurt.

Chapter 15

Salt water bubbled up my throat. I bucked against the wooden boards beneath me and coughed water from my lungs. My stomach heaved up water and the remains of my meal, dumping it unceremoniously on the decking beside me. I spluttered and spat, my throat burning, eyes watering, but I was alive.

“She’s okay!”

I didn’t recognize the voice, or the people looming over me. Someone rushed in and wrapped a blanket around me, saying the paramedics were on the way. I might have muttered something about being fine, which of course I clearly was not. It took a few minutes before I could stand. Flashing blue lights danced off the yachts around me. Police cars and fire trucks lined the marina. Glass glistened on the roadway. An ambulance peeled its way through the crowd. Someone asked me if I knew what had happened. I shook my head quickly, wet hair clinging to my cheeks. The marina looked as though it had survived a bomb blast. I began to tremble, shock rattling my bones. I couldn’t quite breathe. My head spun. I had to stop walking and clutch hold of the stranger who’d been helping me. When the paramedics finally got to me, I needed them.

By the time I arrived at the city hospital, I’d regained some of my wits. I couldn’t stay there, not without them asking too many questions. I still had the death of a detective hanging over me not to mention a Prince of Hell trying to kill me. At the first opportunity, I found the washrooms and attempted to clean myself up. My reflection didn’t look like me at all. The woman in the mirror looked like death warmed up—literally. I ignored her terrified eyes, her bruised flesh, and dozens of cuts and tried to gather my thoughts into a coherent order.

“He tried to kill me.” My wide-eyed reflection peered back at me. The demon inside me twisted anxiously, knotting a ball of pain. I could argue I’d brought it on myself, but Akil had been the one poking the sleeping tiger with a stick. He should have left well alone.

There was nothing I could do with my appearance. I tried to comb my fingers through my tangled hair, but the knots refused to give in. I’d have to walk out of the hospital and hope I didn’t get stopped. Outside the washroom door, a hand gripped my arm. I turned, armed with a stock response about being fine, only to find Stefan frowning at me. I snatched my arm free of his grip and brushed my hair back, preferring to watch the people flow through the corridor around us than see the concern on his face. He was going to be nice, and if he did that, I’d likely cry. I sure as hell was not crying in front of him, or anyone.

“I’m sorry.” He stepped into me as someone briskly brushed by him. I backed up, finding the wall to lean against as he bowed his head, searching my expression. “Are you alright?”

I nodded curtly, avoiding his stare.

Stefan hesitated as if searching for the right words. “I didn’t think he’d…”

“Drown me?” I shrugged. “Me neither.”

Stefan looked as though he had a few hundred questions, but my general washed out appearance must have shocked him into silence because he stayed quiet.

“Can we…” I tried to swallow and winced. My throat felt as though I’d attempted to drink shattered glass. “Can we get out of here?” I couldn’t look at him. I wasn’t ready for questions or any of the answers. I didn’t want to think at all and almost wished I could hide like my demon, just curl up in a ball and pretend it never happened.

Stefan’s car looked like a rental and smelled like one too, but the quiet comfort inside immediately lulled me into a sense of security that I hadn’t had since, well—forever. I twisted in the front seat, pulling my legs up to my chest and wedged myself there, chin resting on my knees as I watched the city blur past. The shivering wouldn’t stop, and my throat burned, constantly reminding me how close I’d come.

“Are you okay?”

“Stop asking me that.”

After twenty minutes, I noticed we were in the suburbs. The houses were sparsely scattered along the tree-lined streets. Then Stefan pulled the rental car onto Route 95 North. We joined the four lanes of traffic, and before long, Boston was little more than an orange glow against the night sky in the rear view mirrors. The drone of the wheels on the road eventually lulled me to sleep.

We arrived at a lakeside house. Its whiteboard timber-clad façade and wrap-around porch did a grand job of declaring it a New England character house. The interior looked as though it had once undergone some modernization—in the seventies—but it was clean, functional, and had some of those wonderful anti-elemental-markings on every wall. Stefan let me wander as he retrieved a duffle bag from the car and dumped it in the middle of the lounge.

“This where you bring all your girls before you bury them in the woods?” I broke the silence we’d harbored since Boston.

He chuckled. “This is—was my father’s house.”

I remembered that Nica had told me his father was dead, but I wasn’t comfortable enough with Stefan to ask about him.

“I don’t suppose you have a change of clothes in that bag?” I smelled the salt water on me, combined with the delightful odor of diesel, vomit, and my own burnt-out smoky residue.

Stefan hefted the bag onto the coffee table and unzipped it to reveal a selection of guns and swords. It made for an interesting overnight bag but was not exactly packed with home comforts.

I screwed up my face. “Is there a shower here?”

“Sure. It’ll be lukewarm. Take a right up the stairs. It’s on your left. Check for spiders.”

He looked deadpan serious until I began to climb the stairs and saw him enjoy a little smile as he busied himself checking the contents of the bag. He looked up suddenly, catching me watching him.

“You’re safe here.”

I nodded, afraid my voice might betray exactly how much that meant to me and then hurried upstairs.

Chapter 16

I slept the remainder of the night on the patterned couch, with the weapons strewn about the coffee table within reach should Akil burst through the door. Without an invite from the owner of the house, Akil couldn’t enter, but that didn’t stop me from waiting anxiously for his arrival. Borrowing one of Stefan’s shirts to sleep in had been a good idea in the middle of the night when I was exhausted and didn’t care. Now it was early morning, and I wasn’t entirely comfortable walking around the house with only his shirt covering my dignity, and not much dignity at that.

The smell of coffee lured me into the kitchen where the panoramic lakeside view immediately beckoned me toward the windows. The land below the house swept down to the water’s edge. The lake stretched to either side of the expanse of windows and beyond, hidden behind towering pine and birch trees. I couldn’t see another house in the isolated landscape, let alone another person. I’d never been so detached from the city and wondered if I should feel isolated. I didn’t. I felt safe.

“Hey.”

Stefan’s sudden appearance made me jump. I tugged self-consciously on the edges of the shirt I’d borrowed, pulling it down as far as it would go—not very. If he noticed, he didn’t show it. Points for him for keeping his eyes to himself.

“That’s some view…” I gazed out the window again.

“In the winter, it’s breathtaking.”

I skewed a smile at him. Of course he’d like the White Mountains in the winter. He would literally be in his element. He’d dressed casually in jeans and a black shirt, the dark color brightening his astonishing eyes. I had to wonder how he passed for human at all. Those eyes were compelling to the point of distraction.

“Coffee?” He gestured at the percolator already working its magic.

“Definitely.”

Watching him breeze about the kitchen, it occurred to me that I hadn’t really considered his part in all of this. He continued to show up and help me out of sticky situations, and yet he hadn’t really asked anything of me. He’d mentioned in passing how he wanted my help to kill Val, but the subject hadn’t been broached since. It wasn’t as though we’d actually sat and talked. We could now though.

“Are you going to ask me what happened?” I watched him pour the black coffee into two chunky mugs.

“I know. Half the demon population of Boston knows.” He flicked his gaze to me. “Muse, you practically drained the city center of heat and threw it all at Akil. I didn’t need to be there to feel that.” That was a fair assessment, although I was still trying to figure out how exactly it had happened. “But I was there…at the end.”

He passed me the mug of coffee and a box of sugar cubes. “I saw what you were doing—what he did. You were in the water for five minutes. At least.”

I sipped the coffee, letting it scald my lips. Five minutes was a long time. I remembered the dark and the cold. So damn cold. The water had snuffed out my element in one gut-wrenching blow. Had I not been drowning, the sudden quenching of the inferno raging through me could easily have sundered my soul in two. It would be like pouring ice water into a roaring forge. Anything caught between those two opposing forces could easily succumb. Had Akil known that when he’d pushed me over the edge?

“You didn’t think to help?” I’d meant to ask lightly, but a quiver undermined the confidence of my words.

Stefan gave me a hint of a smile, making it seem sympathetic. “And get between you two? I’d rather face the Hellhounds again.”

I couldn’t blame him for that. If Akil hadn’t have killed him, I might have. My thoughts hadn’t exactly been my own.

“Akil waited for you to resurface.”

“How long?” I blinked too quickly and leaned against the kitchen cupboards, needing a little more support than my legs could offer.

“A few minutes. Some people showed up. Someone called the cops. He didn’t hang around after that. I couldn’t see you in the water, let alone save you. You were lucky, really lucky. The two of you had managed to wake the entire marina. Someone saw you…” He averted his gaze to the windows. “They pulled you out the water...” He paused, and I had to wonder what I’d looked like. Limp. Cold. Pale skin. Blue lips. “I thought you were dead.”

“I’ve been dead before. Several times. It’s nothing to write home about,” I said. He mirrored my smile, but he wasn’t buying my bravado. It was, however, true. Damien had enjoyed bringing me back from the brink of death, nursing me back to health so he could start all over again. The unwanted memories vied for attention, forcing my eyes closed. I rubbed at my aching forehead.

“How are you holding up?” Stefan asked.

Considering my on-off again boyfriend had almost succeeded in killing me, and how my demon-self had attempted to summon the molten rock from beneath her feet… Yeah, I was doing fine. “I’m okay.” It was a lie, but what else was I supposed to say? “I think you were right…about Akil. What you didn’t see last night… He…” I rested the coffee on the countertop and admired the view of the lake. The serenity beyond the windows helped level my fragmented thoughts. “I hurt him. I mean, when I left a few years ago.”

Stefan sat at the pine kitchen table, leaning back a little in the seat. “You walked away from the Prince of Greed.”

I skewed a sideways glance at him, but his habitual smugness had evaporated. If anything, he looked weary.

“That sealed your fate, right there.”

“But…” I didn’t need to say it again… but you don’t know Akil like I do. “He’s never hurt me. Not once.”

Stefan sighed. “He tried to kill you.”

“No, he didn’t. He was deliberately baiting me. That’s all. He summoned my demon, and I lost control. He wasn’t trying to kill me. He wanted… it – her.” I tapped my chest.

“Muse, listen to yourself. You’re defending a demon, and not any demon, a Prince of Hell. They aren’t known for their patience and understanding.”

I shook my head. Akil was right about one thing. Stefan would never understand. He spent his life killing demons. He had it simple. I’d spent my life among them. I might despise the majority of them, but I knew them. They were family. Twisted, bitter, dangerous, slippery, back-stabbing, but family all the same.

I held Stefan’s sorry expression. He pitied me. I knew that. We weren’t ever going to agree.

Stefan finally broke the standoff. “There are some things we need to do. Are you up to it?”

“Depends what it is.”

“We need to revoke that invitation. It’s easily done, but we need to do that soon, before he realizes you’re alive and missing.”

“Okay.” I was up to that. “And?”

“The sword.”

Ah, the sword. “I don’t know.” Stefan stood so suddenly I jumped. The cool clarity in his eyes had returned, scolding me with a frosty glare as he passed by me. Apparently, I didn’t have a choice.

Revoking the invitation was easy enough, as it turns out. A bowl of warm water to house my pale reflection, and a few utterances later, it was over. I didn’t feel any different, but Stefan assured me it was enough. As with anything demon-related, it was the intention behind the symbolism that held the power.

He left me alone for an hour while he went into the nearest town for groceries. I took the opportunity to be nosey and gave myself a little tour of the lakeside house. Stefan had said it was his father’s. If that was the case, Stefan’s father had been an avid reader because the books lining the wall beneath the stairs were all old, leather-bound editions. The majority focused on the subject of demons. I plucked a few from the tight rows and thumbed through them. Much was already known about demons, but not nearly enough. The demons kept it that way, preferring to flit through the veil without the hindrance of worshippers and scholars tripping them up.

Many myths were forged on truth. Christianity had attempted to reveal the veil, but they’d mixed the message up with too much of the divine. There is no divine entity, no good versus evil, no heaven or hell. It’s all part of the netherworld, hidden just out of sight in the corners of your vision. That flicker of movement at the end of a poorly lit street, the tingling across your flesh as you sense you’re being watched. The demons are right there, with us, and yet just out of reach. Some tinkered on this side of the veil, some preferred the netherworld. Akil liked it here. He enjoyed walking among the people, playing their games, feeding off their greed. If there’s one thing we mortals have a lot of, it’s greed. Other demons hop back and forth, preferring quick visits. Val despises it here. To him, we’re worthless bags of flesh and bone.

Wandering about the house, I found a framed photograph of a grizzled man in his early forties standing by the water’s edge, fishing rod in one hand, the catch of the day—a salmon—on the grass at his feet. He had a substantial grin on his weathered face. On a second glance, I recognized a fierce glint of pride in his eye. Just like his son. He had to be Stefan’s father. Stefan had his mother’s eyes but his father’s mischievous grin.

Returning to the bag of weapons on the coffee table, I noticed the katana protruding from among the other swords. The damned thing was haunting me. I wrapped my hand around the handle and lifted it out. A new scabbard covered the blade, made of carbon fiber by the looks of the interwoven sheen. The sword felt light in my hand, with a perfect balance between the handle and blade. I could never forge something so labor intensive. The process took months and involved upward of four swordsmiths. Of all the weapons in Stefan’s bag of tricks, this one was priceless.

I closed my left hand around the scabbard and pulled it a few inches free of the guard, exposing an hypnotic swirl of light on the tempered edge of the blade. I’d revealed just a hint of metal, just a little tease, but I couldn’t resist freeing the entire length of the sword before laying the scabbard on the couch behind me. I tipped the blade up, watching the sunlight from the window drape across the carbon-steel. The crisscrossed pattern of leather around the handle had been cut from shark skin, tough, light, and durable.

It felt good in the hand, weighty with potential. I turned my left hand up and lay the blade across my palm. Almost immediately, a snap of energy danced up my arm, just enough to release a tickle of excitement inside me. My element simmered but didn’t wake. I should have left it alone, should have put it back in its scabbard and tucked it away safely in the bag. The horror in that blade might have stayed there for a little while longer, but my old friend, curiosity, lead me astray.

I sat on the edge of the couch with the sword across my lap. I was safe here. Stefan would be back soon. Why not get it over with? I ran my finger down the sharp edge, watching a bright red droplet of blood gather at my fingertip before dripping freely on to the floor. I curled my fingers into my palm and waited for the blood to pool, then smeared it over both hands. When I placed my hands gently on the blade, the images rushed me so suddenly I jerked rigid, sucking in a gasp.

The lakeside house and its comfortable decor vanished. The lake and mountains beyond became a distant dream. I could see, hear and smell the city. The noise, the lights, the colors. The images printed themselves on my thoughts, stamping over one another in their rush to be seen. I struggled to keep up, my breathless panting and the rush of blood in my ears, all that anchored me to my body. The sword plunged through flesh. I cried out, then, now, in my head. I couldn’t see who it was, but I heard his liquescent gasps, lungs bubbling with blood.

Voices, male. The room spun. The city lights behind the windows swirled like fireflies in the air. Red coat, a smiling face. Use this, Akil said, tossing the sword at the man in the red coat. He caught the sword, snatching it from the air with one hand, a half-smile pulling at his lips. The image shattered, fragmenting into hundreds of pieces before each sliver rushed back together, pulled as if by a magnetic force. I saw the blade sink into a man’s chest again, felt the metal carve precisely through muscle and lung tissue. He choked on the rising blood, spluttering it over his lips as he fell forward. I saw his face.

I knew him.

Sam.

The sheer wave of horror tore me from the vision, thrusting me back into my trembling body like an unwelcome visitor. My stomach lurched. A disorientating pain sliced through my skull. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could barely remember where I was. All I saw was Sam’s face and the fear and confusion in his eyes. Hunched over, I sunk my fingers into the rug beneath me, digging my nails in as a wretched groan escaped from my lips.

“Muse…”

Stefan’s hand rested on my back. His touch ignited the fury within me. I snapped my head up, snarling at him. “Get away from me.”

He lifted his hands in surrender, leaning back on his knees, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he gritted his teeth. “I was there, but I had no hand in what he did.”

A sob bubbled up my throat, followed by another. I tried to keep it all inside, to blockade the rush of grief, but sorrow swept aside what little strength I had left. Collapsing back against the couch, I covered my eyes with my bloodied hand, not wanting to witness or believe what I’d seen. “Not Sam…” I choked on the words as cool tears trickled over my cheeks. “Not him.”

Stefan’s hand pressed lightly on my shoulders. His grip tightened as I trembled.

“Don’t.” I shoved at him, pushing him away. “Don’t touch me.” But he caught my hand, then my arm. I tried to tug free, needing to retreat, but his grip tightened, preventing me from fighting him and then his arms closed around me, holding me close to his chest. Trapped against him, listening to the sound of his steady heartbeat, the fight in me evaporated, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. I cried so hard the sobs wracked my shivering body. I clutched his shirt in my hands and buried my head against him, welcoming the embrace as though it could block out the truth, shut out all the anguish and pain. My element thrashed inside me, but the demon slunk back, cowering at my core. Perhaps it was Stefan’s embrace that held her back, or the symbols on the walls, because I didn’t feel the raging heat that I should have. I just felt fragile and alone.

Chapter 17

I sat at the end of the jetty with the shimmering water of the lake all around me. The cold wind teased through my hair and nipped at my face, forcing me to hunker down and tug Stefan’s heavy leather coat around me, pulling my legs against my chest. But I wasn’t going inside. I couldn’t. Not yet. Stefan had known. He’d known Sam was dead days ago, and he hadn’t said a word, preferring instead to force me to witness it firsthand.

Akil had killed Sam. There was no denying it. No amount of lies could refute it. I’d seen it.

I remembered the message Sam had left me. A job, he’d said, one he couldn’t refuse. Akil. Phoenix Developments. The biggest property development firm in the city had invited Sam with the promise of a contract, and he’d gone willingly, walked right into Akil’s office with no idea he was meeting with one of the Seven Princes of Hell. I could imagine Akil’s charming greeting, his easy-going mannerisms, and all the while he was playing Sam for a fool.

I should have told Sam the truth about me. If I’d been straight with him, told him everything about me, he might still be alive. In trying to protect him, I’d left him exposed, like a lone sheep in a pack of wolves. Tears moistened my cheeks, but the sobs had died. I hugged my knees against me and watched the ripples on the lake. The wind hissed through the trees behind me. I felt Stefan watching me from inside, probably wondering whether he should leave me or intervene. He had better leave me.

Not a single word. He’d swaggered into my workshop. I want you to read this blade… Why didn’t he just say, “Akil killed Sam and he’s coming after you?” What was so hard about that?

I thought of the phone messages I’d left for Sam. I’d said I was sorry, that I was wrong, that I was afraid. He would never hear those messages. I should never have got involved with him. He was a good man, one of the best. I wasn’t meant to have someone like that, tainted as I was. I should have stayed away. He’d died because of me. It didn’t matter how you looked at it. The blood was on my hands.

“Come inside.” Stefan stood behind me. I hadn’t even heard him approach.

“Screw you.” I sniffed. The wind whipped my hair across my face and in front of my eyes so that I had to raise a trembling hand to sweep it back.

“Please. Just come inside.”

“You’re no better than Akil.” I rested my chin on my knee, teeth chattering against the cold. “For all I know, you’re working for him.”

“I am.”

I tensed and turned my head to look up at him.

Stefan crouched behind me. “At least, that’s what he believes.” He held out a hand, fingers curled lightly into his palm. His gentle smile tried to reassure me. “Come inside.”

I watched the wind tease his hair about his face. His brilliant eyes locked unblinking on mine.

“How do you think I knew about your workshop?” he asked. “Knew what your demon name was, knew about your talent for reading metal? Akil hired me, Muse. He believes he hired an assassin. I was to play with you before killing you, and his involvement would never be revealed. But he’s been deliberately misled. I’m an Enforcer. I protect people like you, caught in the crossfire.” He paused, offering his hand again. “Come inside.”

It felt good to wear properly fitting clothes again, even if they weren’t mine. Stefan had picked some up on his visit to town, guessing my size surprisingly well. Boot cut jeans and a white V-neck long-sleeved top. Simple, but comfortable, and that’s what I needed. I was a long way from home, and my old life had been torn to shreds. I had nothing to my name, nothing to call my own. Even the clothes on my back had been bought for me. I couldn’t go back to my apartment, and I dared not go back to Akil. There was no one else. Even Stefan’s motives were dubious. I had begun to trust him; why wouldn’t I? He’d been the one ray of light in this whole wretched nightmare, but I could no more trust him than I could Akil. By his own admission, he was working for Akil—hired to play with me and execute me.

Stefan planted a tub of chocolate ice cream on the kitchen table and handed me a spoon. We hadn’t spoken since his confession on the jetty, and in that time, the silence had begun to drag like a trawler net between us. Unspoken words weighed us down.

He saw me frowning at the ice cream. “What? Don’t tell me you don’t like ice cream?” He looked shocked enough that I had to smile.

“Sure.” Ice cream before lunch? It was just a bit odd. That was all. I sat across the table from him and watched as he popped open the lid. “I gather you like ice cream?”

An eyebrow twitched comically. “Snow demon.” He shrugged.

His oddly placed humor made it difficult for me to stay angry with him. Leaning forward, I sunk my spoon into the ice cream, cracking the hard chocolate layer before scooping out a bite-sized chunk. It did taste pretty good.

“I meant what I said.” He flicked those dazzling eyes to me before scooping out some ice cream for himself. “You’re safe here.”

My smile fell short of meaningful. “I’ve never been safe. You think you being here makes me safe? Or the remote location? He’ll find me. Nobody escapes Akil. If he doesn’t… some other demon will. I’ve only survived this long because he protected me. I’ve always belonged to one demon or another. On my own… I’m vulnerable.”

He bowed his head, pressing his lips as though struggling to find the right words. When he looked up, he leaned on the table, closing the distance between us. “They lied to you. You’re not vulnerable. You’re powerful.” Pointing the spoon at me, he said in all seriousness, “They want us dead because we have it all.”

“What do you mean?” I jabbed at the ice cream with my spoon, chipping off frozen chunks.

“They kill half-bloods because we’re dangerous, preferring to scrub us from existence rather than regret it later.”

I licked my lips, twisting the spoon in my fingers. Akil had said something by the marina, right before he’d dragged my demon out of me. There’s no such thing as half a demon. I looked up at Stefan, meeting his eyes. A flicker of understanding passed between us.

“They’ve lied to you since birth, Muse. It was that or kill you.”

I laughed. “Okay, say I believe you. What makes us so terrifying?”

“We exist in both worlds. The veil means nothing to us. You and I, we can pass freely between realities. We have the ability to call upon a vast amount of power, not just in this world, but from across the veil too. Full-bloods can’t do that. Not even a Prince of Hell can do that.”

I grunted disbelievingly. “Right. Even if that were true, I could never contain that much power. It’d tear me open…” He looked at me in such a way that I felt a tickle of excitement dance across my skin. Those eyes peered through his lashes. A crooked smile lifted his lips at one corner. “You’ve done it… Haven’t you?” I whispered.

“Twice.” He jabbed his spoon into the ice cream. “It’s not easy to control, but I can show you. I need to show you if we’re going to stop Akil.”

A flicker of hope skittered through me, a fleeting dash of possibility. “You’re not lying?”

“No.”

My demon shifted inside me, a curious resettling as though she were satisfied. I was not yet convinced. “No? Then why did you keep the truth from me?” I dropped my gaze. “About Sam.”

“I couldn’t trust you. If you cared for Akil as much as I thought you did and I told you he’d killed Sam, you wouldn’t have believed me. I tried to call you after it had happened. To warn you… but you’d have gone straight to Akil. I’m sorry I kept it from you—I am. But the only way you would believe me was to see it for yourself.”

The white noise on my answering machine—the silent messages from Monday morning. They’d been from Stefan. That didn’t explain why Stefan had been there, in my vision. Why he had smiled when Akil had tossed him the sword. “I saw your expression. When I looked into that blade… You were there, right by Akil, when he killed Sam.”

Stefan stabbed the spoon into the ice cream and left it there, leaning back in his chair. “I didn’t know who Sam was. I’d been about to leave—our business transaction was over with—when Sam arrived. I was late—he was early—whatever. Akil thought it would make the ideal opportunity to test my allegiance. I had no idea he was going to kill him in front of me.” Stefan rubbed a hand across his face. “The plan was to infiltrate Akil’s operation. We’d set up the assassin identity and put the word out, knowing he’d eventually bite.”

“You and Ryder did this? You set Akil up from your garage and Ryder’s kitchen? I find that hard to believe. Akil’s got people everywhere. He’d have checked you out.”

Stefan crossed his arms and leaned back. “It’s not just Ryder and me. There are others. The Enforcers don’t stop with me. You think Akil’s got people everywhere? You don’t know the half of it.”

It was a great deal to take in, and I wasn’t entirely sure I believed any of it. I set my spoon down on the table, wondering what other secrets were out there. I’d been sheltered by my demon owners—I knew that—and later by Akil. Frankly, I hadn’t gone looking for trouble.

“Why me?” I asked. “Akil hired you to kill me, right? So… Would you have done it? How far were you meant to go?”

“When he told me you were a half-blood… I knew—I knew I couldn’t hurt you.” Stefan’s chair scraped back as he stood. He moved to the kitchen cupboards where the view captured his attention and held onto it. “I had no intention of hurting anyone. It was a ruse to get in…”

I waited, sensing he had more to say. He turned and rested back against the countertop, facing me. “I’ve not met a half-blood before—someone like me.” The perpetual smile had vanished, and I realized he felt the loneliness as keenly as I did. A lifetime of persecution. I had no idea what he’d been through, but being different was never going to be easy. He might not have suffered as I had, at least not physically, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t hurting.

I’d spent so long believing him to be a pillar of strength that I hadn’t even considered the cost to him. He’d become tangled in a battle between a Prince of Hell and little old me, and yet he’d stayed. He could have walked away. He should have.

“Do you see now why I had to know I could trust you?”

I nodded slowly. “You’re taking a big risk, telling me all this. We don’t know one another, not really. I could go to Akil and try to use this information to save my own ass.”

“True.” His smile was back. “But I think you’ll find your ass is beyond saving.”

He was right about that. “Well then.” I replaced the lid on the ice cream. “You’d best teach me how to raise hell because we’re going to need it.”

Chapter 18

Stefan stood in front of me, just within reach. The pine trees surrounding us blotted out most of the dense gray sky. Pine needles blanketed the forest floor. The rich smell of wood sap and pine permeated the air, cleansing the city smog from my lungs. It was cold, the breeze bitter, but all that was about to change.

Apparently the lack of heat in our surroundings would restrict how much of my element I could summon, rendering this experience fairly safe. Or so Stefan assured me. It wasn’t my element we wanted to call. It was my demon. In theory, she would need to manifest, and I would learn to maintain control. From there, the two of us combined, sharing the same space, time, and reality, could draw upon the heat—my element —beyond the veil. I had never attempted such a thing and wasn’t entirely convinced it was even possible. To draw power from beyond the veil would mean stabilizing a link between the two realities. Demons could hop through, but the journey was static. A to B. I was going to summon my element through the veil while keeping the link open: destination B coming to me.

“Don’t look so worried.” Stefan grinned.

He wore his infamous red coat with the buckles strapped closed, pulling his coat tight across his chest. The breeze teased his hair across his face, whipping it in front of his dazzling eyes. Whether he knew it or not, his presence alone made my demon restless. I didn’t know if it was the cool surroundings or just the nerves getting to me, but I felt the chill of him even at arm’s length. From the eager smile, the glint of mischief in his eyes, and the quiver of excitement in his voice, he clearly thrived in this wilderness. Some of that enthusiasm must have rubbed off on me. A trickle of delight shivered down my spine.

“They lied to you, Muse. You’ve spent so long hating half of yourself that you’ve stifled your abilities.” The words rushed from his lips.

“I don’t hate that part of me.” From the twitch of his smile, I knew he saw through my lie. I’d spent my entire life holding her back. She was a part of me, but she’d always been the darkest part, the shadows in the back of my mind, the horror in my depths. I summoned her when I had no other choice because I was afraid of her, scared of the chaos, the undeniable desire for the madness that overwhelmed me every time she broke my surface. Stefan had told me I needed to embrace her, to let her have all of me, to drop the reins and trust her entirely. He made it sound easy.

He nodded once, my cue, and I relaxed the mental barriers that held her back. I closed my eyes, shaking out my hands. There was nothing I could do about the trembling. She would know I was afraid no matter how hard I tried to hide it. This wasn’t about hiding. I had to reveal everything to welcome her in.

A flicker of panic snatched at my breath. What we were doing was dangerous. She could easily smother me, swat my attempts at control aside, and do whatever the hell she pleased. Hence the uninhabited location. She could also turn my efforts against me. Without a specific outlet, the result was always the same. She’d drown me in my element, my punishment for calling her and not releasing her.

So many things could go wrong.

“It’s going to be okay.” Stefan’s voice was laced with a confidence I didn’t share.

The breeze filtered through the branches of the trees. The sound of the wind rose and fell like waves caressing a beach. Slowing my breathing, calming my mind, I called to her. She immediately stretched inside of me, her power flexing beneath my skin. A ripple of heat rode over me, chasing away the bitter mountain air and flooding my body with warmth. Cocooned by her touch, I felt her crawl into my skin, layering her existence over mine. I smiled. With no rage, no resentment, only curiosity fuelling us, her explorative approach felt almost welcome, like an unexpected hug at a family reunion. It felt as though she too was surprised, and it occurred to me that I’d never really been alone.

I tilted my head, eyes still closed, as I felt her fill out my body. Then her warmth broke over my skin and explored. Curious tendrils sought an elemental source. The trees fencing us in, the ground beneath my feet, all held residual warmth but nothing like the potential we found in the city.

“How do you feel?” Stefan asked.

I opened my eyes, fixing him in the center of my gaze. “Good.”

“Okay. Take her to the next level.” His broad grin mirrored the thrill strumming through me.

This was where it got tricky. Usually by now, I’d be experiencing some sort of emotional burst. Rage often sparked the next level, but resentment, fear, and desire all served as triggers. I had none of those things. I would need to invite her to manifest.

I closed my eyes again, shutting out all exterior stimuli. Stefan hadn’t said exactly how I was meant to invite her, but I figured it was like anything when it came to Demons. Intention was enough. I simply focused on relaxing, chasing away every ounce of fear and dread, leaving my mind clear of the resentment I’d harbored for my demon half.

She laughed, the sweet chuckle spilling from my lips as though it were mine.

The only chance you have of defeating Akil is to wield every ounce—every fragment of power you have, and to do that, you must have full control of your demon. Stefan had made it sound so simple.

I snapped open my eyes, fixing my stare back on Stefan. His image shimmered in the heat rolling off me in a haze. She was coming, and my doubts about my own capabilities were beginning to undermine my confidence. My control wavered. I staggered a little as my demon breeched my physical form. She became me. Her ethereal form superimposed itself over my human flesh. Lifting a hand, I saw her blackened skin stretched over mine, her fingers tipped with sharp obsidian claws. My wing opened behind me, stretching upward with a refreshing flick.

Stefan’s expression had hardened. A slight smile still played across his lips, but he’d wisely adopted caution. Once manifested, I am a wild and unpredictable force of nature. Chaos personified. Chaos spiraled at my core. Blazing heat radiated through my chest.

“Summon your element,” Stefan said. “All of it. Reach beyond the veil, and call it to you.” He took a step back, then another, but he kept his eyes on me.

My demon watched his retreat keenly. I felt her measuring him, trying to decide if he was friend or foe. I lifted a hand, letting her trail an explorative ribbon of power from my fingers in his direction. It shimmered in the air with intangible heat. He wouldn’t react well, of that I was sure, but curiosity prevented me from pulling it back. Stance rigid, Stefan let the ribbon of heat twist around his ankle. His opposing chill spilled over my fingers as though my hand touched him. The cool bite of it felt sharp, but it didn’t hurt.

“Muse…” he growled my name, eyes narrowing.

I got the message: stop getting distracted and get on with it. As the power spooled into me, I breathed in, summoning the warmth from everything around us. I called it all forth, gathering it against me, but it wasn’t nearly enough. There was only one other source. The veil. Beyond it lies the netherworld, a place of extremes, a home I’d run from long ago. My brother would sense me the second I breached the veil.

Thoughts of Val turned to niggling doubts and became obstacles. My demon reared up, sensing my weakness, and then she plunged forth, her will overriding mine. The veil tore open between Stefan and me, a ragged wound in the fabric of reality. Beyond it, the heat was immeasurable. My element flooded through the veil into this reality, spiraling around me. I couldn’t catch my breath, let alone control the rush of raw energy spilling into me. The wild element whipped around me, searing nearby branches and burning the ground at my feet. I stood in the center of a molten maelstrom, in the eye of a firestorm, my body alight with heat and flame. It just kept coming, gushing through the veil, over and into me.

I threw open my arms, back arched, wing held high behind me, and summoned it all. Swelling with power, my blackened skin simmering with energy, I heard my laughter twist in the madness. My physical body shone like the center of a star. The tumultuous heat built, fire rushed like liquid through my fingers, my hair, and across my flesh. Limitless power dripped from my flesh. A nuclear reaction charged my demonic core. I felt alive, connected to the source of creation. My humanity melted away. The demon rode high.

The veil began to shatter. The wound broke and disintegrated, its edges flaying, peeling away. I sensed the change. I wanted more. All of it. I wanted to taste the chaos, to swallow it whole and let it consume me.

The gap in the veil failed, collapsing in on itself. Immediately, my source of power vanished. I felt the break like a sword through the chest. Bathed in flame, I raged at the world and flung the heat away from me. Fire rushed outward in a tumbling blast, flattening everything in its path. A whoosh in the negative space behind the tidal wave of flame dropped me to my knees.

It took a few breathless moments for me to ground myself back in reality. Perspiration hissed against my demon skin. Steam rose from my flesh. Wood smoke twisted in the air around me. The ground beneath my feet was scorched to cinders. Hunched over, my wing hanging limp against my back, both my demon and I were spent. I barely had enough energy to lift my head and see Stefan crouch in front of me, drenched from head to toe. His hair clung to his face. His multifaceted ice-wings streamed with rivulets of water. He mustered a smile, but it barely reached the corners of his lips. As he reached out, ice sparkled on his fingers. He shook his head and swept a hand back through his wet hair, fracturing the accumulated ice.

I took his hand firmly in mine and gasped. Power lanced up my arm, a fizzling, darting, pins-and-needles kind of power. Instinct told me to pull away, but he leaned in close, capturing my surprised stare with his iridescent eyes. As I clutched hold of his hand, the curious touch of ice laced its way up my arm, threading through and around the wavering ripples of heat. It should have hurt—in a way it did—but such was the mischievous intensity in Stefan’s expression that I wanted the brittle ice against my sweltering flesh. I wanted to know how it would feel to have those quenching chills writhe over me. It was wrong. Our opposing elements clashed, but it felt so right.

He stood and tugged me to my feet. I stumbled against him, sucking in a gasp as his chill wrapped around me. Shivers sped down my body. I lifted my gaze to his as my demon slipped away, satisfied and exhausted on so many levels. Stefan fought back a smile. He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it and looked away. Following his gaze, I saw the destruction I’d wrought upon the forest. The pine trees stood naked, their bark black against the gray sky, needles scorched from the branches.

Stefan extricated himself from my grip, taking with him the cool wrappings of power. He rolled his shoulders, and the glorious sculpted wings dissipated into flakes of snow before fizzling against the hot earth. He glanced back at me. “You are capable of great things,” he said with conviction.

If by great things, he meant complete destruction, then yes, it would seem so.

I couldn’t sleep. Not surprising considering how I’d torn a hole in the veil and sucked heat out the very fabric of the netherworld. The remnants of adrenalin chased through my veins. My mind buzzed from the overdose of power. Sleep was the last thing on my mind as I lay in the dark, watching the moonlight cast swaying shadows across the walls. My demon sat smug and satisfied inside of me, I felt her languishing in the afterglow of the power she’d tasted.

I tossed aside the sheets and tugged on Stefan’s shirt. The clothes I’d worn in the forest were in the wash. They’d survived, in the same way that my human flesh survived the blistering heat whenever my demon manifested. I can only put it down to the fact that, when my demon stepped into my skin, she protected my fragile human flesh, protecting herself in the process. That didn’t stop her from tearing into me mentally when she didn’t get her way.

I padded barefoot downstairs, startled to find Stefan seated on the couch in near darkness. He saw me and leaned forward to place the photo-frame he’d been holding on the coffee table. When he looked up, the smile didn’t lessen the distant look in his eyes. I lingered on the bottom step of the stairs, hand resting on the banister.

“I couldn’t sleep.” I explained awkwardly, getting the distinct impression I’d intruded on a personal moment.

Elbows on his knees, shirt sleeves rolled up, he bowed his head, rubbing his hands together as if he sought to regain some composure. When he looked up, a few locks of hair had fallen over his face, forcing him to sweep them back. “It’s okay.”

I contemplated returning to the guest bedroom. Half-dressed and intruding on his personal time, I felt a little awkward and out of place. “Erm… are you okay?”

“Sure.”

Clearly, he wasn’t. I’d been expecting some sort of witty comeback making light of our situation. A ‘sure’ wouldn’t cut it. Now I was concerned. It wasn’t like I knew him well, but up until then, he’d pretty much made it all look like a breeze. As though this sort of crap was his day job. His unrelenting confidence had shored-up my complete lack of it. I sat on the edge of the couch across the coffee table from him, tugging the edge of the shirt over my thighs.

“I was wondering something…” I hesitated as his gaze followed my efforts to cover my legs. He quickly flicked his attention back to my face, then elsewhere, anywhere but my eyes. “You’re the same as me, right? I mean. We’re different elements, but you’re powerful too?”

He nodded and settled back in the couch, draping an arm across the back.

“So why do you need me? You started this to get to Akil… Set it all up to get close to him before you even knew who I was. You must have had a plan. An end game?”

“The end game was to catch Akil out. We know he’s overstepping the boundaries here, breaking the laws. We just need to catch him in the act. Hiring me, among other things, was part of that. But you’re right… We didn’t know about you—although I’d heard of a half-blood that Akil ‘kept’.”

I winced a little at the word ‘kept’ and saw Stefan flinch in return. “It became clear, early on, that I’d need your help.”

“Why? What can I do to him that you can’t?”

“You’re his weakness.”

I didn’t understand. Akil was a Prince of Hell. They don’t have weaknesses, at least none that I was aware of. “What does that even mean?”

“He’s obsessed with you, Muse. I don’t know why—no offense, you’re easy on the eye, but he’s a pure-blood demon, a Prince, and you’re what they class as… filth.”

I frowned at the last word. It was true, and yet knowing it, hearing it, always summoned horrid memories.

His smile chanced a return, but it didn’t linger. “Anything to do with you, and he’s distracted. Even hiring an assassin, he’s sloppy. He can’t see straight when it comes to you. Maybe it’s because he’s full-demon. He can’t fathom why he’s drawn to you. Either way, you’re the key to stopping him.”

I sighed and let my stare wander about the room. “I think it’s a power thing. After what you helped me do today, I’m pretty sure it’s not me he wants—or wanted. It’s my demon. Now… Now I just think he wants me gone. I walked away from him, and nobody does that, especially not a half-blood. My brush-off would have slighted his honor.”

Stefan smiled softly. “No doubt. His ego too.”

“What about you?” I leaned forward to turn the picture frame toward me. The photo was the same one I’d seen earlier: the handsome fifty-something man with the catch-of-the-day at his feet. “What’s your story?”

Stefan averted his gaze once more, dipping his chin before blinking slowly.

“I’m sorry.” I said. The quiet became a little too awkward. “It’s none of my business.” If it was anything like my past then I could understand why he didn’t want to tell me. “We survived though, right?” Barely, in my case, but barely was enough.

“Against the odds.”

Something in those three words, perhaps the weary tone or their implied meaning, whatever it was, it made me feel such a depth of compassion for him that a stubborn lump formed in my throat. On impulse, I shifted off the couch and moved to the cushion beside him. Perched awkwardly on the edge, I clasped my hands in my lap with a nervous smile ticking across my lips. “I had no idea there were people like you out there. I just thought it was demon or be damned. Then, Akil taught me how to summon my demon with intent, not just by accident. He woke her in me, and together we killed my owner. It was the best day of my life. My owner, Damien…he was a sick son-of-a-bitch. Vile in many ways. Akil taught me…that it didn’t have to be like that.”

“You were lucky,” Stefan said softly. I caught an undertone of sadness and knew he understood.

I was lucky. If Damien hadn’t paraded me in front of Akil, I might not have survived much longer. Had Akil not taken it upon himself to free me… Had Akil been worse than Damien… Had I not been strong enough to maintain my sanity through all of the pain and degradation…

“My point is.” I cleared my throat. “We’re the products of our past. Without those experiences, as horrid as they were, I wouldn’t be the person I am today.”

Stefan moved so quickly I barely saw him move at all. He was suddenly very close. His hand hovered beside my cheek as though he’d lost his nerve at the last second. I froze. For a few moments, I didn’t breathe, didn’t move. Then he eased a little nearer, his lips so close all it would take was a little give on my part, and we’d kiss. As his hand lightly touched my cheek, a sliver of power snapped between us. Its dart-like flicker forced a hiss through my teeth. He laid his hand against my cheek, and the chill of his element slid over me, a shivery tremor following in its wake as a traitorous muffled groan slipped from my lips. I could have kissed him, should have… He was there, so close, but I knew if I did, it wouldn’t stop there. My heart fluttered nervously. The urge to close that tiny distance between us was so intense that I had to grip the couch to stop myself. He took a breath just as his lips brushed mine, so lightly, like the gentle flutter of snowflakes.

I sprang back, hand clasped over my mouth, the other pulling the shirt down to cover my thighs. “I er…” I waved a hand in the air, gesturing wildly. “I should um…you know, get back—get some sleep. Not that I… Erm… Yeah.” Stop waffling before you say something you’ll regret, I thought. The tease of desire had ignited inside of me at his touch. My element bloomed quickly, spilling heat though me. My heat and his cold, fire and ice, it was wrong on so many levels. And I wanted it.

He grinned wickedly, his demeanor as cool as ice. Damn him.

I clamped my mouth closed, afraid I might tell him what I really wanted, although he probably read it all on my face. His eyes in the dark held all manner of tempting promises. The gape of his collar betrayed a hint of his sculpted body. I could so easily have sat back down and undone those shirt buttons, one little button at a time. Hot lips on his cool mouth, tasting, exploring. I’d lay him back. Slip my hands beneath his shirt and let my heated touch ease across the rippled plain of his sculpted chest, across the scorpion tattoo, lower… Hot, flustered, and within a few heartbeats of giving in to temptation, I turned quickly and headed for the stairs.

A howl fractured the serenity of the night. The hollow sound of the beast sliced through the heat of desire and dashed my wanton thoughts. Stefan was on his feet. He plucked the katana from the bag of weapons and tugged off the scabbard. He flicked the light off in the kitchen and then returned, snatching a gun from the bag before joining me at the foot of the stairs. “It can’t know we’re here. Not yet,” he whispered. “But this isn’t the city, and we’re the only things out here.”

In other words, we’re screwed.

Another howl echoed outside, closer this time. The chill of fear swept over me. I tried to summon my element, but the preventative marks on the wall snuffed it out before it could breach my flesh. Stefan shook his head, sensing the stirring of my power, then handed me the gun. I noticed it was the gun I thought he’d lost when I felt its familiar weight in my hand.

“You have seven rounds in the magazine,” he said. “Use them.”

“What if we go outside? Use our elements.”

“Only if it finds us.” He planted a hand on my shoulder and forced me to sit, my back against the wall. “There’s a chance it may not… Call enough of your power to see it.”

I flexed my elemental muscles, calling just enough to spill a veil of power in front of my eyes. The last time we’d dealt with the hounds, we’d only escaped by hiding. This time, hiding was all we had. I cupped the gun in my left hand, right hand around the grip, finger off the trigger but ready against the trigger guard.

Stefan did a double-take, then grinned. “Flick the safety off.”

“You enjoy this crap way too much,” I grumbled, doing as he’d advised.

“Slide the chamber back.”

I skewed a scowl in his direction, catching that glint of humor in his eyes. “I have fired this gun before—” The kitchen windows exploded inward.

Glass blasted through the kitchen doorway, showering the spot on the couch where we’d been seated moments before.

“Go!” Stefan shoved me up the stairs as the thunderous crash of splintered glass and wood filled the air. I stumbled on the steps, clambering up on all fours as the heaving bulk of hairless hound slammed its way through the kitchen doorway, taking out half the wall with it. I got a glimpse of its blood-red eyes as it swung its head around before I finally found my feet and dashed up the remaining steps and down the hallway.

Stefan flung open a bedroom door. “The window. Go. Get outside.”

I was inside the room before I realized he wasn’t following. “What are you doing?”

“Go. I’ll keep it here. Run. Don’t stop. Just run.” He was gone.

I headed for the window and yanked open the lower section enough so I could duck outside. The wind blasted into the room, whipping around my bare legs as I stood frozen. I couldn’t leave him. Gun in hand, I turned and darted back out into the hall. The massive hound had clawed its way up the staircase, knocking the banister out in its furious attempt to get to Stefan. I saw the beast snap its jaws together, lunging at Stefan as he swung the sword across its snout. Its whimpers sliced through my skull. Teeth gritted, I raised the gun, steadied it in my left hand, and aimed down the barrel. As the hound lunged at Stefan again, I fired. The gun jumped in my hand. The casing ejected. The hound jerked and swung its crimson glare on me. I fired again. The bullet sliced down the right side of its hideous face. Again, and this time, the bullet hit the Hellhound right between the eyes, blasting through its skull. The beast jerked back and collapsed, slipping from the landing to land with a dull thud on the living room floor.

Stefan lunged at me, grabbed my left hand, and tugged me forward, back down what remained of the stairs. The hound’s breathing snuffled from its wet jaws. It wasn’t dead. They don’t die.

“Quickly.” Stefan pulled me toward the door. He yanked it open. And froze.

I plowed into the back of him, about to ask why he’d stopped when I saw the mountainous bulk of Hellhound blocking his path. The beast hunched forward, fat paws splayed on the path. Pools of glistening drool gathered below its rippling lips. I reeled back. The hound behind us snarled and shook its head, snapping its jaws together as it regained its senses. Instinct tugged on my demon, but she couldn’t break through whatever magic those marks on the walls performed. Backing into Stefan, I slipped my left hand into his. The Hellhound beneath the stairs stamped its feet, steadying itself. It ducked down, legs ready to spring.

I lifted the gun, not entirely sure how many bullets I had left. My arm trembled, aim all over the place. Then I heard an all too familiar voice.

“Invite me in, and I’ll call them off.”

Flinging my stare over my shoulder, I watched in horror as Akil walked around the hound outside, running a hand down its quivering, hairless flank. The beast jerked its snout, sniffing the air and chomping its jaws. There could be no doubt who controlled them. Stefan stepped back into me, then glanced behind him at the hound beneath the stairs. His eyes found mine, a brutal honesty raw on his face. We were in trouble. I tightened my hand in his, saw the fleeting smile on his lips, and then he let go to face Akil.

“Come in, make yourself at home.” Stefan stepped aside, sweeping a gesture into the house. “Sorry about the mess. Unexpected guests.”

Akil stepped across the threshold. He slid his gaze over the chaos in the room before straightening his shirt cuffs. His stoic expression gave nothing away. Dressed immaculately in a dinner jacket and black trousers, right down to his polished Oxford shoes, he looked every inch the city tycoon. Silver cufflinks caught the moonlight seeping in through the back windows. The same light danced in his dark eyes when they settled on me. Instinct told me to shirk back. I might have done, had I not learned what he’d done. The suave son-of-a-bitch had murdered Sam—my friend—in cold blood. I was under no illusions about Akil.

I stood there in my underwear, wearing Stefan’s shirt and glared back at Akil, my chin up, shoulders straight. I was not backing down.

He humphed a laugh and said, “Amitto,” with a flurry of his hand. The Hellhounds slumped in unison. Their leathery hides began to dissolve. Fizzling embers devoured them, spiraling dust into the air until nothing remained.

With the hounds gone, I became aware of the wind flowing through the open door and through the house, into the kitchen where the panoramic windows had been smashed. I heard the trees outside creaking against the weight of the wind, branches snapping. The forest groaned as though it recognized the ageless forces of chaos inside the house. I lifted the gun, my aim surprisingly steady.

Akil glared back at me and smiled. “Shoot me.”

Finger on the trigger, I wanted to. It would take just a twitch, the smallest of movements to blow him away. “You killed Sam.”

Akil looked away, blinking slowly. His smile widened. “Is that what Stefan told you?”

“No.” My hand began to tremble. “I saw it in the sword.”

He met my glare once more. “Did you? You’re sure? Because… from what you’ve told me in the past… The images can be difficult to define. Blurry. Inconsistent.”

No, he wasn’t going to do this. I knew what I’d seen. I had felt the sword plunge through Sam’s chest. It was real. “Why?” I hissed through gritted teeth.

“Put the gun down, Muse.” The growl beneath his words offered a clear warning.

Stefan stood beside me. He reached up and closed his hand around the top of the gun, bringing the weapon down, so it pointed toward the floor in front of Akil. “You don’t want to do that.”

He eased the gun from my hand and flicked the safety back on. Frowning, I watched him toss the gun onto the couch and then hand the sword to Akil. Unease crawled across my skin as Akil lifted the katana in his right hand, his heated gaze admiring the blade. “A fine weapon, don’t you agree, Muse?”

Stefan stood to Akil’s left, hand tucked casually into his jeans pocket.

I frowned, eyes narrowing on Stefan. What was going on here? I searched his face for any sign to indicate this was wrong, but he just stood there, cold.

Akil ran a hand down the flat plain of the blade. “Your little stunt earlier, drawing your element from beyond the veil… That was... astonishing. I knew the moment you called the heat to you. Even in Boston, I felt the shift in power. It’s how I found you.”

My hands clenched into fists. “I’m not the pathetic half-human girl you think I am.”

“I know that. Why do you think I’ve kept you all these years? I even had Stefan test you, to see whether you were capable.”

I clamped my teeth together. Anger trembled through my muscles. My demon twisted, eager to break free but unable to do so. Stefan didn’t deny Akil’s words. Even under the weight of my stare, he didn’t flinch. He just met my gaze as though none of this mattered to him.

Akil’s lips hitched up at the corner as he glanced from Stefan to me. “Stefan’s working for me, Muse. Always was.”

I knew that, well sort of, but was I meant to know it? If I revealed I knew, would that put Stefan in danger? “What—what do you mean?” Was Stefan still working for him? Even now?

Akil closed the distance between us in a few strides. I stumbled back, bumping against the wall as he invaded my personal space. “You don’t get to walk away from me, Muse. Ever,” he said with a snarl.

I sneered up at him. “I got that when you tried to kill me at the marina.”

He slid a hand over my shoulder and laced his fingers around my throat, but the tightening of his grip didn’t come. His thumb rubbed lightly against my neck. “That was…a mistake.”

“A mistake? I nearly died, Akil.”

“That was not my intention…” He bowed his head, bumping his forehead against mine as he brought his hand higher, cupping my face. “I just meant to… I wanted you to react. To see your demon. She’s quite remarkable.”

I turned my head away, fighting to breathe beneath his overbearing presence.

“That’s what this has all been about,” he whispered in my ear.

Hands on his chest, I pushed against him, trying to force him back, but I might as well have been pushing against stone.

He breathed in through my hair, his chin brushing my forehead. “It’s her I want. Not your weak human shell.”

“Akil… Please.” I shoved again, pushing hard enough to force him back a step, but that only gave him the room he needed to bring the sword up between us and press the blade against my throat.

The sharp edge nicked my skin. A warm trickle of blood dribbled down my neck. I pleaded with wide-eyes, snatching breaths where I could without worsening the dig of the sword against my flesh.

“Your previous owner had no notion of the creature he kept in chains.” Akil slid his left hand over my hip.

I couldn’t stop the shivering. As the demon thrashed inside me, my human body had become riddled with fear. My heart galloped, thudding in my ears. “You don’t own me,” I growled.

“No?” He leaned into me, pushing the blade against my neck, forcing my head back. “I beg to differ.”

I heard the metallic chink-chink of a gun slider being pulled back. “Step away from her.” Stefan had pressed the gun against the back of Akil’s head. From my awkward angle, I peered down my nose and over Akil’s shoulder at Stefan. His element swirled in his arctic eyes, their intense blue fracturing deep, revealing his ice-bound soul.

Akil chuckled. The lurid ripples of his laughter rode over me. My head was light and my legs weak. Fear robbed me of my will. “I’ll cut her throat,” he snarled.

“Do it. But know I’ll blow your skull apart. Immortal or not, that’s gotta hurt.”

Akil raked his gaze across me, almost as though his glare alone could slice through me. He measured his options. Indecision narrowed his eyes and then, reluctantly, he pulled back. Stefan countered behind him. Only when Akil withdrew the sword from my throat did I slump against the wall, able to breathe again. After dabbing at my neck, my trembling hand came away slick with blood.

I looked up at Akil in time to catch a twisted smile lashing across his lips. He didn’t resemble the man I could have loved, didn’t even look like the demon that inhabited his body. He was a stranger to me. The darkness had corrupted him, creating a monster, or had he always been that way?

“You fell for her, didn’t you?” I noticed Akil’s fingers flexing around the sword’s grip. “I killed the last man who touched her.”

Stefan couldn’t help looking at me. I may have seen some acknowledgement in his eyes, right before Akil twisted around, knocking Stefan’s gun-arm up before plunging the katana deep into Stefan’s left shoulder, driving him to his knees.

Instinct lurched me forward as Stefan cried out. He fought to bring the gun around, but Akil twisted the sword deeper into his flesh, wrenching a strangled cry from Stefan’s lips.

“Stop!” I yelled.

Akil swung his head around, yanking the blade free from Stefan’s flesh. He rounded on me, bringing the bloodied sword around to point the tip at me. “You are mine,” he growled. “And I’m taking you home.”

“No!” He didn’t mean home to Boston, he meant the netherworld, and the thought flushed my veins with white-hot terror, wrenching my strength out from under me. I dropped to my knees. “No, please.” I shook my head from side to side, and tears blurred my vision. Panic tightened my chest. I clenched my fist over my heart. I couldn’t go back home.

Akil’s face twisted into a hideous mask of disgust. “I will tear that demon from your human flesh if I have to peel your skin off piece by piece.” The venom behind those words severed the last vestiges of hope I might have had that, somewhere deep inside, he still cared for me.

A gunshot cracked through the air.

Blinking rapidly, I watched the curious bloom of blood spread across Akil’s white shirt. He looked down, as though wondering where the blood had come from. Another shot, and his torso jerked. Another, and I felt a warm spray of blood mist across my face. The forth gunshot rang out, its deafening retort causing me to flinch. Akil sank to his knees, his face white with shock and then he collapsed forward, motionless.

Stefan had propped himself up on an elbow, gun quivering in his right hand. His aim wavered with his labored breathing. He gritted his teeth as he pulled himself up onto his knees. “Go,” he grunted. “He won’t stay down… for long.”

Adrenalin ousted my fear. Self-preservation kicked in. I rushed to Stefan and hooked an arm under his, helping him to his feet. I staggered as he fell against me. “Can we kill him? While he’s out?”

“No. He’ll come back no matter what we do.”

I glanced back at Akil’s motionless body, expecting him to twitch awake at any moment.

“Go. Take my car—just go, Muse.”

I felt Stefan’s element stirring, it’s chilling touch snapping at my flesh, lashing out protectively. “Where exactly?”

Stefan pried himself from my grip and stumbled toward the door. “Ryder.”

“Ryder?” He was the least likely go-to guy to get me out of this. I stole one last fleeting look at Akil’s body, tremors rattling my bones, then followed Stefan outside. The bitterly cold night air nipped at my face. My trembling intensified. If I could hold myself together a little while longer, just long enough to get away…

Stefan had slumped against the driver’s door, his left arm limp at his side. Blood dripped from his fingers, creating bright red rivulets down the car’s paint until it pooled along the door seal.

“Stefan, please. Let me help you.”

“I’m okay.” He forced every word through clenched teeth. “Ryder will know what to do. Go.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“Just go.” He grimaced, pain wracking his body. He tucked the gun into his waistband and pressed his right hand against the wound in his shoulder, struggling to hide how his fingers shook. It didn’t take long for the blood to swell and spill over the back of his hand.

I placed my hand over his. His shivering seemed all the worse now that I could feel it. He allowed me to ease his hand away, then dropped his head back as I stripped his shirt away from the wound. He snatched breaths between spasms of pain. Akil had stabbed him low in the shoulder. The blade had passed right through. The jagged wound oozed dark blood and showed no sign of stopping. “Get in the car. I’m taking you to a hospital.”

“No, Muse.” He sighed, eyelids flickering closed.

“Stop being stubborn, and do as I say.” I opened the rear passenger door and gave him a warning look. “Get in, or we both stay here.”

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, clutching the open door and moving gingerly to climb inside.

I drove us out of there as fast as the rental car could bump along the dirt track to the main route. Stefan sat slumped in the back seat, teeth clenched. I glanced in the mirrors, watching him battle the pain. Every pothole, even the slightest ridge in the road, tugged a restrained groan from him.

“No hospitals,” he said when we hit the smooth main route and I planted the throttle to the floor. “Get to Ryder.”

Chapter 19

I screeched the car to a halt outside Ryder’s premises, bumping it up the curb as close to the door as I could get. Early morning air wrapped around me as soon as I stepped from the car, stealing the warmth from my bones. The brilliant blue sky only made the desperate situation feel all the more dire. I banged on Ryder’s door. The car’s engine ticked behind me as it cooled.

Stefan was sprawled across the back seat, asleep or unconscious. The milky pallor of his skin was pale enough to frighten me.

“C’mon Ryder.” I hammered a fist against the door. “Open up!” My shout echoed down the empty street.

What if he wasn’t home? Where was I supposed to go?

The door finally opened. Ryder rubbed his eyes, yawning. Wearing the same clothes I’d seen him in days before, he scowled at me. “What the…”

His wide-eyed stare took in my blood soaked shirt, bare legs, and blood-splattered face. Then he noticed Stefan’s motionless body in the back of the car. “What happened?” Ryder shoved by me and flung open the car door. Climbing inside, he pressed his fingers against Stefan’s neck, checking for a pulse.

“Akil.” The tremor in my voice barely registered against the swirl of dark thoughts in my head.

Ryder climbed out and nodded. “Get in. I’ll drive.”

I climbed into the back with Stefan’s head resting in my lap as Ryder took control. I was grateful for it. The hours it had taken us to get back to Boston—the constant checking the mirrors for any sign of being followed—the worry that Stefan would die in the backseat—had left me beyond drained; numbed. I rarely felt properly cold, but I felt it then, a deep soul-weary chill. I had no idea what Ryder was going to do, but he seemed to have a plan because he swung the car around and sped out of there as quickly as I’d screeched in.

Stefan breathed lightly. The rise and fall of his chest reassured me a little. He felt cold, but I chose to take that as a good sign. However, the pool of congealed blood on the back seat told another story. “Akil will be after us,” I warned Ryder.

“Okay. It’ll be okay.” Ryder assured, and, bizarrely, I believed him. “Where we’re going, Akil can’t follow.”

After no more than ten minutes, Ryder pulled the rental car into a narrow industrial street dominated by a vast warehouse at its end. Graffiti plastered every inch of the red brick walls. Scrawling letters and gang symbols wound their way around a steel door.

“Ryder?” I peered out of the car windows, not seeing anything in the street that could possibly help. If anything, we were in a worse neighborhood than the one we’d just left.

He rolled the car to a halt outside the steel door and cut the engine. Twisting in the driver’s seat, he said, “When inside, do as they say.”

“What?” I hadn’t heard him right. What did he mean? My thoughts dragged through molasses. Exhaustion wrapped me in a woolly cocoon.

Ryder climbed out. I followed suit, too tired to argue. We managed to pull Stefan from the car, hitching his arms over our shoulders. Stefan barely registered us at all. He was just a dead weight against me. As we shuffled Stefan to the door, I noticed the huge scorpion spray-painted over the doorway, its pincers embracing the top of the doorframe. “What is this place?” I grunted, heaving Stefan’s limp arm into a better position behind my neck.

The door rumbled sideways, and we were met by an armed guard. He ushered us into an antechamber and closed the door behind us. The small room couldn’t have been more different to the exterior of the warehouse. White walls gleamed beneath harsh fluorescent lights. A second steel door had a small reinforced glass window, revealing hints of a white corridor beyond.

The guard buzzed a button beside the door which opened with a whoosh of antiseptic-scented air. Two guards bore down on us, one female, the other a stocky male with a scar below his right eye, both armed with assault rifles.

“We’ll take him from here.” The guard beside me said, extracting Stefan’s arm from around my neck. He handed him over to two waiting white-coat-clad men. I managed to catch sight of a gurney but as I stepped forward to follow, the scarred guard shot his hand out, shoving me. “Stay back,” he warned.

“Hey.” I instinctively lifted my hands. I wasn’t a threat to them; couldn’t they see that?

His scarred face held a determined grimace as he shoved me again. “Against the wall,” he barked.

“What?”

He grabbed my upper arm and twisted me around, slamming me face first against the wall, then proceeded to frisk me. His female companion stood back, rifle clutched across her chest, face empty.

“Get off me. I came here to help.” I winced as his hands rode roughly over my bruised skin. “Get your hands off me,” I snarled, summoning enough of my element to cause him a nasty burn. My demon woke eagerly, answering my call. An alarm sounded. The rapid chirps accompanied the sound of locks automatically bolting.

“She’s demon.” The female guard declared matter-of-factly.

Scarface drove an elbow into my back. The impact wrenched a cry from me. I snarled and twisted, balling my hand into a fist and driving it into his cheek. Considering all the crap I’d had to deal with in the last few days, he was lucky I didn’t incinerate him where he stood.

My fist cracked across his jaw, just as the female-guard strode forward, clutched my right arm, and stamped a branding of some sort on the back of my hand. A jagged dart of pain thrust up my arm and struck me in the chest. I fell forward, doubling over against the ball of agony in my gut. My demon suddenly fell back from me, as though something tugged her out of reach. Her rapid retreat arched my back, jerking the air from my lungs. She didn’t go easily and sunk her claws into my metaphysical insides, but it was no use. I felt her tear from within me, and then there was silence; a quiet like I’ve never known. An empty pit had opened inside of me, a void where my demon had existed. She was gone.

“What have you done?” I wheezed, before collapsing.

Chapter 20

I woke in a bright white room. A fresh pile of clothes sat neatly beside the door. The bed beneath me was bare but surprisingly comfortable. I couldn’t hear anything outside the room, just the buzz of the lights above and my own raspy breathing. The air smelled of disinfectant, the scent so strong it tickled my nose and scratched my throat.

I shivered and collected the clothes before peeling off Stefan’s ruined shirt and dressing in a gray jump suit. I did all of this without thought, my mind peculiarly numb. Once dressed, I tried to run my hands through my hair, but found it in desperate need of a shower to wash out the blood. Akil’s blood. I couldn’t think about him, about the threat he’d cast at me. I’m taking you home.

Standing on tiptoes at the door, I peeked through the glass. A single empty chair sat against the opposite wall, but otherwise the place was empty. Shivers rippled up and down my back. Why was I so cold? I hugged my arms across my chest and noticed the mark on the back of my hand. An angry red welt indicated exactly where the female guard had stabbed me with something. Whatever it had been, the effects had chased away my demon. She’d gone. I couldn’t call her, couldn’t feel her. There was nothing of her left inside of me but a cavernous void.

I began to pace from one side of the tiny room to the other, flexing my hands into fists. What was this place? They’d known I was part demon as soon as I’d tried to summon my element. They’d been prepared. The scorpion over the door couldn’t be a coincidence. Ryder had breezed in, while they’d abruptly stopped me. Were these the Enforcers Stefan had spoken of? He’d said there were others. The guards though, they looked like military. They hadn’t hesitated when dealing with me, although I had managed to swing at one. I had the bruises on my knuckles to vouch for that.

The door rattled and opened. Another armed guard regarded me coolly. “Come with me.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and crossed my arms. “I want to see Stefan. Is he okay?”

He stepped back and gestured for me to leave the room. He was taller than me, stockier, with a swagger borne of rigorous training. He carried the gun firmly, his grip one of confidence, as though the gun were just an extension of him. I could have lunged at him, but what good would it do me? I might have gotten out the room, but there would be other guards. This wasn’t a holiday camp. It would make more sense to gauge the lay of the land before I lashed out.

“Are you taking me to Stefan?” I asked.

“No.” He blinked, eyes disarmingly warm. “I’m taking you to Adam.”

“Who’s he?” I rubbed at my arms, desperately trying to warm myself.

“Come with me, and you’ll see.”

If I didn’t, I got the distinct impression from his military-grade stare that he’d force me. I’d already been on the receiving end of their greeting and didn’t relish the thought of repeating it. So I followed him through the rats-maze of corridors, passing a few casually dressed people who didn’t give me or my armed guard a second glance. We climbed a few steps and entered a level far more conducive to comfort, like a busy office floor, no… like a hospital ward but where you’d expect to see beds, there were desks. Dozens of people milled back and forth, chatting animatedly. Phones rang. A bubble of laughter sounded somewhere behind me. I caught glimpses of people in white coats and saw various curved ultra-thin televisions suspended on the walls, showing what looked like newsfeed from around the world.

We arrived at an office. The blinds were closed, so I couldn’t see in. My guard rapped on the door, and a sharp voice inside said, “Enter.” I came face to face with an older version of the man in the photograph at Stefan’s house. I tried to hide my surprise by watching the guard leave. If this man was Stefan’s father, how come he was alive and well?

Standing against a chair, my hands resting on the back, I flicked my gaze about the comfortable office space. A bookcase brimmed with books along the whole of the left wall. A couple of comfy chairs, a glass-topped coffee table, and an antique ball and claw footed desk rounded out the space.

“I apologize for the harsh treatment.” The man, who I assumed to be Adam, stood behind his desk, a steaming cup of coffee in his right hand. I smelled the blend and wondered if he’d offer me a mug. I needed it.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, dislodging rimless glasses before taking them off and rubbing his eyes. “I wanted to thank you personally for bringing Stefan back to us.”

“Is he okay?”

He nodded slowly and replaced the glasses. “He’s fine. Exhausted, but recovering well.” He pulled out his chair and sat down, gesturing that I should do the same. When I didn’t move, he smiled. “My name is Adam.”

He could play nice. The niceties might even be genuine. He did have a warmth about him that slightly disarmed me, but I wasn’t buying whatever he was selling. “You tore my demon from me.”

“Yes. A precautionary measure. Don’t worry. We’ll give you the antidote when you leave.”

How could he appear so flippant about tearing out a part of me? “I didn’t come here to hurt anyone. I don’t even know what this place is. Ryder brought us here. Stefan’s safe… so I’d like to leave. Can I leave?”

He took a sip of coffee then leaned back. His chair creaked at the shift in weight. Brushing absently at his deep green sweater, he sucked in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “You could, but I suspect Akil will be looking for you.”

My fingers dug into the back of the seat. “How much do you know?”

“Everything.” He brushed a hand across his stubbled chin. “You’re safer here.”

“Says you. So far, you’ve violated me and tossed me in a cell.” I didn’t like him. He appeared to be a fatherly-figure, the caring type, but I stood before him with a chasm inside of me where my other-half was missing, and I couldn’t forgive him that. “I don’t know you. I don’t trust you.”

“We mean you no harm,” he said, but his nonchalant tone wasn’t sincere.

“I want to see Stefan.”

“He’s resting.” He must have caught a gleam of frustration in my eyes because he tried to soothe me with a soft smile. “Very well. You can see Stefan and then perhaps we can have a candid discussion about the options available to you.”

I tossed him a worthless smile. Until I spoke to Stefan, I wasn’t trusting anyone.

A guard deposited me outside a numbered apartment door. As far as I was aware, we were still in the warehouse, but without any windows, and after ascending and descending so many different staircases, I’d completely lost my bearings. I knocked on the door, watching the guard get himself comfortable in a chair a few strides from me. Either they were worried I was going to do something, or I was a prisoner here. I’d yet to figure out which. Maybe it was both.

Stefan opened the door. For a few fleeting seconds, he didn’t smile, didn’t react at all. His navy blue shirt hung open, revealing the corner of a bandage plastered over his left shoulder. A spot of blood had oozed through the gauze, but otherwise he looked remarkably well.

The smallest hint of a smile finally twitched across his lips as he stepped aside, then acknowledged the guard outside with a nod. His room was small. A bed, desk, TV, no windows. Functional, like a hotel room, but with the locks on the outside. Once Stefan had closed the door behind him, I opened my mouth to ask one of the hundred or so questions I needed answered. He pressed a finger to my lips. He shook his head and beckoned me toward the desk. On a piece of paper, he scrawled: They’re listening.

Oh crap. The frown on his face confirmed my suspicions. All was not well.

I cleared my throat, glancing around me as though I might actually see the microphones. “How come you got the guest suite, and I got a prison cell?

“They don’t trust you.” He caught sight of the angry mark on my hand and must have known what it meant because his eyes narrowed. His lips set in a terse line. “Are you alright?”

Folding my arms, I hugged them against me. “Yeah, I’m okay. Feel a bit… peculiar without my demon.”

“She’s still there; they’ve just repressed her.” He sighed then made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “I’m sorry.”

I shrugged. Sorry wasn’t going to bring her back. “How are you?”

“Good.” He brightened. “Thanks to you.”

“And you wanted me to leave you there.” I grinned. “After everything you’ve done for me, that wasn’t going to happen.”

He tried not to smile, then gestured at the bandage on his shoulder. “Could have been worse.”

“You’re lucky he missed. He never misses.”

“He won’t again, especially now that he believes we’re lovers.”

I snorted a laugh as though such an idea was ludicrous. Fire and ice? Impossible. I must have done a good job at dismissing the idea because Stefan’s smile fell short before he turned away and buttoned up his shirt. “Did they introduce you to my father?”

The man in the photo. I was right to guess he was Stefan’s father. “Adam? Yeah…” I stopped short of telling him what I thought. “I was told he was dead.”

“He likes the world to think so. I often wish he was. He and I… We don’t get along…” Stefan slid a glance my way. “Ever.”

Oh. “Good, ‘cuz I don’t like him.” I looked at the door, wondering whether the guard was still outside, then searched the generic landscape pictures on the wall and the cheap ornaments for any sign of cameras or microphones. I couldn’t see anything, but that was the point of hidden surveillance. I had so many questions burning right on the tip of my tongue and couldn’t ask a single one.

“Am I a prisoner here?” The weary undertone in my voice surprised me. I hadn’t realized how exhausted I was, not just physically but mentally too. It had been one hell of a week.

“No.” But he nodded contrarily, which threw me. He gave me a sheepish smile, as though he were responsible.

Clearly there was more going on here than I had any hope of understanding on my own. “What is this place?”

“The Institute. The human response to demon occupation.”

Never heard of them. “Since when are demons occupying this realm?”

He gave a slight shake of his head, implying he couldn’t explain. Then without a word, he took my hand and opened the door, startling the guard outside. As the guard moved to stand, Stefan waved him off. “We’re good.”

“My orders are to watch her,” the guard grumbled.

Stefan, a head taller, straightened up to him. “I said I’ve got this.”

“You can strut all you want, but I’ve got orders, and I’m following those orders, Demon.”

Stefan was on him in one swift lunge. Hand twisted in the guard’s jacket, he rammed his arm under the guard’s chin and slammed him back against the wall. “Call me that again, and I’ll show you exactly how demon I can be.”

My breath misted in front of me as the temperature plummeted. Stefan was calling his element, and if the guard reacted like they had with me, then Stefan was better off backing down. I lightly touched his wounded shoulder, briefly feeling the full force of his arctic glare on me before he blinked and loosened his grip on the guard.

“Fine.” Stefan backed off, striding down the hall, so I had to jog to keep up. I gathered his reaction hadn’t been personal and suspected he was as frustrated at the whole situation as I was. We walked in silence. The guard lagged behind.

Only after it felt as though we’d walked the length of the warehouse four or five times, through various corridors, passing through a cafeteria, did Stefan slow. A little out of breath, I stopped beside him, catching sight of the guard weaving his way through people loitering in the hall behind us. Stefan opened the door into what I assumed was the Institute’s library but felt more like a storeroom. Freestanding metal book shelves created a dozen or so rows dividing up the windowless room. As we entered, the lights above flickered on, detecting our presence. We were the only two visitors, besides the guard who followed dutifully behind us.

Stefan left me beside a bookcase. He returned to the guard and muttered a few words. They both glanced my way, sharing a conspiring smile. I frowned, wondering what they were up to and then ran my finger down the spines of the books. They weren’t like any books I’d seen at the local library. Some were stained, their foreign titles barely decipherable. Some were the size of concrete blocks, great tomes that I’d struggle to lift. I’d recognized Latin, but couldn’t speak or read it. Another had been written in what I assumed was Cyrillic.

Stefan slipped an arm around my waist, startling a gasp from me. I twisted around to face him, surprised to find him so close. He leaned into me, backing me up against the books. “Go with it…” he whispered, a seriousness on his face where I’d expected to see mischief.

The guard had dropped into a chair, facing the opposite direction while absently thumbing through a book. Stefan bowed his head. I felt the abrasive stubble of his chin brush against my cheekbone and his cool breath teasing through my hair. I could blame surprise for my racing heart, but it would’ve been a lie. I rested a hand on his lower back, then moved it awkwardly to his hip. A deep chuckle rumbled through him. He took my hand and placed it on his lower back.

“You could at least make it believable,” he whispered.

That wasn’t my problem; the wicked thoughts running through my distracted mind were. Without my demon, my element didn’t flush through my skin, but a different kind of heat had begun to pool inside me. Without realizing it, I’d blamed the demon part of me for the attraction I’d felt toward Stefan ever since he’d first walked into my workshop. I’d told myself she’d wanted the opposing power coiled inside of him, but it hadn’t been just that. Now my demon was trapped, out of reach, and yet as he stood close against me, I couldn’t think clearly through the rising thrill of desire.

“This place, the Institute, is where I trained.” Stefan’s whispered words tickled my ear. “They deliberately created me as a weapon. That’s all I’ve ever been in my father’s eyes. If you ask him, he’ll tell you I’m not his son, I’m an experiment. They’ll use anyone, exploit everything, to get what they want.”

I shivered. “What do they want?”

“They protect this side of the veil, our reality. They’re the reason there aren’t more demons on this side. They monitor all demon activity. If one steps out of line, they’re quick to dish out their idea of justice.”

I swallowed, flushed and light-headed. “Why did Ryder bring us here?”

“Because this is the only place Akil can’t get to us. The graffiti on the walls outside —you must have seen it—creates a void. This place is a demon blind-spot. No full demon can pass those symbols.” Stefan teased my hair back from my cheek. “Like you, I’ve spent much of my life trying to escape my past—this place.”

“They aren’t the Enforcers you spoke of?” I was following the conversation. Barely.

“Yes and no, the Enforcers are the soldiers on the front line. We’re trained to kill demons. Ironic, considering I’m half demon. The irony is lost on my father.”

I could see the guard from where we stood. He’d picked up a magazine, not in the least bit interested in what we were doing.

“Why are they watching us? Why don’t they trust me?”

“You belong to a Prince of Hell. You’re powerful, volatile, and ill-informed. I’m not sure I trust you.” He pulled back just enough to look down at me.

“The feeling’s mutual.” I pressed my lips together. “At the house by the lake… For a minute there, I thought you were going to hand me back to Akil.”

He tilted his head, and a curious smile betrayed a wicked flicker of mischief. His eyes narrowed. Those eyes had a magic that held me spellbound every time I met his gaze. If an ice-demon could have a heated gaze, he had one.

I dropped my head back and closed my eyes, trying to escape his intensity without succumbing to the building urge to grab him with both hands and devour him. My world was falling apart around me, and I could do with the distraction. A distraction; yes, I could tell myself that lie. Stefan was a welcome distraction. That’s all.

“You’re trembling.”

“I’m cold,” I lied, then added with a sigh. “I want my demon back. I don’t feel… right, without her.”

“I can take your mind off her,” he said softly, “off everything.”

Opening my eyes, I found him watching me, lips slightly parted, raw hunger in his gaze. I could pull him against me and drown in desire. I glanced at the guard, who now rested his head on a propped up hand, bored and probably dozing. Stefan turned my face toward him, his fingers trailing down my cheek to skip across my mouth. I parted my lips a little, breaths coming too quickly to hide. He knew what he was doing to me, but the smug humor had vanished. The severity in his expression only served to further enflame the hunger inside me. He leaned in, and I closed my eyes, expecting the kiss to come, but he deliberately avoided my lips and brushed his cheek against mine. I groaned, left hand clutching his shirt.

His rapid breathing tickled my neck as he bowed his head. Had my demon been present, I was sure I’d already have lost myself to desire. I felt the crawl of his element, the explorative touch of it, but it was gentle, nothing like the bold approaches of before, as though he knew I was lacking half of myself and was holding back.

The door to the library opened. Adam strode in. Just a few moments more, and I’d have had Stefan against the bookcase, shirt open, and been trailing kisses down his chest.

On Adam’s arrival, Stefan tensed. The growl that rumbled from him perversely further aroused my already overly sensitive body, but the desire I’d seen in him had quickly been replaced by anger.

“Stefan, you and Muse need to join me in the prep room,” Adam announced, oblivious to the moment he’d destroyed. “Now.”

The guard had found some enthusiasm and was on his feet, acting the part of model sentry.

I didn’t want to let Stefan go. He moved away so that I had no choice but to release him. I wanted to gather up that shirt in my fists and pull him into a kiss so hungry he wouldn’t be able to escape. Neither of us would. But that moment had been dashed. It was only when he’d moved away that I’d realized how much I’d ached to have him. My legs were weak, and it took me a few moments to find my strength.

Stefan flung a knowing glance over his shoulder, eyebrow arched. The promise to finish what we’d started rested silently on his lips.

Chapter 21

The Prep Room—or Preparation Room as the sign on the door read—appeared to be a room bristling with flat screen TV monitors. Behind the bank of monitors, each showing a different news channel, CCTV feed, or webcam footage, sat an empty meeting table with enough places for fifteen or more people. Ryder was already in the room, leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, hands gripping his upper arms. He wore the same un-tucked crumpled shirt, same threadbare black jeans. He grunted a hello, back to his surly self. Tufts of unkempt hair stuck out at all angles. He made the fell-out-of-bed look all his own.

“Your man is lighting up the town,” Ryder grumbled, nodding toward the monitors.

I followed his gaze and saw several TV screens showing news footage of South Boston, or Southie as my neighbors fondly referred to it. I recognized my home neighborhood from the eclectic mix of terraced houses, cream clapboard facades, and leafy streets. The footage showed the same brownstone building on fire from different angles. Then I recognized the street, the buildings opposite bathed in fire-light, the same buildings I’d woken to each morning. The blazing building was my old apartment building. My heart sank. “Were there people in there?”

“No, but it’s lost. The fire department is letting it run its course—too dangerous,” Ryder explained. “That’s your apartment building, right? One damned coincidence, Muse.”

It wasn’t a coincidence.

Stefan stepped forward, concern etched across his face. His father hung back by the meeting table, watching our reactions. “It’s a warning. Akil can’t find you, so he’s sending a message.”

I scratched at my arm, grimacing. “He could have killed someone.” I had a moment of panic as I wondered if my cat Jonesy was okay, but there was nothing I could do. On the screens, flames licked from the arched windows, and black smoke bellowed skyward. The last part of my normal life—Charlie Henderson’s life—had just gone up in smoke.

Ryder watched my reaction. “He will kill if you don’t go to him.”

“I can’t.” They were all looking at me, waiting for me to make the call on what to do. “I can’t go to him. He wants to take me home, to the netherworld. I can’t… I won’t go back there.” The thought alone turned my stomach. The world works differently there. My human half wasn’t cut out to survive among the demons, especially considering what Akil had planned. I looked at each of them, my frown deepening with each disapproving stare. “He wants my demon. He wants her out of me…”

Adam shook his head as he perched on the edge of the meeting table. “It can’t be done.” Briefly, he flicked a glance at Stefan who ignored him. “Half-bloods are irrevocably one and the same, demon and human. He can’t separate your demon from you.”

I grinned and threw a hand in the air. “Right. Are you going to tell him that? Because he’s going to try. If he takes me back there… Either he’ll kill me, or Val will. The second I step through the veil, I’m demon-bait.”

Stefan spoke up. “You have the strength to fight them.”

Sure, if this were fantasy land. “Not all of them, Stefan. I’ve barely begun to experiment with what I’m capable of. I could maybe fight off one or two, but…” I didn’t need to finish the sentence. I was as good as dead if I stepped through the veil, and everyone in the room knew it.

I glared at Adam. “You need to give me my demon back.”

“I can’t do that. Not while you’re under our roof. You’re too dangerous.”

“And he isn’t?” I flicked a gesture at Stefan.

“Stefan has control,” Adam said calmly. “You do not.”

Maybe he was right, but without my demon, I was vulnerable. “You have to give her back to me.” I crossed the room and stopped in front of Adam. He looked back at me without an ounce of fear, so complacent in fact that he just about dared me to lash out at him. “Please.” I didn’t want to beg, but I needed her back in my skin. She was my strength, my soul, my fire.

“There is a way.”

“Please. Anything.” I despised the desperation in my voice.

“You stay here. Work for us.”

I blinked, as taken aback as though he’d struck me. He noted my reaction and smiled. “We can always use half-bloods like you. Properly trained, you’re valuable assets.”

Stefan stepped between us at about the right time. He eased me back a few steps, perhaps sensing I was about to leap at Adam to try and shake the antidote out of him.

“I’m not working for you,” I snarled. Stefan held me back. “Give me my demon back! You had no right to take her! Who do you think you are?”

“Muse,” Stefan warned.

“I don’t care.” I tried to step around him, and he caught my arms. “Let go of me. He’s putting this right. He has to give her back. I need her.” An unexpected sob choked me, and with a sneer, I broke free of Stefan’s grip and lunged for Adam. He lashed out before I could reach him, the back of his hand striking me across the face with enough force to fling me down against the table. Blood pooled in my mouth.

I pushed down on the table and flicked my hair out of my face, pinning him with my stare. His expression had barely changed at all. Stefan saw me tense and grabbed me from behind, pulling my arms behind my back as I struggled to get free.

I spat blood at Adam’s feet, fighting against Stefan’s vice-like grip. “If you don’t give her back, I’ll tell the world where this place is. I’ll tell Akil.”

Adam sighed and removed his glasses, rubbing at his closed eyes. “Take her away.”

Stefan swung me around and shoved me toward the door and then rounded on his father. “This is all your doing.” He jabbed a finger at Adam. “Don’t make an enemy of her.”

Adam stood slowly. “Like I did you?”

Stefan clenched his right hand. His knuckles whitened, and then he spun around to escort me out of the room. In the hall outside, I shook off Stefan’s grip. “I need her back, Stefan. They don’t understand. You don’t understand…” A few passing employees gave us a wide berth.

Stefan pulled me along a few steps until I managed to yank my hand free again. He glared at me. “How do you think they came up with the poison they injected you with? Who do you think they tested it on?” He saw the horror on my face. “I understand more than you know, but lashing out at him won’t get you anywhere. We’re prisoners here until he says otherwise.”

I sunk a hand in my hair. Panic began to steal away my rational thoughts. I needed my demon back. With every hour that passed, her absence damaged me. An ache had begun to spread outward, a terrible heartfelt ache, like grief. On top of everything else, it was almost enough to flip me over the edge toward insanity.

Ryder emerged from the Prep Room and froze midstride. Stefan waved him back. I darted my gaze between them. A sickly wave of fear washed over me. I had to get out of this prison, get away from these people. I wanted to go home, to my apartment, to my cat, to Sam. None of those things existed anymore, and besides, the Institute wouldn’t let me go. If they did, I’d be walking straight into Akil’s arms. Oh god, I didn’t want to do this anymore.

Bumping against the wall behind me, I slid down to the floor, pulling my knees up and scrunching myself into a ball. “He’s going to kill me.”

I heard Ryder tell someone to keep walking and felt Stefan’s warm touch on my back.

“Akil…” I lifted my head. “He won’t stop. I can’t escape him, and I can’t stay here. What am I supposed to do?”

“We can stop him.” Stefan slid his hand down my arm and took my hand, lifting me back onto unsteady legs. “There is a way.”

We were back in the little-used library with books strewn across a coffee table. I sat in one of the comfy armchairs, knees drawn up, hands clasped around a Styrofoam cup. I listened to Ryder and Stefan talking. Ryder sat on the arm of a chair while Stefan paced. He collected and deposited books as he voiced various plans. I hadn’t said a word in at least twenty minutes. My coffee was cold, but I didn’t notice. The shock of the events over the past week had finally caught up with me. I’d showered, thinking it might help me feel half way to human again, but not even the hot water could banish my trembling.

“There is a way. Muse can drain him of power,” Ryder was saying. “Akil can’t summon from the veil like she can. He has to draw his element from the city, and that’s a limited resource. If she drains him, he’ll be vulnerable.”

“But still immortal,” Stefan said.

Ryder shrugged. “Well, yeah. There ain’t no way around that.”

“We can trap him though. I’ve trapped demons before using the glyphs. Once inside, he’s contained. He can’t summon his true self. If there was a way to keep him like that…”

I ran my tongue across dry lips. “What about the drug they put in me?” They both looked a little surprised that I’d spoken. “What would it do to him?”

“PC-thirty-four,” Stefan replied. “The Institute uses it to knock out lesser demons. It represses the demon aspect. To Mammon, Akil’s true form, it’d probably give him a headache.”

“What if I could administer it while he’s in his human form? Would it prevent him from manifesting his true self?”

“It might.” Stefan nodded. “If you then summoned your element, you could render him weak enough to trap him.”

“How do we trap him?” I asked.

Ryder grinned and nudged an elbow into Stefan beside him. “You remember that time we sent Barbatos back to Hell? The look on his pig-ugly face when he realized what was happening… Man, that was priceless.” Ryder chuckled. “Good times.”

Stefan fought not to smile, then gave in and grinned. “Yeah, that was something…” He realized I was waiting for the two of them to get over their male-bonding moment and cleared his throat. “We can either send him back through the veil to the netherworld or trap him here, on this side. Sending a Prince back won’t be easy. They’re too powerful. It would require a blood sacrifice.” Stefan hesitated, seeing my confusion. “A human sacrifice. Someone mortal has to go with him, but it’s a one-way trip.”

Ryder nodded. “That’s a death sentence. Nobody is going to volunteer for that.” We all silently agreed. “So we have to trap him here.”

Shoving some books aside, I set my coffee down on the table. “How long does the drug last?”

“It’s uncertain. At least…” Stefan’s pause held more weight for what he didn’t say. “We know it can last years.” He tried to hide the tremor in his voice while avoiding my gaze. He swallowed and dragged a hand across his chin.

I thought I’d had it bad, but at least I’d always had my demon with me. Through the beatings, the torture, she’d always been there. The Institute had taken that strength from Stefan; his own father had torn out half of Stefan’s soul. No wonder Stefan had control. He’d had it conditioned into him. The pain he’d endured—I’d spent less than a day without my demon and already felt her absence like the loss of a limb. What would the drug do to Akil? Would it even affect him?

“I suppose they’ve never tested it on a Prince before?” I said, halting the approach of an awkward silence.

“No. It may not even work. Lesser demons are weaker here than across the veil. Princes… They’re different. His vessel is little more than a mask. The drug may have no effect at all; in which case, he’s gonna be pretty damn pissed when you try and inject him with it.”

I nodded slowly. Akil would kill me if he figured out what I was planning, but I was as good as dead anyway.

“You’re going to have to get close to him, Muse, without him realizing what you’re doing, otherwise he’ll manifest and then…then he’ll likely kill you without hesitation.” Stefan crouched in front of me, searching my expression. I let him see the resignation on my face. Hiding from the truth was pointless.

“I can get close to him.” I closed my eyes and dipped my chin. Getting close to Akil would be the easy part. I knew exactly how to distract him while keeping him tied to his human vessel. A little black dress and a bottle of red wine should do it. Getting the drug in him would be more difficult.

Stefan’s touch on my cheek roused me, bringing me back to the present. The concern on his face wasn’t particularly encouraging. I smiled, more for his sake than mine. “What happens once I’ve injected him?”

“Hopefully, if it works and he’s trapped, he won’t be able to summon his true self. He’ll be virtually human.”

The idea twisted a knot of regret inside me. It felt wrong. What I was planning, it was worse than death for Akil. To trap him in his human form, unable to return to his home, unable to summon his true manifestation. Killing him would be kinder.

“Is there another way?”

Stefan glanced at Ryder, who gave him his usual non-committal shrug. “Had he been anything else but Mammon we could have warned him off, but he won’t respond kindly to threats.”

“Can’t you just tell him about this place, tell him what they can do? He might walk away.” It sounded as hopeless as it was. I was clutching at straws. Akil wasn’t going to walk away. That wasn’t his style. He wanted it all. If he knew about the Institute, he’d tear it wide open. Threats wouldn’t deter him.

Stefan didn’t even bother answering my half-hearted question. He stood and sucked in a deep breath before weaving both hands through his hair, hissing sharply as his shoulder twinged. “We had originally hoped to reason with him, to stack his crimes against him, and persuade him to go home.” He sat on the edge of a chair, leaning forward to rub his hands together before facing me. “That was before he killed Sam. Before I realized how far gone he is.”

I couldn’t help wondering if I was somehow responsible for Akil’s unhinged behavior. I hadn’t known any of this would happen when I’d left him. It had been a simple case of just leaving. I’d told him I never wanted to see him again and turned my back on him. He hadn’t called, didn’t show up outside my apartment, so I’d thought it was over. Easy.

Ryder dropped into his chair. Hooking a leg over the arm, he slouched at an angle, crossing his arms. “It’s not just you, Muse. Nica’s caught in the middle of it too.”

“Nica?” Seeing Stefan slice a glance at Ryder, I immediately knew he’d said something wrong. “What is it?” Stefan struggled to meet my eyes, muscle jumping in his jaw.

“Nica was the one who put us onto Akil in the first place,” Stefan said. “She set everything up from the inside. Akil voiced his… displeasure with you. She knew he was preparing some sort of retaliation, so she planted the idea of hiring an assassin and then steered Akil in my direction. She’s been playing him from the inside and feeding us the information.”

She was a braver woman than me, that was for sure, and not even half-demon. “She works for the Institute?”

“Yes and no.”

Ryder let out an exasperated sigh. “Just tell her.” When Stefan still didn’t elaborate, Ryder said, “Nica is Adam’s daughter. There. That didn’t hurt. Jeez.”

“She’s your sister?” I asked Stefan, voice pitched with surprise.

“Half-sister.” He cast a dismayed glare at Ryder who shrugged.

“Why didn’t you tell me? How… Wha–Why didn’t she?” All this time, she’d been working against Akil. Sourcing the ‘file’ on Stefan, chatting with me at the party. She’d been right beside me, and I didn’t have a clue. “At your workshop, you removed the battery on her phone… You didn’t trust her.”

“You didn’t trust her.” Stefan leaned back, becoming increasingly restless. “I removed the battery because I didn’t want Akil tracking her cell. I didn’t know you’d invited him in to your life, leading him right to us. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that her safety is paramount. Her life is at risk.”

“No shit.” What kind of father lets their daughter go undercover as the PA to a Prince of Hell? Adam had a lot to answer for. “She’s there now…”

Ryder arched an eyebrow. “Yup, and Adam won’t pull her out. Says her intel is too valuable.”

“I hate that man.” I fingered the bruise on my cheek where he’d struck me. I was beginning to realize what kind of man Adam was, the kind who would indeed use and extort anything and anyone to get what he wanted, even his own children. At least the creatures that were trying to hurt me were demon; they couldn’t help themselves. Adam was meant to be human. I’d seen demons behave more humanely.

“Nica’s involvement shouldn’t matter,” Stefan said. “If Muse can carry out the plan, she’ll be safe soon enough.”

“Okay.” If Nica was there, in the middle of all of this then I could certainly find it in myself to back her up. “Then let’s do this.” But first I needed my demon back.

Chapter 22

Stefan held up a small cylindrical device, no larger than a spool of thread. “It’s a jet injector. Fifteen times smaller than the mass market varieties. No needles. A quick jab to the skin and it’ll administer the drug into Akil’s system via a near sub-sonic blast. Within a few seconds, he should feel the effects.”

Such a small thing could deliver such a debilitating drug. I absently rubbed at the back of my hand where I’d been jabbed the day before. We were in Stefan’s apartment, where I’d waited for him to return with the antidote for me. Every second I’d waited seemed like a lifetime. How on earth Stefan had endured months—years—without his demon, I couldn’t even imagine.

He placed the injector on the desk next to its twin, which was marked with a plus symbol. That was my antidote. He reached for it, but didn’t pick it up. Instead, he curled his fingers into his palm and looked back at me. “You’re as close to normal now as you’re ever going to be.” I must have frowned because he leaned back against the desk with the injectors sitting neatly beside him. “If you ever wondered what it would be like to be human, you’re feeling it now.”

It hadn’t occurred to me that, without my demon, I was essentially normal. I lowered myself onto the edge of the bed. Of course I had wondered what it would be like to be human. I’d tried to imitate a normal life and might even have succeeded had I kept running, but I was never going to actually feel normal.

Tucking my hair behind an ear, I lifted my gaze to Stefan. He might have gotten away with the neutral expression if his eyes hadn’t betrayed an intensity that belied his calm exterior. He had dressed impeccably for him. His black shirt with ultra-fine vertical white lines emphasized the brilliance of his eyes while his jeans bunched in all the right places. And there I was, dressed in an unflattering Institute jump suit.

I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say. Maybe if I didn’t have half the netherworld trying to kill me, I could flirt with the idea of repressing my demon—maybe. But it wouldn’t feel right. It wouldn’t be right. I couldn’t hide from what I was; the events of the past week had taught me that. Besides, the thing inside me, my demon, she deserved more.

Without a word, Stefan shoved off the desk and strode into the bathroom. The door swung behind him. A few seconds later, I heard the hiss of the shower. He leaned around the doorframe and beckoned me inside. My gaze lingered on the injector.

The bathroom gleamed with stainless steel fittings while a waterfall shower bellowed steam behind glass doors. Its relentless hiss was the only noise I could hear. I opened my mouth to ask why we were in the bathroom, but Stefan pressed a finger to my lips. He leaned in closely and said, “The noise from the shower will prevent them from hearing everything.”

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. I’d had enough of this place.

“You don’t have to go back to being a half-blood,” he said.

Opening my eyes, I saw what almost looked like hope on his face and smiled. “I want to.”

“Don’t take the antidote. Walk out of here, and make a life for yourself somewhere else, in another city. Get out of this, Muse. You can.”

“Even if I could, he’d find me.” It was an impossible dream. Without my demon, Akil might struggle to locate me, but it would happen eventually. He had resources beyond mine, means by which he could find me anywhere. I could change my name, flee halfway around the world, and he’d still find me. Then there was Val. If my brother discovered I was essentially human, he’d gut me the second he found me.

“Isn’t it worth trying?” He looked almost pained. I wondered if this was his dream.

My smile twitched. “What you don’t seem to understand is that I want the demon, Stefan.” I licked my lips and leaned a hip against the counter. “In the five years I hid, there was one thing I missed more than anything else.”

From the way he tore his gaze away, I could tell that he knew what I was about to say.

“You can’t tell me you don’t enjoy the chaos.” Suddenly, I was grateful for the hiss of the shower smothering our conversation. This was not a discussion we’d want the Institute to hear. “Five years, I kept it hidden inside. I played at being normal, but it was never going to last because I want the destruction. It’s a part of me…” His lips turned up with a fragment of a smile, but he was fighting it. “When you walked into my workshop, you were the first demon I’d been close to in years. I knew you weren’t human. I felt the power coiled in you and I… I wanted it.”

His fingers danced across the granite countertop.

“And you can’t tell me it was the demon because it wasn’t. It’s me. The lust for chaos is a part of me. I can’t shut half of me out and live like that. My demon is half of what makes me whole.”

“Even if it gets you killed?” His sudden gaze pierced right through me, sending what felt like a trickle of ice water down my spine.

“That’s not going to happen.” I faced him, sensing the weight of unspoken words. I’d thought him to be as clear as the winter sky: the confident demon-slayer, all bravado and no substance. But I’d been wrong. Beneath the swagger, the smug smile, and complacent attitude pooled a dark reservoir of emotion; its ice-covered surface had begun to crack. I’d been naïve to think I knew him at all.

He abruptly pushed away from the counter, intent on leaving. Without thinking, I caught his hand, pulling him up short. He looked back at me with such a weighty sadness that I sensed that he knew something I didn’t. He stepped against me, hands tilting my face up, his lips on mine. Repressed hunger broke through my defenses, and I fell completely into that kiss. I hooked my arms around his neck and locked him in an embrace neither of us could escape. My own hunger might have surprised me if I’d cared to think about it, but the overwhelming need to have him close left no room for doubts.

As he pulled back, I felt him tremble. His short, ragged breaths fluttered against my cheek. His hands rode over my hips, then sought the zipper at the front of my jump suit, sliding it open so he could slip his hands inside and ease it off my shoulders. Where his light touch brushed against my shoulders, the heat of desire flushed my skin. I had expected his touch to be cold, but it wasn’t.

He drew back with liquid ice in his eyes as he watched me tug my arms free of the suit. I peered through my half-closed lashes at him, a wicked grin on my face. He responded with a throaty growl that pooled wanton heat inside me. He hitched me up onto the counter and trailed the most frustratingly light kisses across the rise of my breasts. Leaning back, I let him tease those snowflake kisses further down. I gasped as his lips tickled the curve of my waist.

When his mouth found mine again, I hooked my legs around him, refusing to let him go. Fumbling with his shirt buttons, I popped them open one by one, feeling him smile against my mouth. I sunk my hands inside his shirt and heard him snatch a gasp as I grazed the wound on his shoulder.

“Oh, sorry…!” I pulled my hands back, but he grabbed them.

“Don’t stop,” he breathed, shrugging the shirt from his shoulders and dropping it to the floor.

Despite the angry red wound on his left side, the light played across his chest in such a way that I wanted to touch—to taste—every inch of that divine masculine body so much so that I briefly froze, biting my lip, breaths coming fast and untamed. I held the tide of desire in my hands and could still pull it back. Doubts nibbled around the edges of my runaway thoughts. My needs, hungers, desires, all conspired to push me toward the precipice of surrender; if I fell for Stefan, I’d fall hard.

He gathered my face in his hands, drawing me up, so all I could see were those dazzling eyes. His lips brushed mine, but he pulled back when I tried to turn those teasing kisses into something hungry and all-consuming. He teased, luring me close with promises upon his lips, and then easing back when I answered. I groaned low in my throat, he’d be the death of me if he kept this up. When I couldn’t stand the game any longer; when he’d tugged on the strings of desire until my thoughts had blurred and my body burned, he sunk his hands down my back and pulled me against him. I hooked my legs around his waist, molding myself against every inch of him, breath and body ebbing and flowing. He hitched me up, lifting me off the countertop, and carried me into the shower, still partially dressed. Hot jets of water pummeled us. I laughed and watched the warmest, most genuine smile lighten his lips.

He swept a hand through his hair, pulling it back from his face, lending his features an intensity I’d not appreciated before. The streaming water quickly drenched him. Rivulets ran down his face, across the shadow of stubble darkening his chin. He leaned me back against the cool tiles and slipped his hands inside the jumpsuit to ease it over my hips. The garment dropped. I kicked it away; consumed by the need to let my hands wander. A curious stir of power tickled my touch as I slid my hands up his chest. I could feel his element rippling around him; an aura of energy he kept restrained. The heat from the water likely helped with his control. I considered whether I should take the antidote and let my demon out of the bag but wasn’t entirely sure I could control her. I could barely control myself.

I tugged at the waist of his jeans and popped the buttons, laughing into a kiss. He swept an arm around my waist and nuzzled my neck. I turned my head away, sinking my free hand into his wet hair as he planted frostbitten kisses on my neck and shoulder, deliberately summoning a little of his element into each touch. The pierce of ice through the heat shivered a primal need through me. “You’re lucky I’m only half of me,” I growled.

He dragged his gaze back to mine, and the unadulterated look of need he gave sent a quivering wave of desire pulsing through me. Panting, drowning in the urge to have him, all of him, I knew there was more to this than just a distraction. There always had been. I slid an arm around his neck and pulled him down into a kiss that came straight from my heart, my soul. It was the sort of kiss that defines moments, seals destinies, the kiss you remember forever. Whether he knew it or not, I’d fallen for him.

I shoved him back up against the tiles. He responded with a husky growl, the sound deep enough to be part demon. It was my turn to tease. I stepped back, even though every inch of my body ached to be near him. As the scolding water streamed over me, rushing through my hair, over my face and shoulders and down the plain of my stomach, his eyes drank me, devouring every inch of me. His smile said enough without words. He reached for me but I batted his hand away and quirked an eyebrow. Stefan lifted his chin, smile turning wicked. I scattered fleeting kisses across his chest. He muttered my name under rapid breaths. When I nipped at the tight flanks of muscle, he twitched and gasped. Wandering lower, I traced the tip of my tongue over the scorpion tattoo. His sharp intake of breath heightened my own maddening desire. Looking up the length of his body, he looked down at me, his smile interrupted as I tugged the jeans over his hips. He dropped his head back against the tiles, eyes closed, giving himself to me completely.

Stefan had hooked a leg over mine. The naked length of his body lay against me, his head propped up on a hand. He watched me while I stared at the ceiling. It occurred to me that the Institute had probably heard everything. Someone somewhere had been listening to one hell of a show, but I didn’t care. Let them listen. His fingers skipped a haphazard path across my chest, deliberately tickling. I batted his hand away with a chuckle. He responded by summoning a small ball of ice into the palm of his hand. Pinching the ball between his fingers he traced lazy circles across my midriff. I giggled and closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation. Our time together, it felt wonderful in ways I didn’t know were even possible and there was so much more we could do. If I had my demon, if we both embraced our elements and came together like we had then… The thought alone snatched my breath away and fluttered my heart in my chest. The resulting pleasure ride would be a primal thing; beyond words and likely dangerous, but imagine the thrill, the ecstasy, our elements entwined like the two scorpions in Stefan’s tattoo. But our time was coming to an end, and we both knew it. In a few hours, I’d be with Akil and there was no guarantee I’d ever see Stefan again.

He sat up on the edge of the bed and rolled his left shoulder, wincing a little. I knelt behind him and kissed around the stitches. He watched me over his shoulder. I took that as an invitation to continue and teased fluttery kisses across his shoulder. “You held back…” I said.

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back. “Of course. You’re vulnerable without your demon. I didn’t want to hur—” He flinched as I nipped at his shoulder, and then twisted with a grin, and pinned me down on the bed.

I’d known he was holding back. His control was faultless. He was right. Without my demon, I was essentially human and vulnerable. Had he lost control of his element, he could easily have hurt me, but I’d sensed more hesitation than that. Looking up at him now, nothing of that hesitance remained. There was a chance I’d imagined it…

He kissed me slowly, languishing in the moment. I rose up into that kiss. I didn’t want to let him go and pulled him close, slipping my hands down the curve of his back. The things we could do together with more time–but he pulled away.

“They’ll be asking for us soon,” Stefan said. I pulled him back down into one last, lingering kiss and then let him go. His roaming gaze slid over my body. A magnetic pull attempted to drag us back together, but he resisted with a sigh and stood to retrieve the injector from the desk.

Returning to the bedside, he asked, “Ready?”

I sat up, nodded and let him take my hand. A trickle of shivers surprised me, as though fear was trying to warn me. Stefan’s words came back to me; ‘If you’ve ever wondered what it would be like to be entirely human; you’re feeling it now.’

He noticed the goose bumps prickling my skin. “Sure?”

He might pine after normality, but I did not.

He jabbed the injector against my hand. A slight hiss and it was done. I closed my eyes. Within a few seconds, I felt my demon rush toward me, building inside me. Her weight, the elemental force, rolled over me, washing through me, wave after wave, pouring its strength—its energy—back into my flesh, my muscles and bones. I cried out, back arching, the power blazing white hot beneath my skin. Only when the force of her return passed, could Stefan close his arms around me. My fire inched outward, inspecting him, invisible tendrils threading around him, through him, curiously seeking his demon. I felt the cool touch of his ice element respond like the meeting of old friends.

He brushed my hair back and kissed the top of my head. “It’s going to be okay.”

I don’t know who he was trying to convince, me or himself. Either way, I didn’t reply.

Chapter 23

My high heels tapped out a beat as I walked beside Ryder down the hall toward Adam’s office. He continued to grin at me, making no attempt to hide his smirk. I wore a short black dress. Knee high boots clashed somewhat with the dainty little dress. I’d asked for a ‘sexy’ dress and boots since I didn’t have a single item of clothing to my name. It was all for Akil’s benefit, of course, but the boots were my indulgence.

We stopped at Adam’s office. Ryder knocked, his tongue poking into his cheek as he arched an eyebrow at me. His wandering gaze had gone beyond irritating and into humorous. As much as Ryder grated on me, I was beginning to appreciate his honesty in a world filled with lies. “Will I see Stefan before I leave?”

Ryder shrugged. “Not bored of him yet then?”

I smiled. “Careful. Too hot to handle.”

He lifted his hand. “I remember.”

We shared a chuckle just as Adam called from beyond the closed door. Ryder opened the door, gave me a loose farewell salute and closed it behind me. Adam plucked his glasses from his face and stood behind his desk. He wasn’t sneering, too proud for that, but he wasn’t going to tolerate my presence any longer than necessary.

“Are you ready?” He stayed on his feet.

He had a commanding presence. Perhaps that’s where Stefan got his innate confidence. Clearly, Adam was not a man to be trifled with.

“Why did you want to see me?” I avoided his question because I could.

“I wanted to thank you, for doing this.”

A frown touched my face. “I’m not doing it for you or this place.”

“Nevertheless, we have the same goals.” He lifted his chin, raising his gaze to look down his nose at me. “My offer stands. We could use something—someone like you.”

His choice of words dragged a smile across my lips. “Use being the operative word.” I stepped closer. “I’ve known demons more human than you. I never want to see you or your people again.”

“Good. Then I suggest you never mention any of this to Akil. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you… if you manage to survive him.”

I snorted a laugh. This man was a waste of my time. I had bigger fish to fry. “Stefan was right when he said you don’t want to make an enemy of me. If I can kill my demon owner, I can certainly kill you.”

A smile cracked his otherwise impassive face. “Then we’re on the same page.” He sat down and picked up the file in front of him, replacing his glasses. “Good luck, Muse.” I got the distinct impression he didn’t mean it.

Chapter 24

It was snowing when I reached Akil’s waterfront hotel. The sun, little more than a dull orb, hung low in the sky behind the skyscrapers of the financial district, its radiance smothered by a heavy blanket of gray clouds. I pulled my leather jacket tighter around me, flicked the collar up, and jogged up the steps into the Atlantic Hotel.

Walking into the opulent foyer, I felt a little like Julia Roberts, and not in a good way. My dress was too short and my boots too close to the knee. The bottle of red wine in my left hand finished off the rock chick don’t-give-a-damn attitude. I’d buried my right hand in a jacket pocket. The injector nestled safely in my closed fist.

Catching the empty elevator before the doors pinged shut, I turned and saw Nica running toward me. I jammed my foot in the door, and she slipped inside, barely meeting my querying glance until the doors closed.

She faced me, suddenly animated, hands skittish. “Don’t talk. Just listen. Stefan is lying to you—”

“I know.”

“No, you really don’t.” She gripped my arms, her face pale and eyes wide. “I don’t have enough time to explain everything. He knows you’re here. Listen. Stefan is working for Akil.”

“I know.” I said again. She needed to calm down and listen to me. None of this was headline news.

She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, then stepped back and chewed on a nail. “You don’t.”

We were running out of time. The elevator chimed its floors, fast approaching the penthouse suite.

“Nica.” I tried to give her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. He told me everything.”

The sheer depth of her pained expression trickled a rivulet of fear down my spine.

“You’re in danger, Muse.” Her hand went to her throat. “We all are.”

The elevator chimed, and the doors opened, revealing the vast penthouse entrance hall with its opulent fitments and gleaming white walls. We stood looking at one another, no words, just confusion and fear bouncing between us. Then I stepped off the elevator and turned to watch the doors close between us. The expression of terror on her face had unsettled me, to say the least. Already nervous and afraid, I really hadn’t needed her panicked, last minute pep talk. I shook myself, trying to chase away the renewed fear. Sucking in a deep breath, rolling my shoulders back, and keeping my head up, I strode forward into the lounge.

Akil stood by the windows, his back to me, but he saw my reflection in the glass like a ghost, hovering just out of reach. Fat snowflakes twirled in the air outside, bumping against the window. Occasionally, the wind would sweep them up and hurry them along, only for more to return. He wore a blood red shirt complimented by charcoal trousers, and even after everything he’d done, my shallow heart did a little traitorous flip at the sight of him. The mahogany color of his hair, the bronze glow to his skin, all seemed surreal after how I’d left him, face down on the ground, body riddled with bullet holes.

He looked over his shoulder at me. “You owe me an apology.”

A spark of anger ignited inside me, quickly combining with fear to create a heady concoction of emotion that conspired to undermine my resolve. I couldn’t mess this up. If I reacted in a way he found suspicious, it would all be over, but how exactly was I meant to react? The things he’d done. The things he had yet to do… Threatening to tear my demon out of me, literally peel my skin from my bones. How was I supposed to process all that?

“I’m not apologizing to you.” I settled resolutely on anger and moved to the leather couch where I dumped the bottle of wine on the glass coffee table with enough careless force to rattle the glass.

“Then why did you come here?”

“Where else could I go?” I threw my glare over the back of the couch at him. “You burned my apartment.”

He tilted his head to the side, assessing me, reading everything. The way I sat, my quickness of breath, the race of my heart, how I tucked my hair back behind my ear. I moistened my lips. He’d see it all, searching for any inconsistency. Maybe I was being paranoid, but I doubted it. His curious eyes drank me in, absorbing everything, making my skin crawl.

“I…” I faced forward, feeling the weight of his gaze burn into the back of my head. “I know I can’t get away from you. So, I thought, why bother?” I needed to tone down the tight note of fear in my voice and hide the shake in my hands if this was going to work. “So…I’m ready.”

He was suddenly behind me. I swallowed as his hands rested on my shoulders. His fingers squeezed, and for a moment, I wondered if he might try to strangle me, as he had at the marina. What was I doing here? I couldn’t do this.

His thumbs rubbed against my back in undulating circular motions, massaging the tightness from my muscles. I tilted my head back a little, finding his touch bizarrely comforting. “Before you take me home… I wanted to ask something,” I whispered.

“Yes.”

I jumped at his whisper against my ear.

“I wanted us to spend the night together. I mean, like this. We talk. We maybe… y’know. I brought wine.” I was rambling, but that was okay, wasn’t it? It was acceptable to be terrified of him. His hands vanished from my shoulders. I waited. He could break my neck without missing a heartbeat or stab me in the back, and I would never see it coming. No, no he wouldn’t. He wanted me alive. If I died, my demon died too. To get to her, he had to keep my human half safe.

He moved around the couch and placed two wine glasses down on the table. I held back my sigh of relief and sunk my trembling hands between my thighs.

“You left me there, Muse.” His level tone made it impossible for me to gauge his mood.

I blinked, my nervous smile flickering across the surface of my tight expression. My skin flushed with a clammy heat. Panic skittered at the edges of my thoughts, desperate to break through.

He caught my hesitation, my confusion. “At the house by the lake.” He poured the wine. The swirl of the alcohol against the clear glass distracted me.

I laced a hand through my hair, tucking it back, out of my eyes. “You did set the hounds on me.”

He handed me a glass, and I eagerly gulped back a few generous mouthfuls. I spluttered a little, lifting a quivering hand to my lips. Akil sat neatly next to me, draping his left arm over the back of the couch toward me, swirling his wine in his right hand. He appeared to be amused by my obvious anxiety and my failed attempts at concealing it. I might even have said he was savoring the moment, deliberately dragging every hesitation out of me, hanging on every stuttered word as though he knew what I was planning. He couldn‘t know, but that didn’t stop me from fearing he did.

“The Hellhounds make for unbiased sparring partners, don’t you think?” When I didn’t reply, he said, “It was for your own good.” His hazel eyes never left me, testing me, probing me, delving into my soul.

“How exactly does sending the hounds after me do me good?” My anger flared a little brighter, finding fuel. Anger, I could use. Fear, I could not.

“I wanted to know how strong you are. Think of it as a series of trials. To see if you’re worthy.”

I pinched my lips closed and placed my glass back on the table, unable to look at him. Heat seeped from my skin. Anger smoldered inside me, emotions fueling the summoning of my element, just as Akil had taught me. Channel all of the hatred, all of the abuse, the fury and fear. Funnel every instance of pain into your center, and release it to your demon. He had told me that. Stop fighting it, he’d said. Let her in, and I could do anything.

“You saved me.” I said, surprised by my own words and the tremble of my voice. Tears pooled in my eyes. “You saved me from Damien and every day thereafter. You kept me safe… all this time. Kept Val away from me…” When I faced him, the tears skipped unbidden down my cheeks. “I thought…” I gritted my teeth, forcing the painful truth out. “I thought you loved me.”

“No, you didn’t,” he calmly replied.

“Fuck you, Akil. Of course I did. Maybe not in the beginning. But… what we had… The way you—” Damnit, the words wouldn’t come. I shot to my feet and walked a few strides away from him, heels clicking on the marble tiles. “When we were—when we are together, I feel as though there is nothing else in this world. Nothing else matters, just you. You let me think that. All these years, you played me.” He set his glass down and moved around the couch. I couldn’t stand to look at him. Hand on my hip, I bowed my head, hiding my face behind my hair.

“You. Left. Me.”

I recognized his anger and felt a quiver of terror ripple through my already tense muscles. I straightened. He came toward me, lips pulled tight in a grimace. I fought the urge to turn and run. Planting my feet firmly, I stood my ground, summoning a little more of my element.

“You left me, Muse,” he hissed. “You walked away.” He stood too close against me. His power reached out to embrace me.

“Don’t pull that shit, Akil. So, I walked away? Big deal. It’s not like you couldn’t find me. This isn’t about me leaving you; it’s about you playing me from the first time you saw me.” He lifted a hand to touch my face, but I batted it away. “You must have thought it was your lucky day. Here was some lesser demon with a half-blood as a pet. Beaten, abused, one wing missing. I bet that ticked all your boxes. Didn’t it?”

This time, he lifted a hand to strike me, but stopped short as our eyes met. He would see the fury broiling in my irises.

“Go on,” I sneered. “Do it. You’re no better than he was. You’ve been working me, biding your time, watching me squirm like a worm on a hook, ready for you to take the last bite. You make me sick.”

He stepped back, his perfect face set in a frown. “I did all of that for you.”

I laughed. The maniacal sound of it reverberated around the room. “Is that what you tell yourself? Did you kill Sam for me?”

Akil’s lips twitched in a snarl. “Sam was nothing. An obstacle. A distraction. He didn’t deserve you.”

“He was a good man, and you murdered him in cold blood.” I called the warmth of the room into me. The lights flickered. My demon purred her pleasure at the flood of heat shoring up my rage. “If I could kill you for that alone, I would.”

His threatening snarl turned into a smile. He stepped closer, and this time, I did move back, but he didn’t stop. He was on me, shoving me back against the windows hard enough to startle a cry out of me. His hand splayed aggressively across my cheek then dragged down my neck. I tried to turn my face away. Disgust turned my stomach over. He knew what I felt, saw it on my face, and with another snarl, he pinned both my wrists back against the glass. I didn’t struggle. There was little point, but I did call more of the fire element out of the building, sucking the power of the city into my flesh, bolstering my rage and lust for revenge.

He chuckled into my ear. “I find it amusing that you think you can say these things to me and escape my wrath.”

“Why?” I hissed. “Because it’s the truth?”

“The truth…” He seemed to taste the words, let them play on his lips. “Do you even know what the truth is?”

He stood so close against me that the heat between us shimmered. We teetered on the edge of losing control. I couldn’t, not yet. If I could get my arm free and pluck the injector from my pocket, it would all be over.

His lips brushed mine. I clamped my mouth shut, trying to pull away. I couldn’t help the pull of hunger for him. My element sought his great well of energy. My demon wanted him, but I could damn well fight her. The human part of me held the reins, and neither she nor Akil were going to win.

He released my right arm. Now was the time. I could just…

He sunk his hand into the right pocket of my jacket. There was no hesitation. He knew what was in there, and sure enough, he lifted out the jet-injector. Horror doused my anger and spilled a cooling wash of doubt over the inferno within me. He knew. All long. He knew I’d come here to trap him.

His crooked smile and arched eyebrow confirmed it.

Turning the injector over in his hand, he admired the compact device for a few moments as though intrigued, then slammed it against the window beside my head, cracking the glass. When he lifted his hand away, the injector—what was left of it—fell away in pieces that tinkled against the marble floor.

He met my horrified stare, and I knew my time was up. He would kill me now.

“You think I don’t know about the Institute?” he hissed through bared teeth. “That I didn’t know what you came here to do?” He leaned in closer, pressing his entire body up against me. The intense heat rippled an aura of power around him. “You dress yourself like a whore and believe I can be fooled by such petty things?” He buried his face in my hair and took a deep breath. “I can smell him on you.” He nuzzled my cheek. “Your half-blood savior.”

Panic chased away all rational thought. I tried to push against him, but he barely moved. I moved to strike him with my free hand, but he slammed my wrist back against the cracked glass, holding me there like a sacrifice.

“Let me go,” I growled, kicking out, but he jammed a knee between my legs. His body smothered mine. “Akil. Please.” My voice trembled. “You didn’t leave me any other choice. I can’t go back home. I won’t. I’d rather die.”

“As you wish.” He released my left arm and clamped a hand around my neck, constricting my throat. I wheezed in what air I could and clawed at his hand, but nothing even came close to stopping him. I thrashed, throwing my head from side to side, chest heaving. My demon rushed through my skin, flooding into muscle, but he responded in kind. Fire blazed in his eyes.

“Akil!” Nica yelled.

He turned his head and received a face full of mace. He roared, flinging himself away from me as he clawed at his face.

Slumped over on my hands and knees, I gulped in precious air, choking and coughing it back up again. Stars dashed my vision. Incoherent thoughts reeled around my head. Nica snatched my hand and dragged me to my feet, pulling me stumbling after her, down the hall before veering into Akil’s study.

“Not here…” I wheezed. No exit.

Too late. As I stole a glance out the door, I saw Akil’s silhouette bearing down on us. We were trapped.

Nica backed up against the wall of books. “Oh Jesus, he’s going to kill us.” She pressed herself back into the books as if hoping they could somehow swallow her up.

I crossed the room and snatched a very familiar katana from its brackets. The same sword he’d killed Sam with. He must have brought it back from Stefan’s lakeside house. I plucked a lighter short sword from a bracket and tossed it at Nica. She caught it, but from the look of utter terror on her face, I could see I wasn’t going to be getting any back-up.

“Stay behind me.” I stepped in front of her as Akil rounded the doorway. He stopped a few strides into the room, regarding us both as we readied for the inevitable attack. He blinked slowly before looking away. A muscle pulsed in his jaw. When he faced me, sizzling embers danced in his dark eyes. He could call his true form at any time. If he did, Nica and I would be toast.

“Don’t do this.” All I could manage was a croaking growl, but it was enough. “You don’t need to do this.”

“I’ll admit this is not what I wanted.” He took a few languishing steps toward us, drawing out the inevitable.

I heard Nica whimper from behind me and raised the sword in both hands, sending a surge of element through my arms and down the blade. Flames licked up the steel, twisting unnaturally around the sword as my element embraced it. The blade would cut human flesh, while my element would slice through ethereal flesh.

“There’s still hope for you, Muse.” He reached the desk and danced his fingertips across its surface, leaving sizzling singe marks in the wood. “Give me that bitch, and I’ll let you live.”

“You’re a liar.”

“I’m the liar?” He slid his powerful stare over my shoulder to Nica. “She thought she could come into my home, my business, and my life and lie to me.” His human image shimmered before settling again as anger undermined his control. “The insolence of the Institute astounds me.”

I flexed my grip on the sword, never taking my eyes off him. “Blame them, not her.”

“Oh, I do.” He grinned.

My thoughts fragmented, vision blurring at the same time as Akil’s human form rippled. I flung every drop of power inside of me into play and summoned my demon. She came eagerly, enveloping me in a burst of heat. My lone wing burst from my back. Its leathery flesh flapped in the air.

Akil laughed as I spread my stance. His molten eyes drilled into mine. Lips parting, he said softly, “There you are.”

A snarl rippled across my lips. My blackened talons clenched around the flaming sword. “You think you know me.” My wing flexed. “You don’t.”

A cool trickle of air teased into the room, like the promise of frost on a winter’s morning and then Stefan sauntered into the room without breaking stride. He’d retrieved his leather coat and looked exactly as he had the night he’d entered my workshop and turned my world upside down.

“Akil,” he said with an obscene tone of authority that both bemused and startled me. “This isn’t part of the deal.”

Akil slung a glare over his shoulder at Stefan, not at all concerned about his arrival. In fact, Stefan stopped next to Akil and stood beside him with as much confidence as I’d ever seen him wield.

I straightened, feeling a deep scowl cut into my features. An horrific idea planted itself firmly in my thoughts, Nica’s words coming back to me. Stefan’s working for Akil.

I pinned my stare on Stefan, hoping to see something like regret or sadness on his face. I searched those winter-sky eyes for any sign he was playing both sides: a wink, a twitch, anything. Any. Damn. Thing. But there was nothing for me in those eyes. He glared back at me, as cold and hard as glacial ice. Dread twisted a knot in my gut, turning my stomach over and tugging my strength out from under me. “Stefan…?”

Akil fought back a smile. “I admire your work, half-blood.” He acknowledged Stefan with an appreciative nod. “And I upheld my end of the bargain. Nica is safe. In fact, the sooner you get her out of my sight, the better. Muse and I have much to discuss.”

Nica gave me a wide berth and skirted the room, moving around to stand behind her brother. At least she had the decency to look sorry. She had tried to warn me.

I must have been quite a sight: a one-winged half-demon-half-human with her emotions raw on her face for all to see. I couldn’t find my voice, let alone consider how I was going to get away. Stefan was working for Akil. Not in a let’s-pretend-I’m-an-assassin way, more of a lying-the-entire-time kind of way.

“How long?” I rasped.

Stefan blinked, but otherwise stood motionless. “Since the explosion at your workshop.”

Oh god. I staggered, my element briefly stuttering like a dying flame, its fuel burning out. “You set the explosion,” I whispered. I even glanced at him to see if he’d deny it. Nothing. His skin held a delicate shimmer, like a touch of frost on the ground in the morning. I’d once thought him glorious. I’d seen him fight off Hellhounds for me. Watched Akil stab him…

“Akil never misses.” I muttered. I should have known. Akil had plunged the very sword I was holding right through Sam’s chest. He wouldn’t have missed. It had all been an act. I lifted my head, and a growl bubbled up from my depths at the two of them, dark and light, standing together in their victory over me. I lifted my hand, dragging with it the latent heat-energy in the room to gather together in a tight ball of white hot heat in the palm of my hand. It pulsated, cracked, and fizzled. I flung the sphere at Stefan, but he easily sidestepped its arc, and it sailed past and splashed against the wall.

Nica backed up. “Muse—no!”

I breathed in energy, summoning every degree of heat from the building. It swept in from all sides, mostly from below, funneling through my legs and spooling at my heart.

Ice sparkled all over Stefan, as though he’d been powdered with diamond dust. He ordered Nica to leave and moved away from Akil. He held out a hand, briefly halting the proceedings, and checked Akil’s mildly-amused expression, asking for permission. As though Akil owned me. It was the last straw. I sprang for Stefan, bursting forward, intent on plunging the sword right through him, but he batted the katana aside. I barreled on, slamming into him, driving him back against the wall beside the fireplace. Fire flowed from me, spilling over him. Its licking tendrils spat and hissed against his coating of ice. He snarled down at me and with both hands, shoved me back.

“You wanna test me?” I lifted a hand, talons glinting like daggers, and called upon the veil. “Because that’s what this is. A trial, right? You’ve been testing me, preparing me for Akil.” I laughed, and my demon laughed. Our voices mingled.

“Wait.” He shoved away from the wall, ice wings cracking and snapping behind him.

The veil was there. I could see it, like a layer of flesh pulsating between worlds. I could slice it open and reach beyond, thrusting a world’s worth of energy into my demon.

“I…” He bowed his head, as though he might finally have an explanation for me, but it was a ruse. He summoned a shard of ice and launched it at my face. I jerked an arm up, gasping as the dagger of ice plunged into my arm before boiling into nothing but steam.

Stefan plowed into me, slamming me down against Akil’s desk. He drove his arm under my chin, forcing my head back. Ice cracked against spluttering fire. Steam and sparks hissed in the air. Ice cracked off his demon visage, quickly replaced by more as his demon repaired its shield in seconds. He snarled down at me, driving his arm harder against my throat.

“That’s enough.” Akil’s voice boomed.

Stefan didn’t ease off, if anything he leaned closer over me. Glacial-blue eyes were all I could see. “Trust me,” he whispered and then the weight of him was gone.

I lay on my back, wing crushed beneath me, staring up at the ceiling. Trust him? No. I was done with trusting anyone. The bastard had lied to me over and over. He’d stolen my life from me, given me hope, and then torn it out from under me. He may even have captured my heart in ice, and he’d done it all with a crooked smile and glint of mischief in his eye. Damien, Akil, Stefan, the Institute—they could all go to hell.

Akil tugged me upright. His fiery gaze unashamedly devoured my demon. I hissed at him and shoved him back. He stumbled, narrowing his eyes, control wearing thin.

“You can’t have her!” I screamed.

Stefan stood off to my left, multifaceted wings relaxed. Water dripped from their icicle tips. He moved around the room, flanking me. I growled at them both, snapping my teeth together and lunged for Akil. He’d seen me tense and dodged aside in time to avoid me. I twisted around in time to realize what I’d done.

Akil’s human guise peeled away, and the Prince of Hell stepped forth. Fire danced in the air as his muscular bulk filled the space between the floor and ceiling. Wings of embers and ashes butted up against the ceiling, fire tracing through the veins like fireworks igniting the night sky.

Stefan’s cold grip shoved me toward the door. “Go!”

I sneered at him, but I knew when it was time to leave. I made it as far as the lounge before Mammon parted reality in front of me, stepping through the ragged tear in the fabric of this realm. He reared up, wings spread behind him, black lips pulled back over rows of curved fangs. Stefan skidded to a halt beside me. He must have seen something in Mammon that I didn’t because he dropped to a knee and threw a shield of ice up around us like a brittle umbrella. I ducked behind the shield as a blast of pure energy slammed into it. The wave of heat flowed over us, but Stefan’s shield cocooned us from the blistering tsunami.

Stefan leaned into the shield, holding it firm against the onslaught. He shuddered, teeth clenched, eyes closed as he poured all of his element into our defenses. Steam bellowed around us, water droplets instantly vaporized by the barrage of heat.

He was losing. He hunched lower with an anguished cry. It was no good. He couldn’t draw enough of his element from the world around us. The city was heat. It was my world.

“Mammon, stop!” I yelled.

The blast of heat ceased. I peeked over the top of the rapidly melting shield and saw Mammon eyeing me with blank look on his demonic face. He snorted, lips rippling, wings ruffling behind him, dusting the floor with ashes.

I stepped out from behind the shield. “You were testing me, yes.” Each step, I recalled the heat in the room, catching sight of Stefan slumped against the wall beneath the windows, drenched and struggling to gather his element. “Testing to see if I’m worthy… You want to take me home.” I deliberately let my demon speak through me, over me. “To extract me from this human vessel.”

“Yes,” Mammon grunted.

“Then take me.” My gravelly voice echoed back on itself. “Open the veil, and take me.”

“Muse…” Stefan panted, “no.”

“Shut up.” I glared at Stefan. “You don’t get a say in this.”

Mammon snarled. He wasn’t a fool. He sensed I was playing with him. But what was I to him? Just a lesser demon, and half of one at that. What harm could I possibly cause a Prince of Hell?

He shifted, slick muscles rippling, and then tossed a glance to my left where a tear opened in the veil. The thin skin separating the worlds peeled apart like flesh beneath a surgeon’s knife. The edges frayed, and angry remnants of energy snapped about the mouth of the wound. I didn’t hesitate. Reaching beyond the veil, I called the heat of the netherworld to me, channeling the unending reservoir of power. A huge swell of energy tore through the veil and into me, lifting me off my feet. I flung a hand out and directed the force of it at Mammon, but all he did was laugh.

He lifted a hand, capturing the flow of energy in his palm and tossed it back at me as easily as throwing a soccer ball. I heard the sound of glass shattering and had an odd moment to recall how Akil had cracked the window earlier, and then I felt the cool embrace of the night air wrap itself around me. I saw the dark above, and snowflakes danced in the air around my reaching hands, but they fled, rushing away from me.

The bitter wind tore at my blackened flesh, whipping my hair around my face. I was falling. Instinctively, I flung my wing out, but all it did was twist me in the air, tumbling me over and over. I tried to claw at anything, desperate to find purchase, but there was nothing except the relentless assault of the wind and the harsh patter of snowflakes against my face.

Snowflakes.

They played around me, swirling around my flame-wrapped limbs like sprites with minds of their own. I felt them kiss my flesh, instantly dying when they met my heat. I wondered if Stefan had sent them, right before I plunged into a black arctic darkness.

Chapter 25

I lay sprawled on my back, unable to see. I was no longer plummeting to the ground but suspended motionless in a bitterly cold embrace. I opened my mouth and tried to snatch a breath of air, but water spilled over my lips and gurgled down my throat. I couldn’t breathe in to cough the water back up. Clamping my mouth shut, I tried to fight against the weight of darkness. Something shifted. Water pooled around my sizzling flesh. I could lift an arm through the suffocating soup, but without knowing which way was up—or out—I had no idea how to escape.

A cold hand closed around mine and yanked me free, almost dislocating my shoulder. I slumped to my knees in the thick blanket of snow. My demon had all but vanished, the sudden cold chasing her away. I was myself again as I blinked up at Stefan. Snowflakes swirled around him. The cold wind tugged at his coat. I shivered at the sight of his boreal eyes. He shimmered beneath the streetlights, his skin liquid ice. The element seeped from his mortal flesh, enveloping him in pure energy. He’d called from the veil.

He held out a hand. It was only when I took it and let him pull me to my feet that I realized the entire stretch of Atlantic Avenue had been buried in at least three feet of snow. Winter had descended abruptly on Boston. Inexplicably, a snowdrift had gathered at the front of The Atlantic Hotel, exactly where I’d plummeted from the penthouse apartment above. I heard shouts of alarm around us. People wandered from their businesses and stranded cars.

“Holy hell,” I wheezed.

Nica emerged from the side of the hotel, arms wrapped around herself, shivering uncontrollably, teeth chattering. She slogged through the thick snow to get to us, her court shoes disappearing in her tracks.

“C’mon, we need to get off the main street,” Stefan urged, glancing up through the swirling snow at the hotel. “He’ll be on us in seconds.”

I took Nica’s hand, pooling warmth into my hand in an effort to keep her warm. We trudged through the snow, but it’s cloying weight slowed us down. I summoned what warmth I could find from the nearby buildings and focused it ahead of us so that the snow began to melt, shrinking back to create a path.

“We need to get to the Institute.” Stefan said from behind us.

I glanced back. He’d shaken off his demon and had returned to his normal self. Gun in hand, he covered our retreat, waiting for Mammon to emerge and give chase.

“No.” I replied, pulling Nica barefooted behind me. “It ends now.” Even I was a little frightened at the growl in my voice. I was not in a good place, mentally, but I refused to stop and think about why. Now was not the time to go over the deceit Stefan had wrought upon me. “Whatever happens, it ends now. I’m not running anymore.”

We emerged along Harbor Walk, a footway that follows the waterfront around the many wharfs and marinas along Boston harbor. The ink-black water of the harbor ahead of us reflected the sparkling lights from the buildings on the opposite side of the bay. Snow continued to dust the ground, but the further away from the hotel we were, the less snow hindered our escape until all that remained were lazy flakes fluttering like ghostly butterflies in the night air.

A pier stretched out across the water with smaller boats bobbing gently at its edges. I rounded on Stefan, forcing him to pull up short. “How could you?”

“Muse.” He didn’t even look sorry.

This wasn’t the time to fight, I knew that, but I wasn’t having him walk beside me any longer. I needed to know why he would lie to me before Mammon incinerated us all.

A scowl darkened his eyes. “Not now.” He glanced behind him. “We need another plan.”

If it weren’t for the threat of Mammon, I’d have blasted Stefan with every molecule of fire I had at my disposal. “There is no other plan. He knew about the injector—”

I saw him flinch, guilt slicing through his attempt at indifference.

“You told him?” He didn’t deny it; he could barely hold my gaze. “You told him!”

Nica stepped in front of me as I tensed to lunge at him. I’d have torn into him had she not stopped me. “Muse,” she stuttered. “You can’t blame Stefan.”

“The hell I can’t. I trusted him.” I laughed and staggered back onto the pier. “It took me a while. I should have listened to my instincts at the beginning; they never lie. I should have known better… You son-of-a-bitch.”

Nica stood in front of her brother, then stepped back, relaxing against him as he slipped his left arm around her, pulling her close. I watched, the anger simmering beneath my skin, as he kissed her lightly on the head and whispered something into her hair. I read the apology on her lips even as the breeze stole the softly spoken words. They were close. That much was clear. He’d been protecting her, but in doing so, he’d put me repeatedly in the line of fire and then screwed me for good measure.

“Hey,” I snapped. “Hate to break up the family reunion, but we have a Prince of Hell bearing down on us and not a clue how we’re going to get away from him.”

Nica swept a rogue tear off her cheek and nodded. “Just don’t be so quick to blame, Stefan. Please…”

I avoided Stefan’s glance and focused on Nica instead. I’d forgotten how vulnerable she was in all of this. A half-demon for a brother, the two of us throwing elemental energy around, revealing our demon selves as though it was perfectly normal. She must have been terrified; she was the bravest of us all.

“Stefan, can you and I…” I shoved my rage aside, bottling it and screwing the lid on tightly to be opened once this was over “Together, can we out-power him?”

“It’s possible. At least, I can draw from the veil, but I saw what he did when you summoned your element from the netherworld. Your attack slid right off him. You can’t fight him, Muse. You wield the same power. All you were doing was feeding him energy.”

Crap. I bit into my lip. There had to be a way. I racked my mind for anything resembling a solution, but didn’t know enough about battling demons. I’d spent my life cowering at their cloven hooves, not standing up to them.

“Why did you tell him about the injector?” I know—not the right time, but I needed to hear it from him. “It could have worked.”

Stefan moved around Nica, but as he approached me I stepped back, holding a hand out. “Don’t,” I warned. I couldn’t stand to be near him. It only made the gaping mental wound he’d inflicted hurt all the more. That, and the fact I wanted him to hold me, I needed to feel his arms around me. It had only been a few hours since we’d lain together. I’d been stupid enough to think that meant something. It had to me.

“I didn’t have a choice.” Stefan stopped his advance, albeit with reluctance. “He had Nica. I had to tell him everything. If he suspected I was lying, he’d have killed her.”

“But you’re so good at lying.” Anger spat the words through my clenched teeth.

He grimaced, glancing away before glaring back at me, jaw clenched, fist clenched at his side. “I did everything I could to protect you.”

“Sure, while buttering me up for Akil. All that bullshit about teaching me to summon from beyond the veil. It was all for Akil. You were leading me right into the lion’s den.”

“I didn’t have a choice.” The wind tugged his raised voice away, carrying it across the dark water. “Nica should never have been sent in to work for Akil. He knew who she was the second he saw her, so he used his advantage to call me in. I was supposed to watch over you, nudge you in the right directions, see how powerful you were—how much you knew. I did all that, you’re right, but I also kept you safe. Akil’s trials would have killed you.”

They might as well have, I thought. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I couldn’t keep the bitter sadness from my voice.

“I told you as much as I could without putting Nica in danger. I did what I had to. I’m sorry. Please, Muse. I couldn’t let him hurt Nica. She had no-one. The Institute—our father—wouldn’t even acknowledge he’d sent her in there. I was all the hope she had.”

He chanced a step closer, but I backed up. “Don’t come near me.”

He glowered back at me, eyes narrowing, but I could see how my words wounded him. The pain was apparent in his eyes. He had no idea what he’d done to me. I’d trusted him. More than that, I loved him. God-help-me, I loved him. He’d let me believe in him, and it had all been lies. Lie after lie after lie. Pile that on top of Akil’s twisted betrayal and Damien’s before him, and frankly, I was surprised I hadn’t just thrown in the towel and merrily stepped through the veil myself. Stefan had been my last hope that everything would be alright. In his arms, I’d been safe. Now that too had gone.

I masked my sorrow with anger, sneering at him as he tried to make me understand. “Don’t come near me. If we get out of this, I don’t ever want to see you again.”

“Muse,” he breathed, face crumbling in pain.

“Never.”

The clap of hands behind me pierced the night. The wind played with the sound, tossing it in the air.

“Bravo.” Akil’s deep voice purred, the single word spoken with a syrupy slowness. I turned, pooling heat into my hands as I fixed him in my sights. Back in human form, his appearance shimmered with a heat-haze. An abundance of power rolled off him. We had little to no hope of beating him.

“He does love you, Muse.” Akil frowned playfully. “I knew that much when I saw you together at the lake house. Two half-bloods of opposing elements; you realize it’ll never work? Aside from the fact I’m taking you home. So, no need to fret, you won’t be seeing him again.” His lips twitched. “Ever.”

I wasn’t going back there without a fight. I summoned my demon, plunging her strength into my limbs. Energy strummed through me, weaving up and down my spine and rising to the tip of my wing. I planted both feet firmly, casting my arms out and stretching my wing back. Let him see me, all of me. Let him witness the furious broiling energy thrashing inside of me. If he wanted me, he could have all of me.

I called every fragment of heat from the city behind me, finding less there than I had earlier. My attempt stuttered. The cold of the snow still piled high on the street subdued the available heat. I hesitated only briefly before reaching further, but the cold water of the bay offered little, and the reaching tendrils of power recoiled, snapping angrily in the air, their lust for power unsatisfied. Driven by rage, I sought the heat beyond the bay, but the further I stretched, the weaker my efforts became.

Akil frowned. “I expected so much more. Stefan was very thorough in his reports of your newfound prowess.”

The madness of rage spilled over me. A white-hot torrent of heat ripped across my skin, enveloping me in light. As Stefan had so eloquently said, I was about to go nuclear, and I had the source of energy I needed standing right in front of me. Akil seemed curious as my ethereal tendrils reached toward him. I wrapped the touch of them around his ankle and slid it sensually up his leg. He watched my element snap in the air around him with a look of admiration on his face. He lifted his hands as I teased more writhing ropes of power around his waist. I sensed the energy coiled inside of him: a vast abundance of fire ripe for the picking. He had torn my element from me at the marina right before he’d mistakenly or deliberately tried to kill me. Now it was my turn.

I twisted the vines of power around his wrists and then caught his hesitant glance. I had him. I didn’t need to hide the fact from my face. I let him see my features twist with rage and grinned, revealing my own glistening, sharp teeth. He tugged at his right arm, but I pulled the restraining tendrils tighter. He snarled at me and arched his back, summoning his true form. Fire raced up my reaching, whip-like tendrils, and dove into my chest where it spun around itself, searching for an exit. My demon laughed, greedily swallowing up the power, letting it swell inside us.

Mammon staggered, his ragged wings shuddering. Embers fluttered in the air with the snowflakes. He stamped back, tossed his arms out, shook his horned head, but couldn’t break free. He summoned his element, and I called it from him, drawing it out of him and sucking it into me. Our elements combined, flooding over me like a tidal wave. My eyelids fluttered closed, and undulating flames licked over my body. I didn’t need to see him to know where he was. I was inside him, pulling at his mental barriers, clawing at his source, eager for more.

Bathed in a heat so intense it ignited the very air around me, I rose up inside the firestorm. The power gathered up my physical body, set off a blistering fusion reaction, and sucked every last drop of power from Mammon’s ethereal body. We collapsed in unison. Through the flames, I saw Akil’s demon fade away, leaving his unconscious human vessel on the pier. He wasn’t dead, just exhausted in the truest sense of the word.

I, on the other hand, was about to experience exactly what it meant to summon a god-like amount of energy and not unleash it upon the world. The pain began immediately, but at first, it was barely noticeable. Just a few twitches like splinters of glass dashing my skin. Nothing I couldn’t handle.

“Muse…” I made out Stefan’s distinctive coat. He dropped to his knees in front of me, but he couldn’t breach the wall of flame.

A snap of pain lashed up my back, wrenching a cry from my lips. “Just kill him…” I hissed.

He didn’t move. It didn’t matter what we did to Akil’s human vessel, it wouldn’t destroy the essence of him. Immortal, remember? Not the kind of immortal that isn’t really immortal either. Princes of Hell don’t die.

Tears sizzled in my eyes. “Stefan…” Terror clamped my chest.

He couldn’t reach me. Pain tore my back. Energy lashed furiously at my insolence. A scream squeezed through my clenched teeth. I flung my desperate stare at Stefan. “Please, make this worth it. Do something. Make sure he can’t come back.” Energy cracked across my spine, slamming me against the ground. Fire spilled across the pier like a creeping river of lava. It was going to consume me. I couldn’t contain this much power. Not even a full-demon could contain this much energy. My only other option was to release it. But if I did that, half of Boston would be destroyed. I lifted my head and saw Stefan beside Akil with something in his hand. Ice. I saw the water running down his arm… No, not water. Blood.

My element slashed through my flesh, lancing up my entire right side. I was beyond screaming. I’d retreated from my physical self, my human mind unable to cope with the pain. Power still tore into me, slashing great talons of energy through my body.

I felt rather than saw the veil open. My demon instinctively reached for home, seeking an escape, but she could no more escape than I could. Stefan had Akil’s limp body draped over his shoulders. Blood flowed down his coat, dripping over his boots and onto the pier. I couldn’t think clearly enough to understand what was happening. Nica was there, beside him, her face wet with tears.

Fire scorched every inch of my flesh. I could end this. The water. If I could get to the water… I could escape. It had nearly killed me before, but death seemed like the easy way out compared to the body-sundering assault my element was dealing me. I searched for Stefan, needing to see those cool winter eyes one last time. Amid the heat and flame, I caught sight of him. He saw me too, and a weighted sadness crossed his face. I reached out, extending flames toward him and then he turned away and carried Akil through the veil. The tear in reality stitched itself back up behind him, and he was gone.

Gone.

I couldn’t do this. I needed him. Someone. Anyone. I couldn’t do this alone. My demon snarled at me, snapping inside my skull. She wanted to release the power. Let it all go, she hissed. …the delicious release of chaos. Taste it. Let it go. Burn the city, burn the people, burn, burn, burn.

I clawed at the pier, nails fracturing, and dragged my blazing body to the pier’s edge. Better to smother the flames, to drown in the darkness, than release the desires of the demon. I was half-human, and she was mine to command. She would not win, could not beat me. I would always be human first. My life here—my love—it was mine, and she would not take that from me.

I slipped off the edge of the pier and into the water.

Chapter 26

I don’t remember Nica pulling me out, nor do I recall Adam scooping my cold, limp body off the pier before bundling me into the back of a car. They later told me I was unconscious and non-responsive for a week. Had it not been for the sweltering heat I radiated, they’d have given me up as a lost cause.

At least I have no memory of the pain. My human mind had locked it all away in a box marked Do Not Touch–Ever. My demon would remember it, but I didn’t have to deal with that because the Institute had their claws in me, and my demon half had been sent packing.

I had a new prison cell, furnished with steel bars.

Adam visited me daily. A man of few words, he’d sit outside my cell and scribble a few notes. It was just as well they’d taken my demon from me because I’d have spontaneously combusted him on sight had I the power to do it.

I refused to speak to them. It was all the power I had left, so I stubbornly used it, hoping they’d forget about me—maybe even let me go if I played dumb long enough. No such luck. Adam hadn’t spoken Stefan’s name in weeks. He’d asked me a few rudimentary questions, which I’d refused to answer, but for some reason, that day, he decided to broach the subject.

“Do you know what happened to Stefan?” he asked in a monotone way, like a doctor might ask how you are on this fine sunny day.

I kept my head bowed, letting my tangled hair hide my expression. I knew what I’d seen, but I didn’t know what it meant. When I finally did speak, my voice rasped across my cracked lips. “He took Akil back to hell…”

Adam let the quiet return before speaking. “He offered himself to the veil as a human sacrifice. He took Akil to the netherworld, making sure the Prince of Greed could never return.”

I remembered the blood I’d seen dripping down Stefan’s coat, but I hadn’t known what it meant. I did now. He wasn’t coming back. A one way trip. He had said as much when discussing the idea of a sacrifice in the library with Ryder. I cared, I did, but numbness had descended over me. I knew it was a coping mechanism. The only way I could function was to not feel anything, but it was a tenuous solution, liable to fracture at any moment. I looked at Adam and wondered if he’d gained a few more worry lines since I’d walked out of here in a little black dress all those weeks ago. “He’ll come back,” I said.

Adam tilted his head to the side. “No. He’s a half-blood in the netherworld without an owner to protect him. How long do you think he’ll last?”

I clenched my teeth. Did this man not feel anything at all for his son? “He’ll come back.”

Adam stood with a weary, drawn-out sigh. “He’s likely already dead.”

I lunged at the bars, hissing. “He was right to despise you.”

“Perhaps.” Adam folded his notebook and tucked the pen into his shirt pocket before peering back at me, his soft brown eyes deceptively beguiling. “Of course, we could train you. If you worked for us, we could provide the knowledge you need to retrieve him.”

“Sure, let me out of here, give me my demon back, and I’ll help you.” I don’t think he appreciated my sarcasm.

He dragged a hand across his bristly chin then scratched at his cheek. “You’ll come around.”

I watched him walk away. The heavy steel door opened. A guard acknowledged him before pulling the door closed and twisting the lock.

Alone, I clenched the bars in my warm hands and tilted my head back, closing my eyes. Stefan was locked beyond the veil in a world that despised him where every rippling shadow might kill him. I’d been there. I’d lived much of my life in the netherworld, most of it on my knees in chains. Stefan was alone, and he’d trapped a Prince of Hell with him. I couldn’t begin to imagine how he’d survive, but he would. I had to believe he would. He’d survive until I could get to him.

I paced my tiny cell, hands laced in my hair.

Stefan had lied to me. He’d dashed my hopes. I hated him and what he’d done to me. He’d tossed my misplaced love back in my face, but I couldn’t leave him there. He didn’t deserve that. Nobody deserved that. If the Institute wanted to waste their time and money training me, that was their mistake. As soon as I got my demon back, I would cross the veil. Val was there, waiting for me. So was Akil. It was madness to even consider it, but what else did I have? Anything that had ever mattered to me, gone.

I stopped pacing and stood in the center of my cell, hands clenched at my sides. I’d work for the Institute. I’d play their game. I’d lie to them, let them believe me an ally, and when they trusted me, when they thought me one of them, I’d be back with Stefan to tear this place down around them.

Epilogue

The light had long ago given up the ghost, but I didn’t mind the dark. It suited my mood. The bleached-white light from the workshop spilled into the small office through the dusty window, pooling enough of a wan glow across the desk that I could see the scuffs on my boots.

I heard the workshop door rumble open and glanced through the cobwebs covering the workshop’s little window. The white sheet covering the half-finished Dodge Charger bellowed like a skirt as the uninvited breeze slipped beneath it, then settled gently as the door closed.

I counted a few beats before Ryder poked his head around the office door. He wouldn’t have wasted any time searching elsewhere for me. There was only one place I went when I needed to think.

“You’re up. Demon, Class C, downtown.”

I rocked my chair back, feet still resting on the desk. A Class C was a minor demon sighting, little more than a box ticking exercise. It was all I was permitted to do as a trainee Enforcer.

Ryder didn’t hide his frown. He sucked in a breath and entered the gloomy office, tucking his thumbs into the pockets of his grease stained jeans. I could smell gun oil and knew he’d been working on his collection of Institute guns. He was the go-to guy for the Enforcer weaponry, and despite his disheveled appearance, he was a damn good weapons expert.

He scratched at an eyebrow and glanced back out the door, clearly uncomfortable with my silence. “Muse, you gotta talk to someone.” He smiled, but it looked sheepish on his face, as though he were embarrassed to even mention his next words. “It’s been months. You’ve not said a word about him; not mentioned him at all. It ain’t healthy.”

It was sweet that he cared enough to raise the subject. Talking about feelings wasn’t one of Ryder’s strong points. “What do you know about healthy?” I smiled. “I’ve never known a guy who could survive on coffee and Doritos before.”

He lifted his hands, guilty as charged. “All right. I’m not the guy to talk to, but you gotta talk to someone. This silence, it ain’t doin’ you any favors.”

He was talking about the Institute and their incessant reporting. Ryder was my handler. My tutor. My babysitter. Everything I did, every move I made, every screw up, he reported to the Institute. It wasn’t his fault. He had a job to do. At least he didn’t lie about it. Who could I talk to? Nica hadn’t said three words to me since that night on the pier, blaming me for her brother’s sacrifice. I might not have felt so alone if they’d given my demon back, but she was off limits. All I had was Ryder.

“I want my demon back.” I plucked at a loose thread on my jacket. “I don’t care about anything else.”

“Not even Stefan?”

I flicked my gaze up without lifting my head, peering at him through my lashes. “Stefan’s dead.”

Neither of us believed it, but it was the right thing to say. The Institute needed to believe I’d given up hope, so that’s what I told them. Ryder knew it was a lie, but he played the same game I did. Only when Adam and the Institute thought I was entirely theirs, would I get my demon back. Only then could I go beyond the veil and go after Stefan.

It had been months since Stefan had offered himself to the veil, locking both himself and Akil on the other side, and it would be longer still before the Institute trusted me. But if any half-blood could survive on his own in the demon realm, I had to believe it would be Stefan.

A quirky smile chased away the concern on Ryder’s face. “C’mon, lil’ firecracker. I’ll race you there. Last on scene, buys the beers.”

I made a show of examining my nails, then flashed him a grin. Ryder bolted from the doorway with me in hot pursuit.

He always wins.

Devil May Care, Book 2 in the Veil Series, is available at your favorite online retailer.

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Death’s Hand: The Descent Series, Book One

SM Reine

Elise Kavanagh doesn't want to hunt demons anymore. It's been five years since she killed her last enemy, and life has been quiet since then. She went to college. Got a job, and then lost it. Made a friend or two. Lived a normal life. Now her former partner, a powerful witch named James Faulkner, wants Elise to fight one more time. The daughter of a coven member has been possessed, and Elise is the only exorcist nearby.

Becoming a hero again would mean risking discovery by old enemies. But digging into the case reveals that it might already be too late--bodies are disappearing, demons slither through the night, and the cogs of apocalypse are beginning to turn once more. Some enemies aren't willing to let the secrets of the past stay dead...

Part One: Before

Prologue

RUSSIA – FEBRUARY 1998

James spotted a splatter of blood through the tree boughs. It marked the snow like an ink stain on paper.

He pushed through the pine needles, and her bare feet appeared, blue-toed and limp. He saw the curve of a calf and a knobby, bruised knee. He saw the jut of ribs under her skin and an arm thrown over her face. And the next thing he saw was the twelve other bodies.

Nausea gripped James, but he covered his mouth and maintained composure. His guide was not so lucky. The other man dove behind a bush, gagged twice, and vomited across the frozen earth.

Elise was already dead. He was so certain of it that he almost walked away at that moment. But what would Isaac think of James abandoning his daughter’s body? The indignity of leaving her naked on the ice for the birds to devour was too much, and he came so far to find her remains.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to step foot in the clearing. Elise looked peaceful, but the others were twisted in agony. Blood marked their fingernails. They had gone out fighting.

Each of the twelve other bodies could have been siblings. They had pale skin, slender forms draped in white linen, and white-blue eyes—he could tell, because they were frozen open. The snow around them looked fluffy, as though it were freshly fallen. Something about that struck him as wrong. It was cold, but it hadn’t snowed in days, leaving the earth a solid sheet of ice.

Taking a closer look, James found it wasn’t snow—the clearing was covered in feathers.

His guide had recovered and began babbling in Russian, but he spoke too fast for James to understand. He heard one recognizable word—chort, devil.

James hung back in the trees, fighting the urge to leave. He adjusted his balaclava, tuned out the guide’s shouts, and stepped into the clearing.

The hair lifted on his arms. His skull began to buzz.

He tried not to look at the other corpses, but it was like they reached for him, pleading for escape. Their teeth were bared. Their tongues were purple and twisted.

That one had been stabbed in the chest.

The body by his feet was disemboweled.

Those two bodies had died clutching hands.

He couldn’t look at them anymore. He focused on his feet and forced himself to take a step once, twice. Again and again. When he reached Elise, the buzzing grew so loud that he could no longer hear Maksim’s protests.

James hovered a glove over her body. All the energy vanished. The clearing went silent.

He pushed the arm off her face to examine her. Dirty, frayed bandages were wrapped around her hands, so tattered that they looked like they might blow away.

Elise had her father’s auburn hair and his strong nose, but her soft chin belonged entirely to Ariane. Her eyelashes were sealed by ice. How had she died? There wasn’t a mark he could see.

He moved to unwrap one of her hands.

Her eyes fluttered.

“Maksim!” he shouted. Her broad lips parted to exhale silver fog. “Maksim! She’s alive!” He forgot to speak in Russian, but his message didn’t need translation.

His guide shouted and ran to the van. James shed his parka. The cold seeped through his undercoat as he wrapped her in his furs. Alive. It was impossible. Nobody could have survived an hour naked in the killing frosts of Siberian spring.

James watched the other bodies, waiting for them to jerk to life and creep forward, but they remained lifeless. Elise was the only survivor, even though it was impossible for one small girl to have survived an attack that killed a dozen others.

Unless she had been the one to do the killing.

He carried her out of the clearing without touching the other bodies. There was nothing he could do for them. He wasn’t sure he would have anyway.

The guide opened the van, letting steam escape the back end. As soon as James climbed inside, laying Elise between their extra gas tanks and a rattling space heater, he closed the doors again.

“Hurry!” James said, reverting to his limited Russian.

“She’s a demon,” repeated Maksim as he climbed to the driver’s seat, and then he continued to speak so quickly that James couldn’t understand if he tried. He picked up a word here and there—devils and hell, curses and fear—but he was too busy to translate.

He cracked heating packs open and pressed them to Elise’s underarms, her groin, and the back of her neck.

James pulled a glove off with his teeth and touched his bare fingers to her throat. Her pulse was slow but steady. Color began to flush her cheeks.

A demon, Maksim said. Maybe. But she was also Isaac and Ariane’s daughter, and James promised to bring her back safely. He kept all of his oaths, no matter how unpleasant.

His driver shouted and gestured. James interrupted him to say, “Town. Take us to town!”

The van bounced and groaned over the path. He had to brace his back against the fuel canisters to keep them from falling on Elise as he searched her body. He found no injuries. Aside from a few bruises, she was unharmed.

Surely a girl that young couldn’t have killed so many people without injury. There must have been someone else in the wilds—someone he hadn’t seen. It wasn’t a comforting thought.

He peeled the bandages off and flipped her hands to look at the palms.

No.

James turned her hands over again, heart racing.

It was the first time James wished Elise had died on the tundra, but it was also far from the last.

Elise woke up five days after James found her in the forests near Oymyakon.

He knocked lightly and entered the room. There were no hotels in the small Russian village, so he had been staying in a house full of laborers under the guise of an ordinary traveler. Since bringing home the girl’s body, their friendliness turned to uneasy whispers, and James seldom left Elise sleeping alone in what had once been a tiny closet.

James sympathized with their wariness. Even he had to steady himself when he found her crouched in the corner of her bed, staring at him with eyes rimmed by dark circles, and he was the one who had brought her there.

“The women told me you were awake,” he said. “They say you’re refusing to eat. Please lay down. You must conserve your strength.”

She remained so still that she might have been a painting.

There were three bowls on the rickety table by her bed. It didn’t look like she had touched any of them.

“The stew is safe to eat, I assure you. Babushka is an excellent chef. I’ve eaten a dozen of her meals since I arrived, and she has yet to poison me.”

Her gaze flicked to the table and back to him.

James moved to sit on the stool next to her, but he caught a glimpse of something shining amongst the sheets. She had somehow stolen a knife from the kitchen. He froze at the sight of the blade.

Tension hung suspended between them. She didn’t move to stab him, and he didn’t show his fear.

“My name is James Faulkner,” he went on after a long moment, speaking in the voice one might use to soothe an angry hawk. “The woman you were staying with, Pamela Faulkner, is my aunt. I found you three days ago. We’re in Oymyakon now.”

“Where’s Pamela?” Her voice was throaty and hoarse.

He shut his eyes. He could see Pamela’s body as he found it in her house: slumped against the wall as though she had decided to rest for a few minutes. Her body was mostly unmarked, but blood stained her ear canals. Her beautiful black hair, streaked with gray only at the temples, was in its perpetual bun with only a single hair astray.

James had been very close to his aunt as a child. She was the high priestess of their coven, and she revolutionized ritualistic magic when she invented paper spells. Pamela had arguably been one of the most powerful witches in the world.

Very little could have caught her off-guard. Even fewer things could have killed her.

“She’s dead,” he said.

This didn’t seem to cause any emotional reaction in Elise. She got to her feet, letting the sheets tumble to the ground, and the sight of her skeletal frame made James’s stomach flip. Even swathed in a simple dress borrowed from one of the village women, he could see every curve of every bone in her body.

She took a step toward the door, knife clutched to her side, and staggered. Her hand slipped on the dresser when she tried to catch herself.

James stood to help her back to bed, but the look she gave him burned with sheer loathing, so he hung back without touching her. That glare made her look just like Isaac.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She carefully made her way toward the door, gripping the frame to lift herself to a standing position once more.

“Please, Elise, sit down and eat. I assure you, we’ll leave as soon as you can walk. If He doesn’t know where you are yet, then we’re a step ahead of Him, and we don’t want to lose this brief advantage.”

Her nose wrinkled, like the idea of going anywhere with him revolted her. He was almost offended.

She fumbled for the doorknob.

“You’re very weak and it’s hundreds of miles to the nearest city. You won’t survive alone.”

Elise’s only response was a silent glare. James was struck by the feeling that she was more of a feral animal than a teenage girl. He probably wanted to be trapped with her as little as she did, but neither of them had a choice in the matter.

She opened the door. James stepped in her path. She tried to shove him out of her way, but even though she was surprisingly strong for someone who looked like she should have been dead, he was stronger.

“Your parents asked my aunt to watch you until they came back. Since she died, the responsibility of your care falls upon me. I’ve sworn to keep you safe. I intend to keep that promise.”

She transferred her grip from the doorway to a fistful of his shirt. He felt metal press against his stomach through his parka.

The knife. He tensed.

He breathed shallowly and forced himself to speak calmly. “I’m not safe now that I’ve found you, either. We need to stay together. It’s the only way either of us will survive.”

Elise radiated silent fury. He was struck by her resemblance to Ariane, although he didn’t recall the sweet witch who had birthed her ever being so angry.

And then she released him and sat on the side of the bed, stubbornly ignoring his hand. With careful, measured movements, she lifted the stew to her mouth and drank its broth without dropping her gaze from his.

When the bowl was drained, she ate each piece of meat one by one and set the bowl down again. She already moved without shaking. James doubted he would be able to keep her under control for long. It wouldn’t be long before she was much, much stronger than him.

He wondered again if she had killed all those people in the clearing.

“I don’t trust you,” Elise said. “I will never trust you.”

It was the last thing she said to him for a very long time.

December 1988

Isaac Kavanagh gave his daughter a pair of twin falchion swords for her seventh birthday. Wickedly sharp and too big for her hands, Elise accepted them with a grave nod before turning to kill her first demon.

She skewered it. The demon shrieked and wailed.

“Good,” Isaac said with a proud smile. “Very good.”

Later, they will say this day marked the beginning of the end of the world.

This is only half true.

Part Two: Retirement

Chapter 1

MAY 2009

Steam drifted from the surface of Marisa Ramirez’s coffee. She blew on it gently, cupping the mug between her hands to warm her chilly fingers.

Golden morning light rimmed the closed curtains over the sink. The thermometer outside the window read sixty-two, but the swamp cooler clicked on and blew chilled air into the kitchen anyway. Marisa shrank deeper into her sweater.

Augustin Ramirez sat across the table with his face in his hands. The ceiling rattled above their heads as distant screams and sobs peaked in time with fists pounding against the floor.

His left cheek muscle twitched. They exchanged glances, and he found his own haunted expression mirrored in her face.

Hands shaking, she lifted her coffee cup and took a sip.

The doorbell chimed. Their daughter shrieked in response.

“Are you going to get that?” Augustin asked. Marisa didn’t respond. His jaw tightened. “I said, are you going to get that?” She ducked her head, lips trembling. The right side of her mouth was darkened with the shadow of a bruise. He made a disgusted noise, shoving his chair back as he stood. “Fine. I’ll get the door.”

She took another drink and set the mug down.

The living room blinds were shut and covered by heavy curtains, casting the room in twilight. Augustin navigated to the door by memory, unlocked the dead bolt, peeked through the door.

The woman on the other side pushed her sunglasses into her hair to study him with narrowed eyes. A single scar broke the line of her right eyebrow.

“Augustin Ramirez. Right?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry…do I know you?”

She held out a hand. She wore black gloves with a button at the wrist. “Elise Kavanagh. James sent me.”

He gave her hand a brief shake. Her grip made his knuckles ache. “James Faulkner?” Augustin asked. “He said he was going to send a—uh, an exorcist to look at our daughter.”

Elise nodded. “Yes, right. I’m the exorcist.”

“You’re not what I…that is to say…”

“Yeah, I know. Can I come in?”

“Yes,” Augustin said, stepping aside.

“I’m sorry I’m late. I was on my way to the office, and I wasn’t expecting James to ask me to do a job. I haven’t been an exorcist in a long time.” She indicated her outfit with a sweep of her hand—a black skirt, white blouse, and black blazer. Augustin wasn’t sure what he expected an exorcist to wear. Maybe leather and chains. Definitely not business casual.

She handed a business card to him. Elise Kavanagh, Certified Public Accountant. It was so absurd he had to laugh. “So you used to exorcise people a lot?”

“More often than I do now,” Elise said. “I went into retirement five years ago. Anyway, I’m not going to exorcise your daughter. I’m going to determine if it’s demonic possession.”

“Demonic possession,” he echoed. “You have me at a loss. Frankly, this all seems a little…absurd.”

She gave a humorless, thin-lipped smile that might have been a grimace.

“You’re here,” Marisa said. She hovered in the doorway, arms wrapped around her shivering body. “I’m so glad you came.”

Augustin frowned. “You know this woman?”

“She’s always at the coven meetings,” Marisa said. Her voice trembled slightly. “I think she does James’s accounting. And he told me they’re, uh, bound. Kopis and aspis.”

“What?”

Her cheeks colored. “It’s Latin.”

“Greek, actually,” Elise said. “Kopis means sword, and aspis means shield. It means I am—or used to be—a warrior against the forces of Hell, and he’s my partner.” She wasn’t laughing at all. She was completely serious.

Distaste twisted Augustin’s mouth. “Coven nonsense. It’s taken me awhile to get used to the idea of witchcraft in the first place, and I don’t think—”

Elise held up a hand. “I have places to be. I don’t have the time to let you get used to it, Mr. Ramirez.”

His face grew hot. “I’m not—”

“Augustin,” Marisa said softly.

He closed his eyes and took a breath. Their marriage counselor harped on him about counting to ten when he was getting to mad, but he gave it to twenty this time. Covens and “warriors against Hell.” He could count to a thousand and still feel unsettled.

“Sorry,” Augustin finally said. “We’re stressed.”

Elise accepted his apology by inclining her head. “Where’s Lucinde?”

“She’s upstairs. We’ll go with you.”

Marisa and Elise headed up the stairs. Augustin followed a couple steps behind, watching the legs of the supposed exorcist. She wasn’t wearing nylons. Another scar marred her ankle, like a dog bite that had long since healed into a fleshy white mass, and his stomach turned. Some accountant.

Elise spoke to Marisa as they walked, oblivious to the reaction her scars evoked. “I need to ask you some questions. Have you summoned any demons or used a Ouija board?”

“Of course not.”

“Any unusual noises or sightings? Animals with glowing eyes, objects flying across the room, strange noises on the telephone…”

Marisa shook her head. “Aside from Lucinde’s illness, everything has been normal.”

“What about nightmares? Have you experienced sexual dreams of a dark nature?”

“That’s a personal question,” Augustin interrupted.

Elise’s lip curled, but she didn’t respond.

“I haven’t,” Marisa said. Her voice was hardly louder than a whisper. “Augustin?” After a moment, he shook his head. “Lucinde was having nightmares before. Not…sexual. But she kept waking up screaming.”

“Did she tell you what she was dreaming about?” Elise stopped to peer at a family camping photo beside an artful arrangement of silk flowers. In the picture, the Ramirezes were tan and smiling. Lucinde’s low, croaking moans echoed through the house.

“She told me a monster was eating her heart,” Marisa whispered. “I thought…I mean, what a strange thing for a little girl to dream about. She dreamed a monster ate her heart and sat in her chest.”

Elise’s eyebrows lifted. “Really.”

“It’s not weird for her to have bad dreams,” Augustin interjected. “Especially not about her heart. She has a condition. The doctors don’t think it should be fatal, but you know how kids are. Of course she’s scared of bad things happening to her heart.”

“What kind of heart condition?” They reached the top of the stairs, pausing down the hall from Lucinde’s room. All the doors were open but hers.

“I don’t think you need to know that to do your job,” Augustin said.

“Just wondering. I assume you’ve already taken her to see a doctor and a psychologist?”

“Those were our first choices. They gave us the option of waiting to see if she would improve or sticking her in an institution. I wouldn’t have let Marisa call you unless we didn’t have any choices left.”

“I see. I’m going to go in and look at her now.”

“Be careful. She’s gotten…violent,” Marisa said.

“How violent can a five-year-old be?” Elise gave an unpleasant smile that didn’t suit her angular face. “I’m sure I’ve handled worse.”

“Just be careful. She’s in here.”

Elise approached the door Marisa indicated, and the Ramirezes hung back. The girl became quieter as she grew near. When she stood before the door, Lucinde became entirely silent.

Elise pushed the door open and went inside.

Lucinde’s room was even colder than the rest of the house. Heavy curtains cast the room in near-complete darkness, and a portable swamp cooler made the air chill and muggy. A white canopy bed blocked the back half of the darkened room.

There were multiple obstacles strewn across the floor: an overstuffed comforter, rose-colored pillows in varying sizes, and a toy chest. Possible hiding places included the closet and the shadowed area behind a pink trunk with princess costumes draped over the sides. No girl in sight.

Elise didn’t like the room’s poor visibility. It felt confined. Dangerous. “I’m going to open the window, Marisa.”

“She won’t like it.”

She moved toward the window, hugging the wall, and stepped over a toy unicorn with blood caking the mane to its neck. Ears perked for any hint of motion, she jerked aside the first layer of curtains, then the second.

Light filled the room. Someone squealed.

Elise rounded the bed in time to see bare feet disappearing under the bed. “Lucinde?”

She dropped to her hands and knees and leaned her cheek close to the carpet. A pair of luminous eyes stared back at her. The girl under the bed looked nothing like Marisa. Her skin was dark, like her father’s, and her flat nose was offset by his same expressive lips.

“Cold,” she hissed. “Cold!”

Elise’s gaze traveled over her bared legs. Her knees were heavily bruised, purple and black and brown on the edges. The flesh on her shins looked like broiled strawberries. “Have you used force to restrain her?” Elise asked.

“She hurts herself,” Marisa said. “We can’t stop her.”

“Colder!” Lucinde demanded again, sinking further into the corner as though she wanted to hide inside the wall. Elise glanced at the swamp cooler. Colder.

Lucinde tried to jerk away when she touched her foot, but Elise caught her ankle, pulling her foot into the light. A few remaining flakes of pink nail polish decorated her toenails under caked blood. One nail had been torn out. She released the child’s ankle, and withdrew again.

“How are you doing?” Elise asked. “Quomondo vales?”

Lucinde froze. Her eyes widened fractionally.

“Quomondo vales?” she repeated. “Loquerisne Latine? No? ¿Hablas inglés?”

“She speaks English,” Marisa said, offended.

“Of course.”

Elise pulled the chains of her necklace over her head and picked a bronze pendant from amongst the other charms. It caught the sun and scattered gold light on Lucinde’s forehead. The whites of her eyes were almost yellow, shot through with crimson veins, and a long, low hiss issued from between her lips.

“Crux sacra sit mihi lux,” Elise whispered. Lucinde recoiled, covering her face.

“What are you doing?” Augustin demanded.

Lucinde remained flat against the carpet, fingers spread through the dusty shag as though she feared being dragged away. She whimpered like a wounded dog.

She was so small. Elise was sure she had never been that small.

Elise leaned closer. “Can you speak?”

Marisa stepped forward. “Watch out—”

The girl’s foot lashed out and the bedroom exploded into red stars. The pain struck a moment later like being struck in the jaw by a baseball bat.

She reeled, hand flying to her mouth. Lucinde scurried from beneath the mattress.

“Colder! Colder!” Her voice was shrill, piercing.

Lucinde’s nails flashed. Elise raised her arm in defense—but the little girl stopped short, swiping the hand inches from Elise’s face. Lucinde’s wrist was roped to the corner of the bed.

Augustin hauled the exorcist to her feet, dragging her away from Lucinde. She shook her elbow free of his grip.

“We told you to be careful,” he said, voice rough. “She’s not normal anymore.” Elise ignored him, meeting the girl’s eyes.

“Cold,” Elise echoed.

Marisa moved into the room, making soothing noises. Lucinde screamed a long note with the tenor of a beast. Augustin guided Elise out of the room and shut the door. Without windows, the hallway was darker than Lucinde’s bedroom, but it felt much less oppressive.

“We won’t be held liable for our daughter’s—”

“I’m not going to sue you for my wound, if that’s what you’re getting at. I’ve had many injuries much worse than this.”

“Good.” His mouth twisted. “Good. What were you doing in there?”

“Testing her,” she said. “This is the pendant of Saint Benedict. He’s the patron saint of a lot of things—nettle rash, servants who have broken stuff that belongs to their masters. Spelunkers.”

“Spelunkers?”

“He’s also invoked during exorcisms. I wanted to see if she would react to Latin because a lot of Greater Demons don’t speak any living languages.”

“She’s been speaking English,” Augustin said. “She keeps saying ‘cold.’”

“I saw that.”

“So…what do you think?”

“I can’t say if she’s possessed,” Elise said, touching the back of her hand to her mouth. It came away bloody. “She’s definitely got an attitude problem.”

“She was never like this before,” Augustin said.

“I’m sure.” She headed down the stairs, leaving Lucinde’s screams behind her. “I’ll do some research. I’ve seen my share of possessions and exorcisms, but never one as spontaneous as this. You’re sure nothing has been flying around?”

“Completely sure. We’re not freaks.”

“You don’t have to be a freak to be targeted by demons; just unlucky or stupid. Since you haven’t summoned anything, you could be the former.”

“We’re not stupid,” he said. Her eyes narrowed.

“Don’t put words into my mouth.”

Augustin puffed out his chest. “Can you exorcise Lucinde or not?”

“I could, if she’s possessed,” Elise said. “It definitely seems like a demon problem.”

“Like in the Bible.”

“Yes. ‘Like in the Bible.’ I’m going to confer with James, after which he’ll be in contact with you. What would be the best number to reach you at?”

“Marisa’s so-called high priest has it,” Augustin said.

“Okay. Keep Lucinde in her room for now. Try to keep her eating and drinking water, because if she is possessed, she’ll resist it on her own,” Elise said. She touched her bleeding lip. “You already know to keep your distance.”

“Yes.”

He opened the front door to let in the hot summer air. The clouds had thickened since Elise’s arrival, and it smelled like rain again. “You have my card. Call me when she gets worse,” she said, stepping outside.

Augustin was already closing the door. He looked as inclined to give her a call as he was to offer a finger to his daughter’s mouth. “Right, thanks,” he said.

Elise paused by the Ramirezes’ gate. She glanced up at Lucinde’s window, half-covered in a heavy drape. As she watched, a hand came up to jerk it closed.

“You’re welcome,” she muttered. Elise turned on her car, cranked the radio, and pulled out of the cul-de-sac.

Chapter 2

Elise’s office was conveniently located one mile from the airport and just across the street from the bad side of town. The toxic green carpet had been bought secondhand from a casino, but the loud pattern was downplayed by yellowing paint and fixtures that hadn’t been replaced since the mid-seventies. Since most of her business was done online, Elise hadn’t seen the point in spending much money on rent.

The mail room was empty except for a consultant who had moved in the week before. “Good morning!” Felicia sang.

Elise took the mail from her cubby and didn’t respond.

Her box was labeled “Bruce Kent.” Elise had been retired for years now, but demons had a long memory for revenge. Starting her business under a pseudonym had seemed like a good idea. It worked well enough. In the five years since their retirement, she’d only been attacked twice.

The first envelope on her mail stack proved to be yet another threatening letter from her former employer’s lawyer. Elise moved it to the back of the pile. Her roommate would be happy to use the shredded paper in her compost. The rest of it was bills—lots of them.

“That coffee sure smells good,” Felicia said hopefully. Elise walked away. “Say hi to Bruce for me!”

Her suite was just as dreary and green as the rest of the building. She didn’t have any decorations to lessen the impact; the walls were bare aside from her diploma and proof of CPA certification.

Elise thought Augustin had been right to laugh at the absurdity of her career choice, but when she retired, she had no skills for a normal career. James had job experience from the time before he became a nomad, but she hadn’t even completed kindergarten.

At the time, she toyed with the idea of becoming a police officer, but she hated guns. Then Elise learned she had passion aside from the hunt: money. There was probably a joke to be made about going from killer to accountant, but a college education didn’t bestow her with a sense of humor. She also didn’t learn to be friendly to assholes, which was why her internship with an accounting firm was brief and ended up in court.

Elise settled her chain of charms next to throwing knives in the top drawer of her desk and prepared a fresh pot of coffee. Once she started working, she could go through two pots before lunch.

Her email was as pleasant to read as her normal mail. Elise filled a niche market: financial services for infernal and ethereal businesses. Most demons came to Earth to make trouble, but a few came to get rich. Their scruples—or lack thereof—gave them good business sense. But demons also had no morals, which meant they often didn’t pay their accountant.

Elise paged through multiple emails full of excuses. Her frown deepened at each one.

“Fuck me,” she muttered, drinking deep from her mug. It was going to be a three pot morning for sure.

The only highlight was an email from James. All it said was, “Dinner tonight?” Elise responded with, “Sure,” and minimized her email program.

The rest of it could wait. Her daily allotment of patience for clients had been expended upon Augustin Ramirez, and the only company she wanted now was math: silent, unemotional red and black numbers.

She glanced at her knives in the desk drawer. Math, and maybe a sharpening stone. It had been a long time since she gave proper attention to her arsenal.

Leaning back in her chair, Elise balanced one of the slender knives across a finger. The blade glinted in the fluorescent overhead light. It was shiny enough to serve as a mirror, and the braid over Elise’s shoulder was distorted across its surface like the promise of spilled blood.

If she had her clients’ lack of scruples, she would bill the Ramirezes for services rendered. Why shouldn’t she make money off her knowledge like any other consultant? The only problem was James. He would never approve of profiting off a five-year-old girl’s life.

Elise tested the edge of the blade with her thumb. Maybe instead of billing families in need, she could start threatening her pre-existing clients with violence. Yeah. That could work.

She speared the stack of mail with her knife. It gave a satisfying thunk as the knife’s point bit into the blotter.

The only warning her door was about to open was a single knock. Elise jerked the blade out of her desk and dropped it in the drawer just in time for a blonde tornado to sweep in.

“Good morning, gorgeous!”

“Morning, Betty,” Elise said. “How did you get here?”

Betty was the exception to Elise’s steadfast refusal to develop a social life. Her roommate liked to describe herself as the sexiest research scientist in the West, and she played into that image with a dangerously low-cut blouse and what barely passed as a skirt.

“I’m just popping by. Cassandra and I are on our way to the university. I need a revision to my taxes!” Betty set her folder on Elise’s desk with all the flourish of bestowing a gift upon her.

“No, you don’t. I prepared your taxes three months ago. They were perfect.”

“Yeah, but I think I found more deductions. Would you take a look? Please? I don’t want to have to pay the IRS this year.”

“You know every month you don’t pay incurs a half-percent fine, right?” Elise asked. “And aren’t you worried about splashing caustic chemicals on your cleavage?”

“I’m not doing work in the lab today. I have to see my mentor about my thesis,” Betty said, giving Elise a knowing grin.

“I’ll take another look at your taxes if you promise not to get kicked out of graduate school for sexual harassment. Nobody else is paying me anyway.”

“Great! Well, except for the part where you’re not getting paid. Are you going to make your half of rent this month?”

“Probably,” Elise said. She silently added, I hope.

Betty wasn’t fooled. She gave Elise’s hand on the desk a comforting squeeze. “We’re doing okay. Don’t stress about it. But maybe it’s time to hire some goons to have a talk with them, huh? Make them an offer they can’t refuse?”

“Would you believe me if I said I’m seriously considering that as an option?”

“I’ll believe anything with you, Elise. So what happened with your mail? Taking out your frustrations with a letter opener?” She wiggled a finger through a hole in one of the envelopes.

Elise shrugged. “They showed up like that.”

“Yeah? I wonder if it was the postal service or the mailroom guy,” Betty said. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Ooh, you know, I bet it was that guy that does the credit counseling services. He’s such a creeper. He always gives me looks when I go by his room.”

“I think he’s surprised anybody likes me enough to visit. It could also be your amazing disappearing wardrobe. I’ve seen strippers wear more than you.”

Betty laughed. “Elise! Why are you seeing strippers in the first place?”

“I’ve got some weird clients.” Understatement of the year. Betty didn’t know that most of the people she worked for weren’t people at all.

She swiped Elise’s coffee, took a sip, and set it back down with a sigh. “Hate to demand deductions and run, but Cassandra’s outside and my mentor is waiting.” Betty wiggled her eyebrows. “You going to be home for dinner tonight?”

“No. I’m going to go see James.”

“Oh really. So you’re planning on eating out? Get it? You know, like—”

Elise didn’t let her finish. “Not everyone lives in a porno like you do, Betty. It’s not like that.”

“I don’t know why,” Betty sighed. “If James was inviting me over for dinner, it would definitely be ‘like that.’”

“Uh huh. I’ll let you know about your taxes tomorrow.”

“Thanks, love,” Betty said. “By the way, you got some ketchup on your blouse.” Elise glanced down, touching her injured lip. The smear of red on her collar wasn’t ketchup. “See you later!”

“Bye, Betty.”

She turned back to her computer, where the emails full of excuses were still waiting. Her smile slowly faded.

A lifetime of killing demons could never have prepared her for the ugly reality of being unable to pay her bills. It seemed cruel that she could be a skilled accountant creeping toward debt, but she didn’t think many demons would be impressed by phone calls from debt collectors.

Elise’s gaze wandered to the drawer with her knives again. Demons only responded to violence.

Screw discretion. Maybe it really was time to start speaking their language.

Click. The sign outside Motion and Dance Studio flickered and turned off. Rain tapped against the control box on its side, dripping onto the brown grass and running off into the gutter.

Elise locked the door on the control box and headed inside. Her footsteps echoed through the main hall as she moved from window to window to shut them. Elise’s reflection on the mirrored wall behind her mimicked her actions, a dark silhouette of a long-haired young woman in an open blazer and low heels.

She peeked into the second, smaller dance hall. It wasn’t quite as nice as the main one, since it had recently been converted from a garage. The studs were exposed on one side and boxes with branded t-shirts were stacked against the wall.

The windows were already locked, so Elise turned to leave again. Her own motion in the mirror caught her eye. She hesitated in the center of the dance hall.

A scar on her left breast peeked over the neck of her blouse, glowing pale white in the light from the street lamps. That injury had been delivered by a stone knife in the hands of a woman claiming to be a death goddess. She tortured Elise for hours by chaining her to a wall and drawing lines in her flesh. Most of them healed cleanly, but the one over her heart had been deep enough to scrape bone.

It was the last time Elise hunted a demon. She prevented apocalypse that day, but the costs had been too high.

She clicked off the flood lights before locking the front door, wiggling the handle to make sure it was secure. She hugged the side of the building to avoid the rain as she took the stairs to the second floor.

The door upstairs was ajar. She hung her coat on the hook beside James’s jacket and shook out her hair.

“James?” she called, stepping into the kitchen.

All of the lights in the apartment were off. Elise flipped the switch to the stove’s overhead light. Golden potatoes simmered under a glass lid, and two wine glasses were waiting nearby on the counter. The wine itself was still on the rack.

Her eyes scanned the arrangement of the furniture, the appliances. The table had been moved from the informal dining area to the living room. Half-melted candles marked with pentagrams and anointed with oil were arranged on low stands around the edges of the room. A large crystal had been set on a velvet cloth in the center of the table, and the last edition of the Sierra Witch’s Almanac lay by its side.

It looked like James had been preparing for a ritual, but she heard no sounds in the house beyond the occasional hiss of steam and clicking as the stove’s temperature shifted. He would never leave dinner unattended.

Where was he?

Elise slipped off her shoes, a thread of adrenaline thrilling through her stomach. She turned off the light again and approached the hallway. Lifting her skirt over her knees to free her legs, she lowered into a half-crouch.

“James?” she called again, softer this time.

Creak.

Danger.

Elise spun too late. The closet door slammed open, and a tall, dark form flew at her from its depths. Her hip hit the arm of the couch and sent the side table crashing to the ground. She let herself roll over the side, and the assailant flew past her.

She was on her feet again in a heartbeat, sweeping her leg high to strike his back. He cried out, stumbling forward, and Elise kicked again, lower this time. Her foot connected with a muffled thump.

He lost balance, barely catching himself on the half wall. He threw his arms up to block Elise’s next kick, catching her ankle. She jerked and broke his grip.

Her attacker’s fist flashed through the darkness. Elise twisted away. The blow landed on her right shoulder instead, and her arm numbed.

The blows between them were fast, smooth, like a choreographed dance. He swung at her, and she blocked him with her forearms to strike low, seeking a hole in his defense. Kick, kick, punch—Elise caught his arm and threw him against the opposite wall.

She grabbed him by the throat and pushed his head back. She tightened her fingers around his esophagus. It didn’t take much force to hold him in place, even though he was nearly a foot taller than she was; one wrong move and his airway would collapse.

“Got you,” she growled.

A frozen moment hung between them, his struggling breath hot on her face. He smelled of breath mints and aftershave, and a little bit like summer grass, and he all but radiated heat. He had been inside—waiting—for quite a while.

Her assailant gurgled. Elise relaxed her hands.

“Oh, sorry. Are you okay?”

He coughed once and cleared his throat. “Yes…I think so. You haven’t lost your touch, have you?”

“There’s no chance of that happening with your help.” Elise backed off, allowing her aspis to step away from the wall. She flicked on the living room light, and James rubbed his neck.

“You could have pulled your punches,” he said. “Didn’t you recognize me?”

Elise smiled. She would have recognized him in total darkness. “It would be insulting to go gentle on you. What’s that I smell in the oven?”

“Prime rib roast with red wine sauce.”

She picked the side table back up. “Sounds great. What would I do without you?”

“Starve, I imagine,” he said as he pulled an apron that said Kiss the Crone over his head.

James returned to his cooking while Elise fixed the mess she made in the living room.

The apartment was small, but he made good use of the space; James’s sense of aesthetics was far superior to hers. All his furniture matched in a Pottery Barn kind of way, his walls were decorated with fine photography, and he even had some kind of fancy throw rug. Elise’s idea of decorating was putting up movie posters with thumb tacks.

“It took you a long time to get up here,” he remarked from the stove. “I hid for ages. What were you doing downstairs?”

“Locking up. Someone forgot to shut all the windows.”

“I was busy making dinner.” James turned on the oven light and peeked through the window. “Just a few more minutes, I think. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

He gave her the kind of look that said he knew she wasn’t, but didn’t feel like arguing it. “Did you see the Ramirezes today?”

“Yeah. That was fun. They’re a mess.”

James uncorked a bottle of wine and poured it into the waiting glasses. “Is it possession?”

“Maybe. Lucinde didn’t like having St. Benedict flashed at her. She also kicked me in the face.”

Elise picked up the Sierra Witch’s Almanac and peered at the bookmarked page. James’s coven published a new almanac every year with lunar correspondences and seasonal spells, and they always included an excerpt from their Book of Shadows in the back. The spell he was looking at seemed complicated.

He handed her one of the glasses. She dropped the book. “Your bruises look painful.”

“She’s got a nasty kick for a five-year-old. Nastier than yours, anyway,” she said. He opened his mouth to protest, but she went on. “Marisa mentioned she was having nightmares. It’s possible Lucinde was attacked by a mara or an incubus instead.”

“But you don’t think it’s possession?” he asked, serving dinner using puffy blue pot holders.

“Probably not.”

“Good. That will make it easier.”

Elise shrugged. “It’s not my problem. I’m not an exorcist anymore.”

He turned on the radio on the windowsill.

“—other spooky news, a temp guard by the name of Richard Czynski disappeared from a cemetery in the north side of town,” the DJ said in a voice far too perky to be discussing a missing persons case. “Curiouser and curiouser, he’s not the only thing that’s disappeared. The grave of notorious Amber Hackman, one of the only people to escape this black hole of a town, has also been raided. Obviously she didn’t like having to spend her death here anymore than she did her life. Zombie attack? Your run-of-the-mill grave rob gone wrong? You ring in and let us know on Spooky News, your favorite—”

“What trash,” he muttered, switching it over to a classic rock station.

She felt the motion before she saw it. James’s hand whipped toward Elise.

Side-stepping his reach, she jerked his wrist forward and trapped his arm under hers. A twist, a hard shove, and she had him against the wall.

Elise grinned at him, and his returning smile was softer, but no less affectionate. It softened the coldness of his eyes. Ten years, and he hadn’t won a fight against her once.

“Damn, you’re fast,” he said when she dropped him. He rubbed his elbow. “I’ll get you someday.”

“Sure you will,” Elise said, mostly to be nice.

They sat down together at the table. James hesitated over a piece of potato, pushing it through the prime rib’s juices with his fork. “I think you should keep working with the Ramirezes.”

“Why? The coven can handle it, and I have too much work to do. Real work. The kind of stuff that pays the bills.” Elise smiled over her wine glass. “Unless you think the Ramirezes would pay me a consultation fee?”

“You can’t charge them money.”

“And I can’t pay the rent with gratitude.” She tried to ignore his disapproving stare, but she could feel its weight as she picked at her salad. “I’ll investigate. Maybe I’ll find out something helpful.”

“Thank you.”

She grunted. “Do you still have my falchion?”

“It’s in the locked case where you left it. Why? Did you want it back?”

“Not really. I was just thinking about it earlier.”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, too,” he murmured over his glass of wine. He didn’t mean the sword.

The sounds of classic rock intermingled with the soft pattering of rain on glass, making for a peaceful meal. Elise made a good show of picking at her dinner to appease James, but as good as it tasted, she left her plate half-full. She cleaned up her place at the table, shoveling her barely-touched potatoes into a container.

James wasn’t finished, but stood to help her anyway. “Eager to escape?”

“No, I just have to follow up on some clients that aren’t paying.”

He touched Elise’s chin, his thumb hesitating over the gash. “Are you certain you’re all right?”

Elise gazed up at him, momentarily breathless. James was a handsome man. He also had absolutely no interest in her romantically, which he had made very clear over the years.

“Yeah.” She turned from him to put the leftovers in the refrigerator. “I’m fine.”

He caught her elbow—a less violent gesture than their earlier fighting. “Let me take care of you,” he said.

All she had to do was nod, and James ran his knuckles down her cheek, and his power flowed around them, gentle and warm. It breathed through Elise, and she felt as though she was sinking into the sky.

An instant later, it was over. Elise touched her lip. The wound was gone.

James held up a yellowed note card with a single, prominent rune inscribed on the blank side—an old healing spell.

“Found this in my fire safe yesterday. Might as well get some use out of my old paper spells. I don’t plan on using them ever again. This, on the other hand…” He took a knife of the cabinet and handed it to Elise. It was as long as his forearm and intended to be worn in a spine sheath.

The corner of Elise’s mouth twitched. “Hiding weapons in your kitchen? I’m visiting a client, not going on safari.” She jabbed the dagger into an invisible enemy, and the muscles in her arm rippled.

“Yes, but between Lucinde’s demon problem, and some of the other news I’ve been hearing…” He trailed off. “I would appreciate it if you humor me.”

Elise led him to the entryway and showed him the throwing knives hidden in her blazer pocket. “I’m miles ahead of you.”

James’s smile was sad. “Be careful.”

“Always,” she promised.

Chapter 3

Elise didn’t deal with many local clients, and of those nearby, only one would provide information as well as a paycheck: Craven’s, a small demon-owned casino with six months of outstanding debt to their accountant.

Craven’s wasn’t one of those big hotel casinos that booked Cirque-style shows and courted high-rollers. It was a little dive a few blocks off downtown with boarded windows and no flashy lights. Elise only discovered it wasn’t condemned when one of her oldest clients, a cambion that could barely stand, informed her that their racks of ribs were the best kept secret in the city. And they did have great ribs—but it wasn’t always from the kind of animal Elise was willing to eat.

Her contacts worked in the basement nightclub beneath Craven’s. It was the kind of place a kopis couldn’t visit unless she wanted a fight, and it wasn’t much safer for someone in a business suit, either. Instead, she went home to change into something club-appropriate. Elise didn’t go anywhere except work and the gym, so all she had was a black halter top and Lycra pants left over from Halloween. The pants were skin-tight, with nowhere to hide a weapon, but she fit an ankle rig under her right boot and a small knife under her belt. It wasn’t a fast draw, but it would have to do.

Elise was doing her makeup in the mirror when Betty got home.

“You look like you’re ready for a hot date,” she said, invading their shared bathroom without knocking. Betty was still in her barely-decent skirt, but her lip gloss was a pink stain at the corner of her mouth.

“How was dinner with your mentor? I take it your hunt was successful.” Elise gestured at her own mouth. “You’re messy.”

Betty wiped what little lip gloss remained off on her finger and laughed. “Successful? Yeah, right. He only wanted to discuss biomedical sciences, and not the naked kind. You using the sink?” Elise stepped aside to give her room, and Betty bent to wash her hands. “You didn’t answer when I asked about the hot date, I noticed.”

“My mission for the night is far more innocent than yours. I’m going to drop in on a client.”

“Really.”

“Yes, really. Why?”

Betty folded her arms. “How often do you visit your clients wearing skin-tight Lycra?”

“Any time my client happens to work at a casino nightclub and it’s a Friday night,” Elise said, tossing her sponge in the trash. “I can’t show up in business casual. I’d get laughed out of the place.”

“That might happen if you try to seduce the money out of your client, too. I’ve seen the way you dance.”

Elise pushed Betty away from the sink with her hip. “Out of my way. I’m an accountant on a mission.”

“Uh huh. Sure. I’ll keep my phone on me tonight, so give me a call when you’re too drunk to drive yourself home.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m taking the bus.” She applied eye shadow with her fingers.

“Taking the bus and not planning on getting drunk? A likely story.”

“The casino is downtown, Betty,” Elise said. “There’s no free parking.”

Betty snorted. “Okay, have fun with your ‘client.’ I’m going to collect the withered scraps of my dignity and read research papers on the couch.”

She left. Elise ran her fingers through her thick hair to detangle it and appraised her looks. The look wasn’t “accountant,” but she wasn’t sure she would pass as an ordinary clubber, either. Elise didn’t feel convincing.

Elise grabbed her jacket off the back of a chair. “See you in the morning,” she called as she passed through the living room. Betty waved a hand over the couch.

She passed Betty’s cousin on the way down the sidewalk. Anthony occupied the other half of their duplex, and he worked multiple jobs, so he was always coming and going at weird times. It looked like he had just left his job at the car shop. His jeans were covered in oil.

“Hey, Elise,” Anthony greeted, pausing on the sidewalk. “How are you? Did you—”

“Have to catch the bus. See you later,” she said, brushing past him without stopping.

She jogged down the street and around the corner. A breeze moist with distant rain washed into her face and down her shirt. The storm had passed, but the weight of the air promised more to come. A man in a bulky coat was slumped over the bus stop bench, holding the schedule over his head as though it was still pouring.

Right on time, the bus groaned up the street and paused at her curb. Elise took a seat near the back door. No amount of fresh, rainy wind could make the inside of the bus smell good—despite being cleaned frequently, it still smelled of sweat and the hundreds of people who rode it every day.

The lights turned off and the bus rumbled down the street again. It jerked and swayed with every bump in the road. The city quickly began to transition from small businesses into casinos, bars, and strip clubs. The change was abrupt—one second, Elise was staring at peaceful storefronts and the occasional tattoo parlor, and the next, she was surrounded by flashing neon lights and towering hotels.

The sign on an adult store displayed a woman wearing only a thong and a suggestive smile, its mannequins decked out in boas and corsets. The Wild Orchid’s sign flaunted its topless dancers across the street from the city courthouse. The bus hung a right, and tall signs over what had once been a casino advertised an off-Broadway show and a car event, both of which had left over a year ago.

People crossed from sidewalk to sidewalk amongst slow traffic, ignoring the buses and cars as they lurched from a bar to a pawn shop to get money for one more pull on the slot machine. A woman with overdone curls and skin hanging limply from her bones almost got struck by the bus as it turned onto Center Street. She didn’t notice. She wobbled on, disappearing into the maw of a casino and out of sight.

The bus stopped at the downtown transit center, tucked between a bowling stadium and yet another hotel-casino. Elise was the first to hop off.

The casino lights flashed in time with music piped over sidewalk speakers. A man by the front door played the saxophone. He hesitated when Elise passed. She gave him a quick once-over, taking in the translucency of his skin, his long, brittle fingers and strangely-proportioned face. Nightmare. Probably second class. Hardly a threat.

She nodded at him as she passed. He didn’t look worried, so maybe he thought she was a demon, too. As far as the underworld here knew, there were no local kopides. What was there to worry about?

Elise plowed through the casino, ignoring the glittering machines and their inebriated patrons. She passed the poker tables, the blackjack, the rows of machines in front of huge plasma TVs, and the diner in the back. She exited through an unmarked door to an alley.

Wedged between the casino and its attached hotel, the dark passage appeared to have no purpose except for gathering trash. A chain link fence blocked one end of the alley, and the other side was a rotten brick wall that most people wouldn’t realize belonged to the prettier side of Craven’s. Elise never went through the front door—too many people watched it.

Elise ducked around a Dumpster, kicking a case of empty beer cans out of the way. A set of cement stairs led down into shadow.

Only a single word on a small, rusted sign hinted at the door’s purpose—Blood, it said, the metal so pocked and rusted it was almost unreadable.

She pushed it open and went inside.

Elise was never sure how long it took to get from the surface to the club—time took on a strange quality in the descent, warping and fading. Maybe she only walked for a few seconds; maybe she walked for hours. The black walls narrowed as she moved down the passage, guided by the pulsing thump of bass.

In time, Elise came upon the end of the hall. A neon sign blazed a single electric word above the door: BLOOD.

She crossed the threshold and left the human world behind her.

Music thrummed around her, shaking inside her chest and against her eardrums. The back door was on the top level of Eloquent Blood. Humans sat amongst half-demons known as the Gray, doing business and swapping spit as though they weren’t different species. Many of the humans probably didn’t even know who they were associating with—a few idiots stumbled upon the bar thinking it was an underground Goth club, and nobody was in a hurry to tell them differently. Idiots were great incubus food.

Yellow sulfur formed a fine layer on the floor. The thick stench of sweat and whiskey almost overpowered the brimstone. They tried to keep it clean in the club, but Elise was all too familiar with the stink of demons. She could have recognized it if they drenched the entire building in formaldehyde.

She glanced at the dance floor two stories down. A DJ spun a dance beat and the bodies below pulsed in time to the rhythm. Hips rolled, arms twisted, and now and then Elise would see a flash of pale skin as another dancer stripped off her shirt. It was hot enough in Blood without dancing. Throw in a fast beat and a racing pulse, and it was nearly intolerable.

She moved through the tight press of bodies on the spiral staircase as she would have waded through an ocean tide. Speakers on either side of the bar pumped out music so loud it drowned out even the conversations hollered inches from her ears. Elise peered up at the bartender through fog from the smoke machines to determine if it was someone she knew.

The blonde girl on the bar swayed side to side, her hands trailing up her hips and stomach. Her fingers traced the swell of her bare breasts. Her nipples were erect despite the warmth, and her skin was dark olive. She was one of the Gray bartenders Elise didn’t know. Probably part-basandere, judging by the heavy iron chain around her waist.

Someone waved at her from behind the bar. Neuma’s hair was liquid midnight, like each individual strand had been dipped in an inkwell. As she moved toward Elise, she faded slightly into the shadows behind her until only her white skin and bathrobe were visible. The half-succubus Gray hadn’t yet dressed for the night, and she earned a few strange looks for it.

“What you doing here?” Neuma asked, leaning on the bar. “Business or pleasure?”

Elise had to yell to hear herself over the music. “Business. Can we talk in back?”

The bartender’s welcoming grin slipped off her face. “Sure.” Elise jumped over the bar and followed Neuma down a hall. The volume of the music faded the further they went. “How you doing, doll?”

“You know me. You also probably know why I’m here.”

Neuma grimaced. “Money?”

“Money,” Elise confirmed.

An entire wall of the dressing room they entered was dedicated to shelves of alcohol. The other wall was a line of messy vanities. Black light illuminated the room, darkening everything but Neuma’s skin, which glowed violet in the shadows.

She gestured to the alcohol. “What you want today?”

“Information and a paycheck,” Elise said, dropping her jacket on the dressing table. “You can help me with the first one, but I’ll need David Nicholas for the second. Where is he?”

“Shot of vodka it is.” Neuma dragged a stool out of the closet and positioned it under the shelves. “I haven’t seen you in a couple weeks—how’s life being sugar and spice?”

“Not as profitable as I would like. I really need to talk to him, Neuma.”

She snorted. “Yeah, good luck. He left an hour ago to ‘restock,’ so the fucker’s probably higher than the moon by now.”

Neuma stepped onto the stool, lifting onto her toes to reach for one of the higher shelves. Elise watched her pale calves and ankles flex under the hem of her bathrobe. She made a triumphant noise and dropped to the floor again, alcohol in hand.

Elise forced herself to look away from Neuma’s legs. “What’s he taking?”

“I think he’s gotten into lethe, but he ain’t going to admit it.” She took out two shot glasses and opened the vodka. “I can’t imagine how a sexy girl like you got stuck accounting when you could be doing fun shit, like touring with me and the other Blood girls. We’re leaving for St. Louis on the twenty-third. You can still come.”

“I’m not an employee,” Elise said.

“Could be by the twenty-third.”

“Believe it or not, I like my job.”

Neuma shrugged and handed her a shot. “The offer’s out there.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Elise tossed back the vodka. The alcohol burned hot all the way from her throat to the pit of her stomach. “When do you think David Nicholas will be back?”

“Could be a few minutes, could be a few days. Depends on how good the trip is.”

A few days. She couldn’t wait that long to pay rent. Elise dropped the shot glass amongst a pile of leather straps on the counter. “Where’s the shift manager?”

Neuma’s full lips split into a grin. “You’re looking at her, beautiful!”

“Congrats. Where did our least favorite witch go?”

“Moved off to live with some aeshma.” Neuma took a swig right out of the vodka bottle. “I hope she gets put into slavery by something with a lot of boils and a fetish for shit-play.”

“Speaking of slavery, there’s a lot of humans here tonight. What’s going on? I thought you guys banned humans below the casino level.”

“New policy from on high. We gotta play nice. Too many people wandered in and disappeared, so we’re not letting humans into private rooms anymore, neither. We’re gonna lose business like this.”

“Demon business, but not the humans,” Elise said. “And it will keep the police out of your hair.”

“Cops are easy to pay off.” Neuma sighed. “I kind of wish the Night Hag would come out of hibernation. Then we’d have someone to deal with public crap. You know?”

Elise grimaced to think of it. Demonic overlords were seldom thrilled to find kopides hiding in their territories—even retired ones. “Since you’re the manager now, I need news. Anything you can tell me.”

“There ain’t much to say,” Neuma said. She started changing into her costume for the night. “Like I said, I’ve heard tell the big boss is stirring, but you know, people say she’s going to wake up every six months or so.”

“Where did you hear it this time?”

“David Nicholas. I think he’s just stirring shit up so nobody will kill him and take the casino, but…” Neuma dropped the bathrobe. “You know how he is. He’s not even keeping hours down here anymore. He’s got an office on the ninth floor like he thinks he’s some fucking big shot.”

“Is that all?”

“There have been some bodies going missing around town, too,” Neuma said, grabbing a pile of leather straps off the counter. “Not just grave robberies. It’s the hospital too, and it ain’t some ambitious thief. When we gossip about it this much, you know one of us has gotta be involved.” She donned her costume piece by piece, buckling the shorts on the side and holding one of the straps over her breasts. “Mind hooking me up?”

Elise pulled the strap tight and slipped it through the buckle, but her fingers wouldn’t work the way she expected. The proximity to Neuma’s skin was distracting. “Why would a demon stock up on bodies?”

“Food? Hell if I know.”

Grave robbing didn’t sound like a wholesome activity, but Elise doubted it had anything to do with Lucinde’s problem. “Have you heard about anything big, bad, and incorporeal in the area? I’m looking for something that might be possessing people.”

“Don’t think so, babe. If there was something that nasty around, we’d already know.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right. Look, I’m going to go, but thanks for the shot. I’ll try David Nicholas again tomorrow night.”

Neuma pouted, sticking out her lower lip. It was ruby-black as though she had painted her skin with fresh blood. “I’d love to see you on the bar with me tonight. We could have a lot of fun.”

Elise couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from those lips. “No,” she said unconvincingly, “I don’t think we could.”

The door to the dressing room swung open. A man with an angular chin and a too-large nose stuck his head in. “Why aren’t you on the bar, bitch?” His gaze turned to Elise. It felt as though a wet rat slithered up the vertebra of her spine. “Oh. You again.”

“David Nicholas,” she greeted.

The club’s manager was a full-blooded nightmare—hundreds of years old, but ages past his heyday. David Nicholas made people dream of rotting alive. He had been extremely powerful in the Middle Ages, when everyone feared leprosy, but now his specialty was being obnoxious.

“What do you want?”

“I’ll give you three guesses,” Elise said. “Let’s have a talk in your office.”

His lip curled. Smoke trailed from his thin lips to the caverns of his nostrils. David Nicholas stabbed a finger at Neuma. “Bar. Now.”

She gave him an ironic salute, and Elise followed him out of the room. When she shut the door to the dressing room, Neuma’s draw lost strength, and every step away made it easier to keep walking.

David Nicholas led her up the stairs behind the changing room, taking long drags on his cigarette. Elise could almost see the smoke billowing down his esophagus.

They emerged on the ground floor of Craven’s. The lights were dim and the slot machines glowed like oases in the desert. A cocktail waitress that could have been Neuma’s sister hurried by in little more than a leather leotard with a tray of drinks on her shoulder.

He led her up a couple levels of escalators, past a handful of imps that weren’t pretending to be human, and through a locked door marked MANAGER.

David Nicholas’s office overlooked the casino floor. Tinted glass dimmed the tables until Elise could barely make out the dealers, although monitors on the walls gave her a clear view of the cards. They were also the only source of light in the room, which Elise considered a mercy—it meant she could only imagine how bad the mess in his office was by the smell. It reeked like the dorms from Elise’s college days.

She had to step over a pile of rags to get through the door. Piles of books and papers formed columns to her shoulder. Some had tipped over. And that was all what she could make out in the darkness—there were too many vague, shadowy shapes that could have been any number of horrible things.

David Nicolas twisted his lips and spat into a shallow metal bowl filled with cigarette butts and black smears of ash. “Let’s make this fast, bitch, I don’t have all night. What’d I do to earn a personal visit from the big boss’s accountant? You got a problem with our taxes or some shit? I don’t want to hear about it. It’s your job to fix it.”

“Everything is as good as can be expected with your finances, except for one thing.”

“What?”

She leaned over him, arms folded across her chest. “I’m not getting paid.”

“Bullshit. We paid you.”

“You paid my retainer a year ago, and nothing since,” Elise said. “That’s six months of outstanding fines. I’ve sent you three notices.”

He rolled the cigarette between two of his fingers, contemplating the glowing end. “Haven’t seen anything. Maybe the Night Hag got them. Did you hear she’s waking up?”

“She’s not going to stir and you know it.”

David Nicholas spread his hands wide in a helpless gesture. “Yeah, if that’s what you want to think, but I can’t pay anyone that much money without getting it approved. Rules are rules.”

Elise set her jaw. “You want to do this fast? We can do it fast.”

“Oh no. Don’t hurt me,” David Nicholas said in a tone of mock horror. “I’m so afraid of the accountant.”

She drew her boot knife. “I need to get paid. I’m going to make that happen one way or another.”

“You don’t even know what to do with that.”

She stabbed. It sank into David Nicholas’s stomach as though he was made of putty rather than flesh, and she jerked the knife across his torso, tearing it out the side. Black smoke puffed from the wound.

He lurched out of his chair, spidery hands clutching the entry point. “Fuck! What the hell?”

“I can force you to insubstantiate, and I can make it hurt. Believe me, I know which buttons to push.” She lifted the knife again, and he tripped over a pile of trash trying to backtrack. He hit the floor and pushed himself away from her with his heels. “Or you can pay.”

“I don’t need the Night Hag to wake up to ruin your fucking week,” he hissed. “Some dark night, you’re going to go to sleep, and I’ll be waiting. And I’ll be there the night after, and the night after, and every other night of your life until you die shitting yourself. You’ll learn to fear sleep, and to fear me.”

Elise gave a little laugh. “The first night I dream of you, David Nicholas, I’ll tip off Aquiel. He’d be happy to know where you’re lurking these days, and I’d enjoy watching you get ripped apart.”

He stared at her. She stared back. A challenge.

“You’ll fear your dreams yet,” he whispered. He spoke so quietly that Elise shouldn’t have been able to hear him over the music, but she did. His voice was dead fingers scraping down her neck, and she couldn’t help but shiver. She didn’t show it.

“Money. Now. I take checks.”

It looked like he had many colorful words trapped between the spikes of his teeth, but he swallowed them down.

Fifteen minutes later, she trotted down the stairs into Blood again, flicking the check against the fingers of her free hand. David Nicholas slunk behind her, his arms wrapped tight around his body. He wasn’t going to fall apart yet—not if he could hold himself together long enough to feed. But Elise hadn’t made it easy on him. His shirt was in tatters, and the flesh beneath it wasn’t much better.

The amount on the check was more than what they owed her for six months of work. It would cover the next quarter, too—and two months of her office’s rent. She tucked it down her belt along with her dagger.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Elise said over the thudding of music. David Nicholas’s eyes flashed.

A scream.

Elise twisted, facing the direction from which the scream had come. The dressing room.

David Nicholas was already gone, jumping shadow to shadow to disappear from the stool and reappear at the end of the hall. He vanished around the corner in a swirl of tattered clothing.

Elise grabbed the doorknob to the dressing room and shook it. Locked.

Neuma screamed again, and the door rattled in its hinges as something heavy slammed against the other side.

She took a step back and unleashed a powerful kick next to the lock mechanism. The door shattered around the handle.

Elise kicked again. It slammed open.

Neuma was pressed against the counter, her back smashed into the now-shattered glass of the mirror. A gray creature with branded flesh crushed her, its stubby hands locked on her wrists as its slavering mouth lowered toward her chest.

“Hey!” Elise shouted.

The demon turned. Its bulging eyes were almost all black. Opens slashes across his face wept blood and pus, and saliva dripped from its mouth.

It focused on her, and its pupils dilated.

Elise drew back her fist and punched, throwing her whole body behind the blow. The demon’s head snapped to the side. It toppled with a keening scream.

The half-succubus cried out as she got off the counter. Several shards of glass stuck in her back, and blood poured down her perfect spine.

The little demon clambered to its feet. Elise pushed the bartender behind her.

“What do you want?” Elise demanded. The demon’s thin gray tongue darted out of its mouth to lick where its lips should have been.

It lunged at Elise.

She moved into its attack and it slammed into her shoulder. They hit the ground, and she rolled with their momentum. Her entire body felt the impact. It was like getting hit by a raging bull.

The fiend recovered instantly. Elise wasn’t quite so fast.

It came at her with a roar, and a flash of inspiration struck—the black lights, the vanity bulbs, the demon’s huge pupils. Elise threw herself out of the demon’s way, and it hit the wall behind her instead.

She launched across the room. Elise fumbled in the darkness behind the rack of costumes. She heard the sound of clawed feet against ground, and shut her eyes against the impact—then found the switch.

Click. The lights over the vanities blazed to life.

Her eyes watered from the sudden light, but it was nothing compared to the demon’s reaction. It screamed and clawed at its eyes, stumbling toward Elise. A stray swipe of its claws slashed her arm. Pain flared, and she jerked back with a shout.

The demon plunged into the dark hallway.

“Wait here,” Elise told Neuma.

She expected the demon to go make a break for the club—and the fresh meat the partiers could provide—but instead it went for a door she hadn’t noticed before. Elise began to follow.

“No!” Neuma cried, grabbing Elise’s arm. “Don’t!”

“It’s escaping—”

“You can’t go in there!”

“Why? Where does that door lead?”

“It goes down to the Warrens,” Neuma said. “You’d get eaten alive.”

“Shit,” Elise said.

“Shit,” Neuma agreed, stepping back into the room. She twisted around to look at her back in the mirror. Some of the glass was still in her back, and the injuries streamed thin, watery blood.

Elise grabbed the bathrobe and moved to cover the wounds. “We need to get you to a witch right now.”

“No. I’m fine. I have a charm to accelerate my healing to human speed. You know, for when I’m playing submissive.” Neuma grabbed a shard of glass and jerked it out of her back with a sigh. “Jewelry box. Toe ring with a red stone.”

Elise shifted through the gaudy bracelets and necklaces to find the ring. She passed it to Neuma, who leaned against the wall to slip it on her foot. The blood thickened and grew sluggish as she watched, slowing to an ooze.

“That’s a new toy,” Elise said.

“My girlfriend gave it to me. She likes playing rough.” Neuma pulled another shard of glass out, and another, dropping them in the trash can.

“Why did that demon attack you?”

“I don’t know. Don’t even know what it was. Would you pick some of this out for me? I can’t reach it all.”

“I think that might have been a fiend,” Elise said, ignoring the request. Neuma would have enjoyed it way too much. “They’re lesser demons, but it takes a strong demon to control them.”

“It looks like it dropped something,” Neuma said, pointing at a crumpled scrap of paper on the floor. Elise smoothed it out on her thigh.

It was an Eloquent Blood staff photo printed off the internet, and the former manager was circled in pink highlighter. “You sure this was on the demon?” Neuma nodded, and Elise studied it more closely. Aside from the circle, there was nothing odd about it. “Maybe it wasn’t after you. Maybe it was after that witch. Why would it have wanted the old manager?”

“I don’t know. Dumb bitch could owe someone money. Where did you see one of those before, anyway? Those are hellborn, and I don’t think you’ve been hanging out in Hell,” Neuma asked.

No, she hadn’t. Elise found herself recalling her fight against the death goddess again—the feel of her swords connecting with demon meat, watching the bodies hit the ground, the stink of their final, sulfurous breaths.

She had tried hard for so long to forget it that she wasn’t sure if she was imagining it now, but she was almost certain that the demons had been fiends.

“Maybe I have,” Elise muttered.

Part Three: The Clock

MEXICO – MAY 2004

Two demons were discussing the end of the world over crispy fish tacos. They sat in a shady corner of the patio to conceal their strange faces, and spoke Latin to prevent humans from overhearing.

“Hernandez says someone’s taken over the pyramid in the undercity.” The first speaker looked like a man whose eyes had been wrongly attached at the temples. His name was Vustaillo. He was a nana-huatzin, and he made his living trafficking slaves for the drug cartels.

“Who cares? Let them have it.” The second speaker was a woman named Izel. Sharp teeth filled her mouth in rows like a shark. “Nobody wants that dump of a den anyway.”

“But they said she’s a goddess.”

Izel dug into her fish and let the grease dribble down her chin. “Such a goddess must not have godly brains if she wants anything in the undercity. She’s an idiot and a fool. May she enjoy her blessed ignorance.”

Those kinds of insults made her companion uncomfortable. He toyed with his beer. “You heard the ninth bell ring,” he whispered. “The clock’s been wound again.”

“More suicidal humans fascinated with death. They won’t accomplish anything.”

A shadow fell across their table, abruptly ending the conversation. A dark-haired human took a chair from an adjacent table and sat down. He wore a white button-up shirt and slacks, like a tourist on vacation, but he had a bandage on his cheekbone and not an ounce of body fat. Vustaillo could smell the magic pouring off of him.

“Good morning,” said the newcomer. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”

He was speaking Latin fluently.

Izel’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Who are you?”

“My name is James. Forgive me for intruding, but I heard you mention the clock, and I hoped you could tell me where it’s located.”

“Bistak,” she spat.

James arched an eyebrow. “And you too.”

What kind of human understood insults in the demon tongue and spoke Latin with such ease? Not the kind of human Vustaillo wanted sitting at his table. Definitely not the kind of human that should be anywhere near a doomsday clock, either.

“You should move on,” Vustaillo said.

“Come, now. I’ll buy your drinks.”

Izel’s hand lashed out, latching onto his forearm. Pinpricks of red sprung up where her nails dug into his skin. Even though she hadn’t touched him, Vustaillo flinched. Izel’s touch was murder. Sometimes literally.

“He said that you should—”

Izel froze. A figure had appeared behind her and pressed a knife against her throat. A thin line of blood dripped down the blade.

The woman at Izel’s back was made of hard angles, from her Aquiline nose to the jut of her wrist. In the sunshine, her hair was like flame, and she looked furious.

“Get this blade off me,” Izel whispered, barely daring to move her lips.

The woman spoke. “Let go of my aspis.”

The color vanished from Izel’s face, and Vustaillo felt dizzy.

Women did not have aspides. Only a kopis could have an aspis—but there were no female kopides.

Except one. And she was known as the greatest.

Demons whispered about her. They said she had no name and that she was as tall as a gibborim. She had become the “greatest” by slaying angels, which was something most mortals would not dare to do, even if they could. Obviously, the first two things were not true, but if the third was, then Vustaillo feared he and Izel did not have long.

“I don’t want to die,” Vustaillo said, and he wasn’t ashamed to be on the verge of tears.

It was James who replied. “Then you might want to tell your friend to let go of me.”

Vustaillo begged for her to comply with his eyes. One at a time, Izel’s fingers uncurled. She slid her hand back across the table.

The kopis’s blade did not budge.

“Release me,” Izel said.

A single word from James: “Elise.”

She sheathed the knife and took position at his back. He lifted his arm to show it to her. The demon’s hand had left a red imprint burned on his skin, but he was not seriously injured.

Vustaillo pushed his plate away. The sight of food suddenly made him want to retch. “I’m sorry. For both of us. We didn’t know.”

“The clock,” James said, voice mild.

“It’s in the undercity—south of here, very far south. In Guatemala. The entrance is hidden. You would never find it.”

“You might be surprised,” he said, pushing aside the plates to clear space on the table. He spread a map in front of them. “Where should we go?”

The eyes of the demons met over the map. What would be more profitable—a truth or a lie?

Elise unfolded her arms and folded them again. Her biceps made Vustaillo suspect she could pop off his head with a pinky finger.

He pointed at the map. “There. I can’t be more specific. I haven’t seen the entrance myself.”

“How close do you think that is?”

“I don’t know.” Vustaillo fidgeted under Elise’s stare. She hadn’t moved since almost slitting Izel’s throat. “Within five miles.”

“And how certain are you about that?” James asked.

“I said I’ve never been there, didn’t I?”

He marked it with a pen, folded the map, and put it back in his pocket. “Are you going to eat that?”

Vustaillo couldn’t think of a response. James ate the tacos, and he seemed to enjoy them despite the uncomfortable silence around the table. Music played at a restaurant down the road, the wind breezed through the trees, and the witch chewed loudly. He offered chips to Elise, and she shook her head.

“What else do you want?” Izel spat, fists clenched atop the table. She was trembling. “Our money? Our lives? You think you can threaten us without recourse because…what? You’re famous?”

“If you’re offering, we could use a guide to the undercity.”

Izel barked out a laugh, but Vustaillo perked up a little. “For how much?”

James stood, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and dropped it on the empty plate. He was a full head and shoulders taller than Elise. Definitely not bigger than a gibborim. “From what we’ve heard, everyone dies if this clock strikes twelve. Humans. Demons. Anyone on Earth when Hell crashes into us. It’s in your best interests to help.”

“For how much?” Vustaillo pressed.

Elise turned to leave. The message was clear: They would not pay. He may not have been a demon of much prestige, but he didn’t work for free. Even the cartels wouldn’t be so insulting.

With a roar, Izel shoved the table. It exploded in front of Vustaillo. He flung himself to the ground and screamed as margarita glasses shattered around him.

Izel leaped over the table, lunging for James’s throat with clawed hands.

She stopped short with a gasp.

Something crimson spattered on the back of Vustaillo’s hand. He looked up to see a silver blade jutting from Izel’s back. The exchange had taken a half a moment—no more. The only sound had been Izel’s shout.

Vustaillo’s heart shattered when she sagged against the kopis. Elise lowered her to the ground.

Nobody sitting outside the restaurant reacted. They continued eating and chatting, completely oblivious. Izel had picked the most discrete table, after all. Her body cooled beside him.

Elise stepped back and sheathed her dagger again. James put the table back in its place, picked up the plates they had spilled, and glanced uneasily at a waiter watching from the doorway.

“Get your friend out of here,” James said. Disgust curled his upper lip. And then they were gone again, as silently as they arrived.

There is no currency more valuable than information. When it pertains to the location of the greatest kopis and her aspis, such information is priceless—and dangerous.

News of Izel’s death reached the overlord of Cancun by nightfall, then passed to the overlord of Chetumal. Whispers traveled on shadows, crossed continents with the ocean breeze, and found waiting ears before dawn.

Vustaillo had been murdered by first light.

The tenth bell chimed two weeks later.

June 2004

Elise killed fourteen demons on the day that the clock struck ten. She knew this for a fact because she counted the skulls while piling the bodies.

Once they were stacked together, James tore a page out of his Book of Shadows, flicked it at the pyre, and whispered a word of power. They ignited in an instant bonfire, flushing Elise with heat and scorching her eyebrows. The fire didn’t touch the foliage around them. The misty drizzle couldn’t slow it.

“You’ve improved.” Elise didn’t sound complimentary so much as exhausted. Her hair was stuck to the back of her neck, and she wasn’t sure if she was soaked in rain or sweat.

When the tenth hour chimed, the sky had split with fire and gateways opened, dumping demons on top of Elise and James. She killed anything that passed, but a lot of them had scattered. The villages were going to be a mess. And if the rest of the world was the same…

“Whomever is winding that clock isn’t playing games.” James took several large steps back before flicking another paper at the fire. The flames leaped fifty feet into the sky.

“At least we have this.” Elise lifted a strip of skin between two fingers. She had skinned brands off one of the demons. If she could find the symbols in Hume’s Almanac, they would be able to determine the demons’ allegiance.

But it suddenly grew hot, and the skin blackened and crumpled around the edges. She gave a shout and dropped it. It was ash before it hit the ground.

“What did you do?” she asked, spinning on James.

His eyes were wide. “Nothing. That wasn’t me.” He clapped his hands, and the flames on the bodies vanished in a flash of smoke. There were no charred bodies where the fire had been—not even bone fragments.

“Shit,” Elise said.

“Some greater demons clean up their minions to destroy evidence. This must be one of them.” He groaned and rubbed a hand through his hair, leaving a streak of white ash. “Fantastic. At least that narrows it down to…oh, a few hundred demons.”

Elise sheathed her swords, inspected herself for major injuries—nothing worse than a few bleeding claw marks—and started hiking back to the villages. James shadowed her. They had been combing the area Vustaillo noted on the map for days and hadn’t found anything but mud, ants, and several rainstorms.

The village streets were empty of life when they arrived. There hadn’t been many people in the first place, but the few who had stayed outdoors were dead now.

Elise and James turned a corner and startled a group of feasting demons. They were ugly things, like living grotesques hunched over half-eaten bodies with dirty fingernails and leathery skin. Elise had never seen the likes of them. She hoped she would never see them again.

She cut down the demons. They turned into ash a few minutes later.

“I got a couple of the symbols,” James said. He had written down as many as he could before they ignited.

“Good. I have twenty seconds.”

He looked at her. “Twenty seconds of what?”

“I timed the bells. There are twenty seconds between from the start of one to the start of the next.”

“You timed them? While fighting?”

Elise shrugged.

“So that’s four minutes,” she said. “For twelve bells. Four minutes from the first chime until…” The end of the world. She didn’t need to say it aloud. “I’ll be back.”

Elise headed to the post office, which was uninhabited by humans—living or dead. There was one package addressed to “Bruce Kent.” She ripped open the box, took out the copy of Hume’s Almanac sent by James’s former coven, and threw the packaging in the trash.

She met up with James again, put Hume’s Almanac in his backpack, and shouldered her own.

It was time to move on. There would be more victims, more demons, more battles to fight before they could find the clock.

“What happens with the eleventh bell?” Elise asked. “What happens with the twelfth?”

James shook his head.

“Let’s get to the clock before we find out.”

Elise went weeks without resting, but she couldn’t keep moving forever. When she became so exhausted that she almost failed to avoid decapitation by a stray demon, James picked an abandoned condo in a village on the ocean and insisted they stop to sleep.

At first, she refused. But fatigue won out. For a few blessed hours, she slept.

He studied as she rested, working his way through Hume’s Almanac with the drawings of the demons’ brands. There had been a letter from the high priestess tucked in the back, but no note from Hannah. She had never written to him, not in five years, and her rebuke almost didn’t sting this time.

When he got through the second section of the book without finding anything useful, he dropped it on the chair with a sigh, leaned back, and massaged his sore eyes. He needed reading glasses, but every time he bought a pair, they got broken in a fistfight or dropped down a canyon or eaten by monstrous demon larvae.

James went to the bedroom door. Curled up in the stolen bed, Elise looked almost childlike, if he ignored the injuries. Her face was relaxed and unguarded. She didn’t twitch when he sat on the edge of the bed. How long had it been since she slept?

His heart ached as he watched a curl in front of her nose sway with every breath. The urge to protect her was ridiculous. There was nothing he could fend off that she couldn’t. But he knew, watching her sleep, that he would do anything to defend her. Anything.

James retrieved a page from his Book of Shadows. He touched it to her skin and whispered a word of power. The cuts closed. The bruises on her face yellowed. She sighed without waking up.

He went back to reading Hume’s Almanac as darkness fell. He was beginning to doze in his chair when the sky blossomed with light and the eleventh bell chimed.

James jerked upright. Elise was already standing in the doorway, a falchion in each hand. Her hair stuck up in the back where she had been laying on it.

“Let’s go,” she said.

Demons poured through the streets. Pillars of flame flashed through the sky with each chime. The bells reverberated through the earth, and James clung to a tree, barely staying on his feet.

Elise slashed and stabbed, as light in her hiking boots as she could have been in toe shoes. She was locked in adagio with slavering grotesques. Ballon, aplomb, allongé—James’s former students would have been envious to see it, if not for the splattering blood.

People shrieked and fled. James wanted to tell them to go inside, to lock themselves where it was safe, but the sky fire and ravenous horde had driven them to mindless fear.

Children fell under the jaws of the demons. Not ten feet away, a man’s head was bashed against rocks. Elise danced to her silent andante, slicing through flesh and bone. Her swords glistened in the rain.

She climbed on top of a stall. Demons moved to follow, but James flung a page at them. Before the rain could soak it, he shouted.

A silent explosion rocked the air, knocking the demons off their feet as though the hand of God had swatted them aside. The ones still standing turned on James.

“Ayuda!”

An old man with his face covered in blood ran down the street. He was followed by two of the grotesques, and he reached desperately for Elise. She grabbed his forearm and hauled him onto the stall. Then she leaped down, lashing out with both feet. Skulls cracked.

Magic poured from James, swelling and crashing with the flick of paper. He was a shining light in the gloom, his Book of Shadows like a brilliant star. He set fires and brought wind upon the demons.

There were too many. Dozens. Hundreds. The jungle seethed.

He flipped through his Book of Shadows, searching for a spell that could stop everything, to save the people ripped open by blunt teeth. But then the earth rocked with the eleventh bell and he was slammed against a wall. The Book flew from his arms.

A demon crashed into him. He saw a flash of bloody tongue a heartbeat before its heavy foot mashed into the side of his knee.

James heard a wet crunch. He hit the ground. The pain struck him a few seconds later.

He roared, gripping his leg. The demon fell on him, pressing more than two hundred pounds of weight upon his chest like the crush of a boulder. Its breath stank of acid.

“James!”

Teeth ripped into his sleeve. He shoved the demon off of him, but another took its place.

And then it shrieked, blood sprayed out of its severed neck, and disappeared. Elise stood over him where its face had been. He couldn’t draw enough of a breath to thank her.

She sheathed one sword before lifting. He tried to put weight on his leg and cried out. “Lean on me,” she said, pulling his arm over her shoulder.

“We can’t go—those people—the Book—”

“I’ll come back for it. Move!”

She dragged him from the village. Slowly, so slowly, they fought their way into the jungle, where the trees grew thick and the demons could not follow.

He slid to the ground with a groan.

“I think it’s dislocated. My knee. I can’t walk—can’t feel my foot—”

Elise kneeled in front of him. His leg looked crooked through the slacks. She sliced open the pant leg, and her jaw tensed when she saw the unnatural twist of his knee cap. Seeing it made the pain worse.

“I’m going to relocate it,” she said. “Try to relax.”

“Maybe we should wait—”

But she had already put both hands on his leg and twisted.

When the sun rose, Elise sat in the common area of the village, wiping down her blades with a soft rag. It used to be someone’s shirt, but they didn’t need it anymore, and there was something immensely cathartic about cleaning blood off her falchions.

There were more bodies this time than after the tenth hour. Shopkeepers, farmers, laborers, friends and mothers and brothers. All dead. Losing so many lives was hardly a victory. It made her tense. Her neck felt like it might never unknot.

But cleaning her blades and gently oiling the metal—it was better than a professional massage, better than the comforting burn of whiskey, even better than her ex-boyfriend’s ministrations. It made her feel a little less guilty to be sitting next to a child whose face had been torn off. Just a little.

Elise walked into an abandoned house. The doors had been left open, and rain made the carpet squish under her feet. She used the phone to call McIntyre.

“Fly to Guatemala. I need you here,” she said.

His responding silence was long. “Elise…”

“Did you see what happened with the last bell?”

“How could I miss it? It was a massacre in the Warrens.” He paused, and Elise thought she heard his girlfriend crying in the background. “You’d laugh if you saw how the news is trying to explain the deaths away. They’re calling it a new outbreak of SARS. Those mundane bastards will make anything up to avoid seeing the truth.”

“There won’t be eyes to see if you don’t help me,” Elise said. “My aspis is out of commission. I need backup.”

“And my aspis is pregnant.”

Nausea flipped Elise’s stomach. She gazed at the body on the couch. Flies were starting to cloud around it. “If you want Leticia to live to give birth, you need to help.”

“Screw you,” he said without real ire.

“You can be down here in twelve hours. We’ll go get this together. It’ll be the Grand Canyon all over again. Call some of your friends—I know you have a lot of them.”

“And I’m the only one you have?”

That was probably meant to sting. “I have better things to do than make friends. Your priorities are fucked up.”

This was an argument they had been through a dozen times. McIntyre switched tactics. “Would you leave James to save the world?”

Yes. That was the plan, after all.

“Just get down here,” she said. She gave him the coordinates of the condominium. He said that he wrote them down. They hung up.

Elise found the Book of Shadows in a puddle of mud. Half of the pages were stuck together. She didn’t need to be a witch to tell that they were ruined.

She stole a bottle of pills from an unoccupied pharmacy to soften the blow. James was covered in sweat and half-asleep when she returned to the condo on the beach. “Here,” she said, folding two pills into his hand. “Sorry it took so long. Have you slept?”

“Barely.”

He swallowed them while she looked at his knee. It had swollen to twice its normal size. She suspected there were torn ligaments and arterial damage—the kind of thing that would require surgery if he planned on walking again. “You’ll get over this in no time,” Elise lied.

He laughed. “Good thing I don’t dance anymore.”

She took an avocado from her jacket, sliced it lengthwise, and pried the pit out with her knife. He took half. “At least all the dead people mean we don’t have to pay for food.”

He stopped laughing.

By the time he ate the avocado and some plantains, James’s color had improved, and he didn’t look like he was in nearly as much pain. “We can’t move you to a city for surgery,” she said. “We don’t have time.”

“I know. But I think I can heal myself, with your help…and the Book of Shadows.”

She handed the Book to him. His face fell.

“Is it enough?” she asked.

He flipped through the pages and gave a hard swallow. “It will have to be. I can do a ritual.”

“Why? You’ve written spells more powerful than this. You could fix yourself in a half second.” She took the Book of Shadows, flipping through it to one of the pages in the very back. James jerked it out of her hands.

“All my benign healing spells were destroyed.”

“So use one that isn’t benign.”

“Do you see this?” He turned it to show her a page. It was completely obscured with ink. “This is all I have left. It would ‘fix me,’ but requires a small sacrifice.”

“How small?”

“If I used you as the subject, it would also render you unconscious for a week.”

She couldn’t afford to be useless any more than he could. She considered the page. “I could get someone else. A survivor from a nearby village.”

“This spell might kill a normal person.”

“That’s dark magic, James. Your aunt would be ashamed.”

He snapped the Book shut. “As I said, we’ll use a ritual.”

James made a list of supplies, and she collected everything from the village of the dead. The bodies were in the same places she had left them. Nobody was coming back to dig graves.

When she returned with the stones he needed—pried from cheap jewelry at a tourist shop—and some herbs, James had created a circle of power out of pillow feathers on the bed. “What next?” she asked, eyeing his circle dubiously. He was a powerful witch, but she wasn’t sure he was powerful enough to work with such a weak circle.

“I’m weak. Let me piggyback for strength.”

Elise didn’t hesitate to offer him a hand.

He took it, and his magic washed through her. It sent warmth cascading from the top of her skull to her toes. Her awareness of James’s senses came to her one at a time—first, the smell of rain grew stronger, and then she felt his knee (which hurt as bad as she imagined), and then she glimpsed her face as though peering through his eyes. Her cheeks and eyes were hollow. She looked skeletal.

His emotions came upon her last. He was tired. Worried. Relieved to have painkillers. Happy to see Elise. Angry at all the devastation. Once the power securely fastened around them, it faded, but Elise was left unsettled. James felt too much.

He leaned back against the wall with a low chuckle. “I didn’t realize I looked that bad.” Of course, he had seen through her eyes at the same time she saw through his.

She rubbed her own aching knee. “You’re fine.”

Elise followed his diagrams to apply the stones and herbs to his leg. James activated several spells from his Book and left them on the bedside as they worked.

“Careful now,” he said when she pulled out the bandages.

She closed her eyes to process the information coming silently from James. He showed her the motions to make, and she did.

When she was done, he eased back against the wall with a groan. “How long?” she asked.

“I’ll be dancing again by tomorrow.”

Elise could tell he was lying through the bond. It would be days before he was in service again—and with a crippled Book of Shadows.

Her knee throbbed. James looked sympathetic. “I can lift the bond.”

“No. You’ll heal faster while piggybacked.” She locked what was left of the Book in its case. “I called McIntyre again,” she said, just to change the subject.

“Is he coming?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

There was nothing else to say, after that.

Rain coursed down the eaves of the condo. Ocean rushed up the beach like it was going to devour them, and then receded after lapping at the wooden supports. It made the condo feel just this side of dangerous, even though James sat back on the bed. He kept Elise in the corner of his eye. She stood on the edge of the porch, and it made him nervous. He could easily imagine an errant wave rising to slap her off the balcony.

The spray blew back her hair as another crest swept toward their temporary condo. A thin layer of water sloshed over her feet. She reached out a hand so the rain drummed on her exposed fingertips, and a thrill raced through his stomach when he saw that her glove dangled from the other hand.

“Careful,” James said.

She turned her hand over so the rain fell on her palm instead. “Who cares?” she muttered. “He can’t get me if the world’s going to end anyway.”

“Let’s not test the theory. Come in and close the door. Our room is getting wet.”

She pretended not to hear him. She did that a lot.

James traced the outline of a symbol onto tissue paper. He could feel the power vibrating in his wrists as he wrote it. He had filled almost the entire notebook with spells before it was damaged, one at a time. He could do it again.

His aunt had been the inventor of paper magic, but he was the innovator. There were things she taught him that nobody else knew—ways to store immense, unthinkable amounts of power; methods of copying spells without performing them again; how to distort a spell after binding it to the page—and the knowledge was so dangerous that he seldom used it.

The only person he trusted to have in the room while he worked was Elise, and she wasn’t paying any attention to him. She was staring at the ocean and getting soaked.

He wrote the final curl of the symbol. The page glowed with their shared power before fading.

James carefully stood, using a tall stick as a crutch to stagger to the patio. The wind gusted around him. He braced himself on the railing. “Come inside,” he said.

She trailed a finger along her palm. “Do you think He can see when one of my gloves is off?”

He didn’t even like discussing the subject. James grabbed her arm and slid the glove back on. “You only get this contemplative when you’re exhausted. And don’t forget, I can feel what you’re thinking.” He tapped his temple.

Elise tucked her hands against her sides. “It doesn’t matter. The twelfth hour is coming soon. I should be searching.”

“You can’t do anything in this downpour.”

Another wave sluiced over the patio. She finally went inside, helping James settle in bed again.

They sat in silence with nothing to entertain them but the thrum of magic as his knee knit itself together.

He tried to remember the last time they had sat together in comfortable silence for longer than a few minutes. James couldn’t recall having ever done it before. They were always on the run. “This is nice,” he said, surprising himself.

He was even more surprised when a smile spread across Elise’s face. A real smile. “What if it was always like this?”

“What, if we were in a monsoon with a dislocated knee?”

“No,” she said, gesturing between them. “Like…this. You and me. Not fighting. Not running.”

James studied her for a long moment—damp hair stuck to her forehead, bruises on her jaw, bandages concealing her arm. “It can’t ever be like this. We can’t stop running.”

“I know. But…what if we could?”

The question gave weight to the air between them. James was tired, and it wasn’t just because of the healing. He was tired of having no home. He was tired of trying to stay a step ahead of the death that pursued them. In the past, he had imagined what would happen if he could stop, and it involved reconciling with Hannah and rejoining the coven, but James hadn’t dwelled on those thoughts long. The fantasies hurt.

He tried to imagine stopping with Elise. Living a normal life. He couldn’t fathom what that would be like.

“It would be nice to teach again,” he said slowly. “I could start a dance company.”

“I’ve always wanted to own a business.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

She shrugged. It wasn’t something they had ever discussed. “Maybe I could be in your company. I could be a professional with enough practice. I think it would be…fun.”

Those were the probably most words she had ever strung together that didn’t have anything to do with dying.

“You should sleep,” she said, tipping a couple more pills out of the bottle on the bedside. He swallowed them. “You’ll heal faster.”

She was right. His eyes fell closed, and he let himself relax as the painkillers kicked in. His breathing grew deep and even, keeping time with the ocean, and he thought he could almost hear Elise’s heartbeat. He could certainly feel the magic knitting his knee, even as he dozed.

The fatigue of healing and magic was powerful. It sucked him under.

He wasn’t sure how long he floated in the gray haze before he felt lips on his forehead. “Take care of yourself,” Elise whispered. It alarmed him on some distant level, but he couldn’t rouse himself enough to figure out why.

When James woke up, the active bond had been closed, and Elise was gone.

Elise gave McIntyre sixteen hours before calling him back. He was still in Las Vegas when he answered.

“I’ve sent two of my friends down to help you,” he said. “This guy, Bryce, and a kid called Diego—he’s already close. They’re going to meet you at the condo. They should only be four hours away, max.”

“You’re a goddamn bastard, Lucas McIntyre.”

He blew air out of his lips. “Maybe you’ll have a family someday. Maybe you’ll understand then.”

“Not a chance in hell,” she said.

Bryce and Diego. Elise didn’t know any kopides named Bryce and Diego, and she didn’t want to know them. Whenever she ran across other hunters, like her, they were always a disappointment—too weak, too emotional, or too fixated on her gender. She had never met another kopis she couldn’t hate, and that included her ex-boyfriend. She wouldn’t go into a fight with anyone but James or McIntyre.

So Elise armed herself and went into the undercity.

The entrance was easy to locate. Demons left telltale marks to help each other find their dens: a stack of rocks, a symbol carved into a tree, a sign with demonic text written in graffiti on the back.

She found the trap door in the basement of a shop five miles away. It was dirty and smelled like a latrine, but the mark on the wall was unmistakable.

Elise descended the narrow steps. The air became still as the world above was blocked out, and soon, she only had her flashlight as a guide. When she finally reached the bottom, her legs were weak, her nerves were ragged, and one sword was drawn.

She took a deep breath and pushed through.

The undercity should have been a home away from home for the horrors that lived on Earth. It should have been teeming with life.

But it was motionless. The buildings were rotten from time and mildew, and faced the path with open doors. Empty.

Where were the demons?

Elise took a step forward and her foot connected with something soft. She knew without having to look that it was a body, and once she recognized the first, she saw the rest—lumpy shapes spread across the uneven ground of the cavern.

She kneeled to examine the body at her feet. It had the same marks as the corpses of the humans on the surface. Bones gnawed by dull teeth, missing flesh, shattered skull. The tolling of the bells had struck underground, too.

Stomach acid soured the back of her mouth as she slipped through the undercity, stepping around bodies and avoiding sinkholes. Something smelled like brimstone.

She strode through the city, focusing on the path. Elise didn’t want to see the racks where they hung slaves for sale. She didn’t want to see the demons—many of which were indistinguishable from humans—that lay in bloody piles.

It looked so similar to Dis. There were even skulls over the doorways. They grinned at her with missing teeth and dusty eye sockets.

Many of the homes had pens in front of them, too. In Dis, it was where they kept their more docile slaves. In this undercity, there were strange, grotesque skeletons instead—unholy things that looked like a mix of pig and human. Chills rolled down her spine. She refocused on the street.

So many dead. The air was thick with it.

Elise ducked out of one cavern into the next, following a short tunnel that had been carved by a stream. It let out into a murky pool.

Something scraped on the shore. She lifted her swords, gripping the hilts so tightly that her arms trembled.

A dark form on the ground moved, then groaned. A survivor.

Elise made a wide circle around it, squinting through the dim red glow. It looked like a human, but no human had skin so papery-thin that the outlines of its bones were visible. Its eyes twitched open. They were completely black.

“Tikest vo,” it whispered in a quavering voice. That was the demon language. James spoke it, but Elise didn’t.

“Don’t move,” she said.

It gave another groan, and spoke again, this time in Latin. “Help me.”

Cautiously, she sheathed one of the swords and kneeled at its side. The young nightmare was dying. Its skin faded in and out of Elise’s vision. For a few seconds it looked like a skeleton with a tangle of innards; then it faded back.

Nightmares couldn’t be killed by physical means—it could suffer for centuries without disappearing.

“I need to find the clock,” she said.

A pale hand reached for her. She jerked back. “It hurts,” said the nightmare. “Help me. Please.”

Elise set her jaw. “Do you know where it is?” After a moment, it nodded. “I need to find it.”

The skin faded. The nightmare shivered. “This path goes down,” it said. “Down. Beyond the Temple of Yatam—a stair. Down, down, down.”

“Is that where the chamber is?”

Its skeletal hand touched her arm. Elise’s skin crawled. “The door is behind the statue.” Its black eyes begged. “Please.”

She didn’t have her exorcism charms, but the blade of her sword was carved with some of the same symbols. She slid the falchion between two of its ribs. “Crux sacra sit mihi lux. Non draco sit mihi dux. Vade retro, Satana, nunquam suade mihi vana. Sunt mala quae libas. Ispe venena bibas.” The sword glowed briefly. The demon’s eyes fell closed. “Return to the Hell in which you belong. Begone.”

Its hand slipped off her arm, and a moment later, the body was gone. She stood over the place it had rested and stared at the empty ground. Killing demons was usually satisfying, but this time, she felt nothing.

“Be at peace,” Elise said to the empty chamber, sheathing her sword. She was surprised to mean it.

There was only one other path leading down from the cavern. Elise took it. It sloped into darkness, away from the red glow of the undercity, and she followed it down, down, down.

It took her an hour to reach the Temple of Yatam. The path opened into a quiet chamber with smooth walls. A stream spilled down the rocks to her right in a frothy mist, illuminated by the flickering glow of blue flame.

The only thing that made the room look like a temple were nine columns surrounding a faceless statue. It stared at her without eyes. Elise edged around it. As the nightmare said, there was a stair behind the statue, spiraling deeper into the ground. The air grew warmer and warmer as she descended.

Distantly, through the earth, Elise could hear the clock. Every swing of its pendulum gently rocked everything around her. Rock groaned. Dust showered from the roof of the stairwell. The stairs felt like they swayed from side to side—the slightest motion that made the entire world vibrate.

Tick…tock…The clock echoed through the air.

At first, she didn’t realize she heard it with her ears. But then she came upon a doorway and stumbled through, and she saw it.

The clock stood at the end of a very long chamber with sloping walls that rose high above her in the shape of four-sided pyramid. Elise wouldn’t have been able to reach its face if she stood on James’s shoulders. The mechanisms inside its body were made of glistening white stone.

The dagger-shaped pendulum rocked in time with every beat. It pulsed through her and made it hard to breathe. The hands on the face crept toward the place the twelve should have been—and all six were going to align simultaneously.

Dusty skeletons lay on platforms around the edges of the room. Scraps of red cloth hung from the bones, although time had eaten most of the robes away. They trembled with every tick and tock of the swinging pendulum.

Elise made her way through the room, stepping around metal grates that blasted hot air. She peered into one as she passed. It glowed red faintly, as though there were fires miles below.

She had to climb onto another platform to reach the body of the clock. It was almost too loud to approach. Elise drew her left-hand sword as she peered into the workings of the clock. Something throbbed in the depths of its cogs—a heart.

Why hadn’t the hour struck yet?

She didn’t wait to find out. There had to be attendants somewhere close.

Make it fast.

Bracing herself, Elise seized the handle on the cage of its body and swung it open.

A distant thud rocked the pyramid. The platform pitched beneath her feet. An invisible hand smashed into her chest, shoving her away from the clock.

She soared through the air and struck the opposite wall. The sword clattered out of her hand. Elise collapsed onto a grate and the metal seared her skin.

The tick tock was even louder than before. The beating heart thrummed. And when she rolled over, her face came up against a pair of bare feet. Her gaze traveled up bare legs.

The woman wore a necklace of skulls. Her dark hair was tangled with teeth, her dagger was carved of stone, and her hips were draped in folds of leather. The silhouettes of demons framed her—dozens of them. The stink of brimstone was strong.

“What a surprise,” said the goddess in perfect Latin.

Elise leaped for her sword.

Something connected with her head from behind. It cracked her skull and rattled her brain.

A flash of white light—and then darkness.

Elise could see the sky.

Her eyes opened to slivers. There was a window above her—an open square too small for a human to slip through. The sky was a churning mass of violet and crimson.

No, wait. That wasn’t a sky at all. It was smoke from the fires beneath the clock.

Elise was still inside the pyramid. But she was in a separate room, with the same jagged gray stone and hazy air. Her eyes and throat burned with it.

She had been chained to the wall. Her hip burned, and she shifted her legs out from under her, stretching out to see a mess of blood smearing her shirt. When had she been injured?

“That came from my children. They wanted a taste.”

Elise twisted around, trying to see the speaker, but the goddess stood beyond her field of vision. Her motion was limited by the shackles. “Who are you?”

The response came right behind her ear. “I am the cold kiss of death,” she whispered, “and you can never defeat me.”

Elise’s stomach churned. “Let me go.”

“No. You chose to come. Now you must live with that choice—and die for it.”

“I’ll kill you,” she said. It wasn’t a threat. Just a statement of fact.

“Maybe. Alive or dead, I will come back for you.” The flames outside flared, turning the smoke from purple to orange before fading back to red. A blast of heat filled the room.

Somewhere in the pyramid, people were screaming. Human voices. Elise wasn’t the only one trapped.

The goddess stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the window. In one hand, she held a staff of sharpened human bone; in the other, a stone knife carved with symbols. The whites of her eyes were consumed with the endless darkness of space.

“I didn’t expect anyone to find me,” she said, “much less the greatest kopis. I’ve heard of you.”

Elise responded by twisting her wrists in the shackles. They rubbed against the skin of her right wrist, and she realized one of her gloves had been removed. She clenched her fist.

The goddess must have seen what was on her palm. She must have known what it meant. And she wouldn’t have been there if she didn’t need Elise alive.

“You’re missing something for the clock—something that’s keeping you from tearing apart Hell and Earth. It’s a sacrifice, isn’t it?”

“Astute,” the goddess said.

Elise shifted, and her chains rattled. It wasn’t hard to be astute when she was tied up like a pig waiting for the spit.

The woman kneeled in front of her. She smiled.

Then she buried the point of the knife in Elise’s shoulder.

Pain flamed down her skin. She grit her teeth and took deep breaths, refusing to cry out. It only hurt worse when the goddess pulled the knife free.

“You can’t think this will do any good,” Elise said, her voice barely shaking. “You can’t kill me yet. Not like this. Not without screwing up your apocalyptic plans.”

Her laugh was deep and throaty. From anyone else, it would have been pleasant to hear.

“Who says I plan to use you?”

The goddess dragged the knife down her chest, drawing a line of pain along her skin in crimson ink. Elise’s blood swelled and dripped in a line down her ribs.

I won’t scream. I won’t scream.

Her resolve lasted for almost an hour. The goddess lasted much longer.

Part Four: The Walking Dead

Chapter 4

RENO – MAY 2009

The afternoon arrived bright and sunny despite the steel-gray clouds lingering overhead. The sun should have warmed the air, but the light only succeeded in washing the colors out of the already-barren landscape. Beads of rain quivered underneath the letters on the street sign, Westfield.

Anthony Morales slowed his Jeep to a stop in front of Motion and Dance and glanced at the clock on his dashboard. Three-fifteen. Betty hadn’t asked him to pick her up until four (or, as the text had said “get me or die!”), but Elise handled the finances for the coven, and she always went in on the esbats.

There was movement beyond the glass doors. It was probably Elise.

He examined his reflection in the visor mirror, trying to order his brown curls by running his fingers through his hair. Anthony only succeeded in messing it up further. He scrubbed at an oil mark on his cheek. It was the best he could do for his appearance—he couldn’t make himself into Don Juan with a little spit and an attempt at a suave smirk.

He tried out the smile on himself, but it quickly faded. Smirk or not, Elise was way out of his league. She usually made him feel like nothing but Betty’s kid cousin.

A man Anthony recognized as James, the high priest of Betty’s coven, emerged from behind the building. He propped the open front door and went inside. All Anthony knew about the high priest came from his cousin, who liked to use adjectives like “dreamy” for him and said he was the most important person in the world to Elise.

“What kind of guy is a witch, anyway?” Anthony muttered to himself, climbing out of the Jeep.

Subsiding into half-coherent insults, he slammed the driver’s side door and headed up the sidewalk to the front doors. He heard voices and hung back to listen, easing in sideways to see who was talking.

James and Elise were in the midst of an animated conversation. Her posture was straight, shoulders back, chin lifted, like she was ready to fight.

“You were the one who wanted me to investigate, and I did. You see this?”

“I’m sorry.”

“This is serious, James, real serious, and I don’t want to be involved. I don’t want you involved.”

“What will the Ramirezes do? Someone has to help them, and if—”

She cut him off. “I’m not going over this again.”

All the tension drained from James’s shoulders, and he leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead. She closed her eyes. He whispered something into her hair, but it was too quiet for Anthony to make out.

A swell of jealousy rose in his chest, and he bumped the door with his foot. The entrance bell jingled.

James’s straightened. He glanced at Anthony without expression. “We’ll talk more about this later.”

Elise’s mouth stretched into thin line. “Fine.” James left, and she sighed, rolling her right shoulder to loosen it.

Anthony opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him—Elise always managed to render him nonverbal. Today, she wore a shirt that was swooped low in the front to reveal a lot of cleavage that he had to struggle not to look at. She was wearing gloves again—she always wore gloves—and cutoff shorts.

He cleared his throat and tried to find his voice. “Hi, Elise.” He shouldn’t stare at her legs, either. Really.

She sat down at the reception desk, dragging a squat filing cabinet to her side. “What are you doing here? Did you feel like taking up ballet all of a sudden?”

“No,” he said. “I’m picking up Betty.”

“The coven’s not done for another half hour.”

“I guess I lost track of the time.”

The corner of Elise’s mouth twitched. “That’s fine. You can hang out with me while we wait for the witches to finish. They’re boring when they’re meditating.”

“Awesome,” Anthony said, and he tried not to sound too enthusiastic about it. He took the second chair and moved over.

The door between the entryway and the dance hall was open and James’s voice echoed through the studio. “How did that meditation make you feel? Ann?”

“I felt in tune with the Earth,” she responded. “It was relaxing. Finals have been crazy.”

Others made assenting noises. Elise made a face at Anthony, and he grinned.

“You feel like working? There’s a lot of paperwork to go through,” she said. “I need to find where James stashed last year’s registrations that came through the workforce education program. They have to be here. He’s organized, but in the most obscure way possible.”

“I would love to help,” he said, and Elise turned the filing cabinet to face him.

Anthony absorbed himself in his search, trying to forget how tedious he found paperwork. She focused on her laptop, fingers ticking away at the keyboard, and Anthony shuffled through the folders. Elise’s bare legs occupied the corner of his vision.

The seconds dragged. She hadn’t been joking about James’s bizarre methods of organization—everything was neatly tagged and labeled, but with indecipherable codes. He had no idea what “G-3B” had to do with receipts for cleaning supplies, or why the thick folder full of yellow-tabbed sheet music was marked “T6” (or why it was between the receipts and what looked like coven inventory lists), but it meant that Anthony had to read everything to figure out what it was.

He distracted himself from his chore by scooting his chair back enough to peek through the door to the next room. An assortment of women and men rested comfortably on cushions around a small altar. Smoke rose from a censer between them.

Anthony’s cousin sat beside James, her blonde hair pulled into loose pigtails. She listened raptly to the high priest, nodding along with everything he said.

“As we discussed last week, Marisa’s family is facing some troubles right now,” James said. “An exorcist determined that Lucinde may be possessed. I believe we should partake in a cleansing ritual.”

Elise began typing with renewed vigor. “Do you hear this?” he whispered.

“I don’t listen to their crazy witch nonsense.”

“Who’s the exorcist?” Ann asked.

“She prefers to preserve her anonymity,” James said.

“It would be so interesting to talk to her for my thesis. It’s on the supernatural and old-world religion in modern times.”

“I can pass along questions for you.” His tone left no room for argument. “What do you all think of my proposal?”

“An exorcist,” Anthony murmured. “It’s like they think they’re in a movie or something.”

Elise typed harder.

“Do you mean actual demons, or the kind of demons we regard as goddesses, like Lilith?” asked a man whose voice Anthony didn’t recognize.

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” James explained. “This one may be little more than an angry spirit, though. As such, it can be cleansed and cast out with ritual and positive energy.”

“I don’t think we should get into it,” Ann said. “Demons are risky business.”

Elise sighed and stretched in her chair, drawing Anthony’s attention away from the conversations in the other room.

“It’s hot in here,” she said, slipping off her sweater.

He had to look. Her tanned skin was flecked with freckles, creating alluring trails that dipped down into the neckline of her shirt and out along her shoulders. He would happily explore those paths with his fingers and lips, if he could just get the balls to make a move.

And then the sweater dropped enough for him to see the gashes—three deep, parallel slices on her arm. That was what James had apologized for. Had he hurt her?

“What happened to your arm?” he asked.

“What? Oh. I got attacked by a bush when I was out running last night.” She pulled her sweater back on. “It’s nothing.”

“I thought you said you felt hot.”

“I changed my mind. I’m going to close this door, okay?” She shut it, and the coven’s conversation became an inaudible mumble.

He struggled to think of something right to say. He had a hard time imagining James, who was a witch (of all the stupid things) and a dancer (even stupider) managing to injure Elise. But if he had, Anthony couldn’t let it slide. He just wasn’t sure he could take James in a fight.

Suppressing the wild and ridiculous urge to challenge James to a duel, Anthony held up a folder. “I think I found the registration forms.”

She gave it a quick scan. “That’s it. Great.” Elise immediately turned her attention back to the computer. “Thanks for the help.”

“Yeah, no problem,” he said, and then he took a deep breath. “Maybe you’d like to hang out tonight. There’s this band performing at the Knitting Factory. I know you listen to Black Death, and this band is supposed to be a lot like their early work.”

“Yeah? What time?”

“Doors open at eight…but we could get dinner, if you like. Before the show.”

Elise’s eyes narrowed. “Are you asking me on a date?”

He gave her his attempt at a suave smile.

“Yes?”

The time until she responded dragged on. It couldn’t have been longer than a moment or two, but the sudden racing of Anthony’s heart made it feel like hours, and Elise’s expression was unreadable.

She didn’t smile at his suggestion, but she didn’t laugh at him, either, which had to be a good sign.

“Yeah,” Elise said. “That sounds good.”

Relief washed through his body. The next second, it was replaced with nervousness. “Cool,” Anthony said, jamming his fists in his pockets. “Cool. Since I’m just in the duplex next to yours, we could go together. That way, only one of us has to drive. With the price of gas and parking and stuff.”

“Oh yeah. Gas is a huge concern from here to downtown,” she said. “I have things to do tonight, so I don’t have time for dinner, but I can meet you for the concert.”

“Then it’s a date,” he said.

Elise nodded, turned back to her laptop, and started typing again.

Why did he feel even more nervous now than before he had asked her out?

The door between the rooms opened, and the coven emerged. James exited first, accompanied by a leggy strawberry-blond.

“We’ll need more information on Lucinde before we decide to do a cleansing,” the woman said. “I don’t feel comfortable performing a ritual unless we’ve ruled out a health problem.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Lucinde has had extended hospital stays, so her medical records should be there,” Stephanie said. “I could look at them.”

James cast a glance at Elise. “We should discuss this somewhere quieter. Come upstairs.”

Ann trailed behind the last of the coven. Her ratty brown hair was pulled into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She hauled a heavy backpack over her shoulder and wandered over, waving at Elise.

“Hi guys,” she snuffled, digging through her pockets and coming up with a packet of tissues.

He gave a weak wave. Through Betty’s chronic inability to dislike people, she had managed to collect some bizarre friends over the years—Elise included—but Ann might have been the weirdest. She was an undergraduate at the university where Betty worked on her thesis. They met at the library while researching obscure blood diseases, which led to Ann joining the coven, and now she was Betty’s latest pet project.

“Weird stuff, huh?” Ann asked Elise.

She didn’t look up. “Yes.”

“What do you think about this whole thing with Marisa’s daughter?”

“I don’t think much about it at all.”

“Just seems too bad, you know?” Ann stepped closer to allow Morrighan to pass, and Elise rolled her chair a few inches back. “Poor kid. Still going to the gym tonight?”

Anthony stole a look at Elise. She had finally given her attention to Ann. He had no idea what her expression meant, but if Elise ever looked at him like that, he would have run in the opposite direction. “Yes.”

“Guess I’ll see you there. Bye!” She lurched out of the studio. The heavy backpack on her shoulder gave her a lopsided walk.

A squealing golden blur struck Anthony in the side, and he staggered.

“You came!” Betty exclaimed, squeezing her cousin tight. Anthony made a gurgling noise.

Elise’s cold look dissolved. “Did you leave any espresso at the Starbucks you violated?”

“I only had two triple fraps this morning,” she said, and then she gave Anthony another squeeze. Betty was not a small girl—she was equal to Anthony in both height and weight, and he had to struggle to breathe.

“Why does Ann know we’re going to the gym tonight?” Elise asked.

Betty released Anthony. “Ooh. I invited her to come along. That’s okay, right?”

“The gym is a public place.”

“Yeah, but I invited her to come, you know, work out with us. She looks like she could use some exercise, and I know she’s got to be lonely going to college so far from her parents, so please tell me you were nice to her.”

Elise chose not to respond, turning back to the computer instead.

“She was…polite,” Anthony said. Betty rolled her eyes.

“Elise! Did you have to scare her?”

“I said she was polite,” he protested.

“Yeah, but I know my roommate better than that. Look, if it’s a problem, you can skip the gym tonight and I’ll just hang out with Ann. Okay?”

“I don’t mind,” Elise said, although it sounded like she did mind very, very much. “I have to take these papers back to my office before we can work out. I’m going to go.”

“Yeah, yeah. I should change clothes anyway. I’m not exactly exercise-appropriate right now.” Betty pointed at her breasts, which were very prominently displayed in what was probably a continuing attempt to get James to look at them. “Ready, cuz?”

“Sure,” Anthony said reluctantly. “Let’s go.”

“Cool,” Betty said. “See you later, Elise!” She dragged him away by the elbow. “Come on, I want time to shower, too.”

Anthony sighed. “I don’t see why you want to shower before you go get sweaty.”

“One day I’ll explain the concept of ‘looking sexy for hot guys at the gym’ to you,” she said, ruffling his hair affectionately. “I heard you making plans with my foxy best friend. What are you guys doing tonight?”

“What? Nothing,” Anthony said, reaching in to unlock Betty’s door.

She shot Anthony a sly look. “Don’t give me that. I heard you flirting with Elise.”

His cheeks heated. Oh God. Now Betty was never going to let him forget it. “I was helping her find some papers, and we talked a little. That’s all. We were talking.”

“Shopping amongst the cougars, huh? I thought I’d raised you better than that.”

“You’re sick, Betty.”

“What were you talking about?”

She was staring at him, and Anthony had to say something. He thought of the gashes on Elise’s arms, and her long legs, and James confronting Elise about her injuries. He thought of her smile and the Knitting Factory, and secretive high priests with exorcists on-call.

But he only shrugged.

“Just the usual stuff,” Anthony said.

A half an hour later, Elise hadn’t left for the office. She was still staring at the same cell on the spreadsheet with her fingers poised over the number pad.

Anthony had asked her on a date. It was…well, weird. Elise had only dated one guy before—another kopis, back when she was eighteen. He turned out to be a total waste of oxygen, but Elise’s life had been too dangerous to share with anyone anyway. A normal guy like Anthony wouldn’t have stood a chance.

Things had changed since then, but she still hadn’t been on a date in years. Sex was nothing but a distant memory. Elise wasn’t sure if she was excited, confused, terrified, or all of the above.

James wandered back inside the entryway, Stephanie at his side.

“Thank you for your help,” he said.

“It’s for Lucinde,” the doctor said firmly, twisting a key off her key ring. Her fingers lingered on his when she passed it over.

“I’ll return this to you tonight.”

“I look forward to seeing you.” She strode out of the room, three-inch heels ringing out against the wooden floor. Stephanie smelled like she bathed in Victoria’s Secret perfume, and the scent mingled poorly with the odor of incense.

“The doctor has a great bedside manner,” Elise remarked.

“We’re going to retrieve Lucinde’s hospital records tonight. Stephanie wants to be certain that there isn’t some other problem we need to address before taking care of the metaphysical end of things, but she can’t walk out with Lucinde’s records for no reason.”

“She’s a better candidate for it than we are.”

“She also has a meeting with the board scheduled. It’s more convenient if we take them.”

“That’s called stealing, James,” Elise said. “She could get a slap on the wrist for taking them. We’ll get arrested.”

James pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “We have the key to the records room, which is usually unattended at night, so we won’t get caught if we’re quick about it. You don’t have to come.”

She gathered the papers on the desk. “This is a bad idea.”

“Fine, then I’ll—”

“I’m not going to let you do it alone. I’ll come along.” Elise hugged the folder to her chest, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “Look…you know I don’t care about stealing, but we can’t take long. I have plans.”

“Plans?”

“Yeah. I’m about to go to the gym, and then I have a date.”

James took a few seconds to respond.

“A date. I’m glad to hear it.”

Elise’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not mad? You hated my last boyfriend.”

“You were eighteen and he was an idiot. You should have fun.” He checked his watch. “When do you want to go over to the hospital? I was thinking seven.”

“That’s fine.”

James left to clean up the altar in the other room. “If he’s so certain dating Anthony is okay, then why aren’t I?” Elise asked the empty entryway. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t respond.

She stopped by the bank to deposit David Nicholas’s check before going to the gym. It made her feel warm to look on his signature and recall his expression as he slashed it underneath that large number, and Elise couldn’t wait to turn those warm feelings into her half of rent for the month.

“This check is bad,” the teller announced.

Elise had been drifting in a daydream of being able to pay off her credit card, but this announcement brought her back to reality as quickly as a blow from a hammer.

“What?”

“This check is bad,” he repeated slowly, one word at a time. “There’s a twelve dollar fine for attempting to cash a bad check. If you go down to the office of the—”

“How the hell is it bad?”

He typed at his terminal, looking bored. “This account number belongs to our bank, but it’s been closed for a year. No money. Bad check. Twelve dollar fine. Understand?”

Elise made two mental notes: Firstly, that she should use a credit union instead of a bank apparently staffed by pure evil, and secondly, that David Nicholas was going to die.

The teller shredded the check as Elise watched, and her heart dropped into her stomach.

“Have a nice day,” he said with a big smile.

Chapter 5

Elise and James pulled into the parking lot in front of the hospital as the sun dropped behind the mountains, setting the sky aflame. A wet chill lowered the temperature several degrees. She shivered and shrunk into her coat.

“Nice summer we have coming along,” she muttered.

James locked the car. “Let’s get inside.”

They passed through the hospital doors and all sound died. It felt as though the volume on life had been turned down low in the empty halls.

James glanced down at his watch. “Stephanie said the records room is empty during shift turnover. If we head down now, we should have enough time to get in and out before someone comes down.”

“What happens if we get caught?”

He smiled mirthlessly. “We get arrested.”

Her forehead throbbed with the first signs of a headache. She shut her eyes and pressed the heel of her palm against her temple. “That doctor of yours better help us out if we get in trouble. It’s her fault we’re here in the first place.”

“But it isn’t her fault Augustin Ramirez refused to cooperate with us,” James said. A sharp pain lanced through Elise’s skull, and she gave a small gasp. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong. I feel strange. Almost as though…”

Almost as though there was something that didn’t belong in a hospital.

She let out a slow breath and stretched out her senses, probing the strange presence.

“Elise?” James asked when she was silent for too long.

“It’s a demon,” she said. “Faint. Weak.”

“An actual demon, or one of the Gray?”

She tilted her head to the side as if trying to catch the faint strains of a distant song. It made her ache from crown to jaw. “Hellborn.”

“What’s it doing in a Catholic hospital?”

“I would love to find out.” Elise punched the down button.

The elevator began to lower, and Elise’s sense of the hellborn grew stronger by every inch they dropped. She covered her eyes with the heels of her palms, pressing gently, as though she could squeeze the uncomfortable itch out of her skull.

The doors opened on the basement level, and James consulted a map Stephanie had scribbled on the dance studio’s stationary.

“The medical records office is over here,” James said, peering through a door with a window. “There should be a fax machine inside.”

“Okay,” Elise said. “Watch the hall.”

She slipped into the records room. It was a long room filled with shelves, and at the far end stood a desk and plastic chair.

It clearly wasn’t designed to be comfortable for human occupation: the walls were concrete and water-stained, and the carpet was hardly in better condition. The only lights were harsh and unsteady, flickering on when Elise flipped the light switch.

She went along the side of the room, searching for the records that began with R. She found them quickly, but locating Lucinde’s records in particular was much more difficult. There were so many folders all over the place—she couldn’t imagine how the hospital hadn’t moved to digital records yet.

She thumbed through the names. Rand. Randall. Ramirez. Success.

Elise skimmed Lucinde’s records as she began feeding them through. She continued to skim the second part of the stack, which contained duplicate records from Lucinde’s general practitioner. Chicken pox, a case of the flu, referrals to several cardiologists over the years. Elise didn’t see anything about psychoses.

Each sheet of paper seemed to take forever to feed through the machine, and slow inch by slow inch she grew more nervous. She strained to detect any noise from the hallway, half-certain she would hear James failing to ward off a nurse outside. With David Nicholas’s bounced check, she definitely couldn’t afford an attorney.

The fax kicked out the rest of the papers and beeped. She put them back in the folder.

A pulsing noise throbbed between Elise’s ears. The pit of her stomach dropped, and a familiar nausea crept through Elise’s body. She slid the folder into place and headed for the door, holding her stomach.

And then the pulse burst.

She staggered, slamming against the wall. Her dinnertime snack of yogurt and granola rose into her throat. She took slow, shallow breaths, trying to hold off the urge to vomit—and failed. The sour tang of bile flooded her mouth.

There was something in the hospital, and James was alone outside.

She spat into the trash can, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and threw open the door.

James was not waiting for Elise outside.

For a second, all she could do was stare at the naked man standing where her aspis should have been. He wasn’t breathing. In fact, he didn’t look like he was alive at all. A toe tag dragged on the ground beside him.

She would have been sure he was a corpse, except that he was standing, and staring, and drooling. Corpses couldn’t drool.

Someone whispered behind Elise. “Take care of her.”

She spun, but the hall behind her stretched empty. A light flickered several feet down.

A heavy weight slammed into Elise’s side, and all the breath rushed out of her body. She struck the floor an instant later. Pain exploded in her shoulder.

Elise squirmed out from under his body, freeing her legs so that her foot could lash out. The kick landed in his face. He reeled, unable to get his balance. Another kick, and he collapsed.

His shoulders twitched, and a shudder ran through his body. His mouth flopped open, and his tongue rolled out, covered in thick green mucous.

“Elise,” he said from the floor. His mouth didn’t move to articulate the words, and the voice was garbled and echoing. He almost sounded…feminine. “I wish you hadn’t become involved.”

She stared. “What?”

The hallway lights flickered once, and went out completely.

Elise backtracked and hit the wall. She blinked rapidly, trying to make out shapes in the darkness, but the only light came from around the corner, and it wasn’t enough.

Something moved, slipping across the floor, scraping on the linoleum.

She spun, trying to face the source of the noise. It moved behind her, and she raised her fists. “Who’s there?” Elise said, trying to sound calm. Adrenaline sang through her veins.

More noises. Almost like…claws.

To her right.

She twisted, but not quickly enough. Pain flamed across her torso.

She cried out, clutching her stomach. Elise could almost see bulbous eyes sparkle in the darkness, but it darted away before she could focus.

She threw herself at the motion and barreled into something living.

They rolled. Elise punched blindly and was rewarded with the shriek of something inhuman, something terrible. Another fiend. She threw her body weight to roll it over, grabbing at what she hoped was its neck and pressing against the linoleum.

“Who do you work for?” she demanded.

It choked.

Something struck the back of Elise’s head. A gong chimed in her skull, shooting pain down her spine, and she fell.

The fiend scrabbled away. It sounded like the footsteps moved all around her, up and down, inside her skull.

The noise faded. She floated in a sea of her own pulse, trying to feel her limbs. Her fingers twitched, and then her toes. Thank God.

Where had they gone?

“Elise?”

Lights flared on. Elise moaned, covering her eyes. The pressure in her head had suddenly disappeared, and despite the pain in every inch of her body, she felt better. The fiends—and the body—were gone.

“James,” she groaned. “Help me up.” He knelt by her side and lifted her into a sitting position.

“Are you okay?” he asked, touching her arms, her forehead, her shoulders, her neck. When his fingers brushed the back of her head, she flinched.

“Yeah,” Elise groaned. “But…don’t touch that again. Where did you go?”

“A nurse passed and I had to ask her where the bathroom was to allay suspicion,” he said. “I doubled back as soon as I could. How bad are you hurt?”

“I could be a hell of a lot worse.” She parted her jacket to check out her stomach. “Oh, damn. I liked this shirt.” It was torn into bloody shreds.

“We need to get you upstairs. What happened?” he asked, helping Elise stand.

“That thing I was feeling earlier,” she said. “It was a fiend. And something else, too.”

“A fiend?”

She stumbled when she tried to stand. James caught her. “They’re these little gargoyle-looking demon things.” Elise touched her fingers to the back of her head. They came away clean. “I don’t think they like me.”

“At least we’re in the right place for horrible injuries.”

“I’m fine,” she said. “All I need is a shot of whiskey and an aspirin.”

“I want Stephanie to check you out,” he said. Elise groaned. “Head injuries are dangerous things. We’ll want that looked at.” She didn’t respond, so he went on. “You’re saying a lesser hellborn was just wandering the hospital?”

“Not quite.” They got into the elevator, and she leaned against the wall. Even that small motion made her ache. “The fiend was with someone. I don’t know who. He was dead.”

James stared. “…Dead.”

“Yeah.” The elevator chimed and began to move. “There was a toe tag on his foot and his skin was blue. He looked like he’d been dead for a couple days.”

“So the fiend was dragging him.”

“No.”

“How was it moving him, then?”

“You’re not getting what I’m saying,” Elise said. “He attacked me. He was animate, but…unconscious.”

“A zombie,” James said.

“I guess. Damn, my head hurts.”

“Hold still. We’re nearly there.”

They got off at the ground level, and James guided Elise toward the nurse’s station. He interrupted a passing candy striper. “Excuse me, but do you know where Dr. Whyte is at the moment?”

“She just went that way.” The girl pointed.

Just around the corner, Stephanie spoke to a pair of men in suits clutching attaché cases. She took one look at the blood on Elise’s shirt and excused herself, ushering James and Elise into an empty room.

“What happened?” the doctor asked, snapping on a pair of blue latex gloves.

“I got in a fight. Something—someone—hit me in the back of the head.”

Stephanie nodded. “Sit.”

Elise perched herself on the bed, and Stephanie drew a chair up to her side. The doctor thumbed open Elise’s eyelids. She had a second to register Stephanie’s badge—Dr. Whyte, with so many degrees after her name they almost didn’t fit—before a bright light blinded her.

“What year is it?”

“Two thousand nine.”

“Hold still. What’s your full name?”

“Elise Christine Kavanagh.”

Stephanie shone the light in her other eye. “Good. Move your arms. Good. And your legs.” She grabbed a blood pressure cuff off the wall and gestured for Elise to remove her coat. “Hold still for a minute.”

“Is she okay?” James asked, hovering nearby as Stephanie worked.

After a handful of quiet seconds, the doctor took the stethoscope out of her ears again and removed the cuff. “If someone was trying to hurt you badly, they failed. Here, have a couple of these.” Stephanie pulled a bottle of extra-strength headache medicine out of her pocket. “For the next few days, you need to watch out for headaches, sudden fatigue, difficulties with speech or sight. If you experience any of these symptoms, call an ambulance. What happened to your abdomen?”

“Fight with a rabid badger,” she said curtly. “Do you have time to look at it or not?”

“I could be spending this time making friends with the directors.” Stephanie pressed a thermometer to Elise’s forehead. “You’re surprisingly healthy for fighting badgers. Take off your shirt and lay back.” She grit her teeth and lifted her shirt over her head. The skin below her strapless bra was torn and bloody. Purple bruises were rapidly rising on her torso. “When did you get in this fight?”

“Just a few minutes ago.”

“Interesting. This looks hours old.” Stephanie probed Elise’s stomach with her fingers. “Did you two get what we need?”

“Yes,” James said, slipping the key into her jacket pocket. “Thank you.”

“How did it look?”

“You’re the professional. You’ll have to decide,” Elise said. “Ouch. Is this necessary?”

“Does it hurt more when I press down or when I release?”

“When you press down.”

“Lucky for you, all this blood isn’t a sign of internal damage.” She examined the scratches on Elise’s arm from the night before. “Are you a frequent visitor to my emergency room?”

“No, I usually treat my own wounds,” she said, pulling her arm away from Stephanie.

“Well, in that case…” She worked quickly—and not gently. Stephanie wrapped bandages around Elise’s torso to hold the sterile pads in place. “You two better get out of here. I’ll review Lucinde’s files later. Do you think you can get the coven together again tomorrow?”

“I’ll do what I can,” James said. “You have my phone number if you’d like to come over and look at the files, Stephanie.”

“Come on,” Elise interrupted, hopping off the table as she buttoned her jacket over the bandages, “let’s get out of here. I have a concert to attend.”

Chapter 6

Elise woke up tangled in blood-stained sheets.

Her first panicked thought was that she had been attacked overnight. She found the dagger under her pillow and gripped it like a teddy bear, staring around for signs of danger.

When nothing jumped out, she finally remembered her visit to the hospital. Dancing at the concert afterward must have been too much for her new wounds, and judging by the condition of her bed, she had been thrashing in her sleep, too.

She peeled back her bandages to examine the injuries. The bruises were already yellowing. Healing faster than the average person meant she would be back to normal by the end of the weekend as long as she took care of herself, but dancing had ripped open her scabs. Her skin was slick with blood.

“Shit,” she muttered.

Elise showered in scalding-hot water, bracing her hands against the wall and letting her head hang between her shoulders. The water coursing down her skin stung her injuries.

Her nightmares were getting vivid again. She used to dream about the dead every night, and it was all returning because of James and his goddamn hero complex. Two fights with fiends were more than enough to get the memories flowing.

But she hadn’t been dreaming of death last night. Instead, she had been remembering the day she woke up in the Russian wilderness with James standing over her like an angel.

She toweled off and rewrapped her injuries. Normally, she would have jogged to Motion and Dance for breakfast with James, but she needed to heal. Instead, she started a pot of coffee for Betty and hopped in her car to drive over.

There were already four other cars in the parking lot when she arrived. Elise’s eyes narrowed. Motion and Dance didn’t have any morning classes on the weekend.

James’s apartment was filled with the smell of pancakes and an entire coven’s worth of witches.

Elise stood in the doorway, staring at everyone intruding on their weekend breakfast. Ann and Morrighan chatted on the couch while Stephanie stared down a griddle covered in batter and sausages as though she had never cooked breakfast in her life.

The doctor was wearing the same clothes as the night before. She must have spent the night.

Elise felt numb as she shucked her jacket. So James and Stephanie were together. How long had that been happening?

“You made it!” Ann said brightly. She was eating a piece of toast smothered in jelly. A spot of butter dotted her chin.

“What are you all doing here?”

“We’re going to visit the Ramirezes today to purify their house,” Morrighan said. “We’re getting ready. Are you coming?”

Elise fought to suppress her irritation. “No.”

“Why not?” Stephanie asked.

She stared back in silent challenge.

James must have heard the door shut, because he peered out of his bedroom at the end of the hall. He had a phone pressed to his ear. “Elise,” he called. “Could you please come here?”

She stepped into his bedroom. “You didn’t tell me we were going to have company,” Elise muttered. His private space was just as tidy as the rest of his house. He had even arranged Stephanie’s shoes next to his own in the closet. “Who’s on the phone?”

“It’s McIntyre. He wants to speak to you.”

Surprise melted away her anger in an instant. “McIntyre? Seriously?” She took the phone. “This is Elise.”

“Hey there,” he responded. Lucas McIntyre’s voice flooded her with memories—mostly bad ones.

“What’s do you need?” Elise asked. James hovered over her shoulder to listen to their conversation.

“The semi-centennial summit is coming,” McIntyre said. “It’s in our state. I thought you would want to know.”

Every fifty years, the major world powers met to form treaties and settle disputes—the best of the kopides, the greatest demons, and the most powerful angels. Her father had been on the planning board before he left.

“You’re right. I do want to know. But I’m still retired.”

“Still?”

“It’s supposed to be permanent.”

“I just never thought you, of all people, could lay down the sword for long.” He chuckled. “I thought if you did give up those things, it would be to upgrade to guns.”

“The summit is your problem, not mine.”

“Sure, but they’ve taken over Silver Wells. There’s also going be a lot of traffic through the state for the next few months. The travel licenses between Hell and Earth have been sold out and demons are starting to move in.”

Elise and James exchanged glances. “Do you have a list of the summit participants?”

“My friend on the board gave me one. I can email it to you. Long story short, there might be some folk who recognize you. If you want to stay out of trouble, you better be careful.”

Elise massaged her temple. “Great. Thanks.”

“Leticia wants to talk to you. Here you go.”

She talked with McIntyre’s wife for a few minutes. Leticia chatted about Dana, their first child, and the names they were planning for the second one, due around Thanksgiving.

When she couldn’t tolerate any more family gossip, Elise said, “I’m going to get going. Tell Lucas thanks.”

“We’re thrilled to help,” Leticia said. “You haven’t visited us in years. Promise you’ll come down soon so we can catch up?”

“Of course. Talk to you later.” Elise handed James the phone. “I’ll visit them as soon as Hell throws us a pizza party. Did you call McIntyre, or did he call you?”

“He called me. He doesn’t have your number anymore.”

“That’s not an accident. I don’t want anything to do with this. And you should have told me you were going to have the witches over during breakfast.” She barely refrained from remarking on Stephanie’s shoes.

James frowned. “I hoped you would come with us today.”

“Nobody else needs to know that I’m a kopis and exorcist. The Ramirezes are bad enough.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Elise…”

“I’m going to the office to do some work.”

“Are you angry about Stephanie?” he asked. She left the room without responding, but he followed. “Won’t you at least eat something before you go?”

Elise grabbed a piece of bacon off a plate on the counter and bit off the end. The witches were all standing in the living room now, and they pretended not to notice that James and Elise were obviously arguing.

“Feel free to call me when you finish if you’re not too busy fucking around,” she said, tearing her sweater off the hook by the door.

She slammed the door shut behind her.

Chapter 7

Even though it was drizzling again, Augustin Ramirez was waiting outside when James and arrived with the coven. The umbrella on his deck’s dining set was folded down. Raindrops rippled in a tall glass of amber liquor.

He lifted his head from his hands when they approached. “What took you so long?” he asked.

Stephanie didn’t bother hiding her severe frown. “We needed to confirm your daughter’s health condition, since you wouldn’t cooperate with us. Where is she now?”

Augustin waved vaguely at the front door of the house.

“Can we go in?” James asked.

The lawyer nodded and let his head drop on his folded arms. Ann was the first through the door, hurrying inside as though she was allergic to rain. Morrighan followed, holding her bag of supplies over her head as a makeshift umbrella.

James hesitated by Augustin. “Has anything changed?”

“Why can’t you people just leave us alone?” Augustin asked without looking up. “We were fine two weeks ago. Lucinde had a ballet recital. She was fine.”

It was hard to get angry when he looked so pathetic. “Hopefully we can leave you alone very soon, Mr. Ramirez,” James said. “This shouldn’t take long. Would you please come inside with us? The weather is only going to get worse.”

Augustin didn’t move.

James went inside to find the other three witches clustered near the front door, huddled together for support. He couldn’t blame them—the house had been miserable when he first visited, but it had gotten worse. The air was freezing. It smelled stale. Every window was closed and the lights were turned off.

And they could hear screaming.

All of them turned to look at the stairs. Something heavy was banged against the floor, and each thud made the wall photos bounce and rattle. One had already fallen off its nail and shattered on the steps.

That noise didn’t sound like it came out of the lungs of a little girl. It didn’t sound like it came from a human at all.

“I’m going to check on Lucinde,” Stephanie said, but she didn’t go for the stairs. Instead, she slid back until she could grab James’s hand with clammy fingers.

A slip of paper on the mantle caught his eye. It was Elise’s business card. James slipped it into his pocket, hoping nobody would notice, but Ann was watching.

“Where’s Marisa?” she asked.

“She’s most likely upstairs with her daughter.” James took a deep breath and straightened his back. “Right. Let’s get this done. Morrighan and Ann, bring out the smudges. I’ll find somewhere to cast the circle.”

His orders were enough to get everyone moving. They broke apart. Stephanie crept upstairs while Morrighan began removing things from her duffle bag. “Think we can open the windows and stuff?” she asked. “Everything in here now is doused with negative energy. It’s horrible.”

“Hold onto that thought. We should speak to Marisa first,” he said.

Stephanie reappeared on the landing almost as soon as she left. “James?”

He joined her upstairs. The air felt heavier in the hallway, like James was moving through thick, murky water. He had to struggle to breathe.

“What’s wrong?”

Stephanie pointed. He peered down the dark hall to see a shadowy form huddled against Lucinde’s door. Marisa.

James knelt beside her. Her eyes were puffy and her nail polish had been chipped off until there were only a few flakes left. She hugged her knees to her chest. “It’s getting worse,” she whispered. He could barely hear her over the screaming and pounding.

“We’re going to cleanse your house of all these negative energies and drive out whatever is hurting your daughter.” He didn’t speak with any conviction. He wished that Elise would have come.

When James moved to stand, she grabbed his arm, holding him in place. “You don’t understand. It’s not supposed to get worse. She’s supposed to get better.”

“Yes, I know, but—”

Marisa’s chin quivered. “She’s going to die.”

“Nobody is going to die. We’re going to open the curtains and windows. All right?”

“No! You can’t do that! You’ll hurt her, and she’s already…” Her chest hitched. “She’s already in so much pain. This isn’t supposed to happen. She’s supposed to get better.”

James didn’t realize Stephanie was standing behind him until she spoke. “I should check on your daughter.”

Marisa shook her head. “She’s out of control.”

“I’m used to difficult patients.”

He cut off Stephanie with a slash of his hand. “This isn’t the time. Will you help us with the ritual, Marisa?”

She shook her head. A line of white rimmed her lips.

When they returned to Ann and Morrighan, they were parting the curtains and throwing open the windows. They had already positioned censers in every doorway. The smell of white sage drifted through the air. Lucinde screamed louder.

James did a quick search of the rooms downstairs and decided to cast the circle in the kitchen, where a ring of salt would be the easiest to clean up. It was also positioned directly beneath Lucinde’s room.

He and Stephanie lit candles, laid out stones on each of the cardinal directions, and called the other witches into the kitchen without closing the circle. He handed each of them photocopies of the ritual. “You three should stay down here within the protection of the circle,” he said. “Focus on the incantation.”

“What are you going to do?” Stephanie asked.

“I’m going upstairs.”

Ann paled. “Is that a good idea?”

He didn’t think it was, but James smiled and nodded anyway. “Of course. You can begin the ritual as soon as I’m gone.”

Stephanie sealed the circle behind him. The three women began chanting together. James could have spoken it along with them without glancing at the Book of Shadows—he had written the ritual himself, and they had used it before to great success.

Of course, they had never had to cleanse anything as horrible as Lucinde before, either.

With every step he took toward the locked bedroom, James became more and more certain that the ritual would be ineffective. The idea of using traditional magic against whatever had seized the house seemed ridiculous. It was like waving a cardboard sword at a dragon.

Marisa had vanished from the hallway upstairs. A cold fist clenched in his chest.

And Lucinde suddenly fell silent.

He froze for a moment, heart pounding. He strained to hear something within her room—a hint of motion, or a whimper. But there was nothing.

Her door was unlocked. He pushed it open.

His eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness. The portable swamp cooler was on its side. Something dark was on the white bed sheets—something wet.

And the little girl was crouched in the center of it.

She grinned. Her teeth were stained red.

“Lucinde?” James asked. He wasn’t speaking to Augustin Ramirez’s daughter. He dropped his voice, hand tight on the doorknob. “What are you?”

“I am the cold kiss of Death,” she rasped. “And you’re next, James Faulkner.”

She leaped off the bed with a shriek, hands extended.

He jumped back and slammed the door shut. Her body thumped into the other side. The wood groaned and the entire house shuddered from the impact.

Downstairs, the witches weren’t chanting anymore.

“I told you, she’s going to die,” Marisa whispered. James spun to see her wavering in her doorway. He thought her hands looked bloody, too, but the vision cleared when he blinked. She was clean.

Lucinde was screaming again.

“What happened?” Stephanie asked when he came downstairs. All the candles had gone out, but there was no other indication anything had changed.

“Pack up. We can’t do anything,” James said grimly.

“What are you going to do?” Ann asked as Morrighan grabbed a broom and began to sweep up the salt. James didn’t know how to respond.

Elise was wrong. Lucinde was definitely possessed.

Augustin didn’t look up when they left the front door. Stephanie was dragging her feet, reluctant to leave without checking on Lucinde, but James kept a firm grip on her arm so she couldn’t go back. He had seen possessions leap between people before.

“I’m going to return with reinforcements,” James told Augustin while the other witches loaded the car. “I’m sorry.”

The lawyer stood silently, went inside, and locked the door. By the time they pulled away, all the windows and curtains were shut again.

Chapter 8

The parking lot outside Elise’s office was empty when she arrived, so she didn’t have to hide the stack of unusual books she carried into her office: The Infernal Lexicon and Hume’s Almanac, both of which were large, leather-bound texts that could hardly pass as light reading.

She shut her office door with a hip bump and settled in to reread the list McIntyre had sent her. Elise recognized many of the demons without looking them up; her father had drilled her on many of them as a child. The shedu had no interest in the dead, nor did Aquiel and his kin, and she marked them off. Those too weak to command fiends were also immediately crossed out. She halved the list in minutes.

Even after her eliminations, hundreds remained. It could take days to check them all.

Considering the alternative was following James around while he tried to relive his glorious youth of saving people, she decided she would much rather have the tedium. Elise started a pot of coffee, found a notebook, and began to work.

For hours, she searched. Elise immersed herself in the lore of Hell as shadows crept across her office floor, filling and refilling her mug. She covered an entire notebook page with writing. Then another. And another. Outside, the clouds moved in, and the sun inched toward the mountains. By the time she started on her third pot of coffee, her handwriting looked more like a series of tiny, angry slashes than language.

After a while, her attention wandered. Demons were boring. Elise had recently downloaded a book on ethereal lore, so she started researching the names of the angelic attendants instead. A single angel could match a thousand demons in power, but their snobbish attitudes meant they seldom lowered themselves to visiting the earthen planes.

Ethereal mythology was much more interesting than that of their infernal counterparts. A couple big names were going to the summit. Gabriel himself would make an appearance.

She read his section in her book, then scanned up to the Metaraon—the voice of God. There was an engraving of his face, unmerciful and cold. It gave her chills.

Elise had read his chapter before. He hired architects to construct seven angelic cities on Earth. There weren’t any left—the angels abandoned them in centuries past. But there were supposed to be ruins left in some places.

In fact, they said angelic ruins were buried deep below the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Elise stared at the Metaraon’s face and drummed a pen against her desk.

The ruins should have prevented most demons from possessing anyone nearby. It wouldn’t be any minor lord stealing bodies and attacking Lucinde. Whatever it was had to be huge.

Her door opened, and Elise’s hand dropped to a hidden dagger. The visitor came in back-first, but she recognized his broad shoulders and dirty shoes.

“Knock, knock,” Anthony said. He cradled two large coffees and a brown bag to his chest, and he set them on the edge of her desk with a smile. “What are you doing?”

“Anthony,” Elise said, flipping over her notebook and sliding it on top of the Infernal Lexicon. “Hey. I’m just doing some work.”

A smile played at the corners of his lips. His hair was extra tousled, his t-shirt wrinkled, and there was an oily hand print on his jeans. “Secret work?”

“No.” She didn’t try to sound convincing, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Betty told me you were working on the weekend,” Anthony said, offering one of the coffees to her. “I thought you might need some energy…but I can see that’s not really a problem.” Dirty mugs were scattered around her office, and a new pot was percolating on her filing cabinet.

Elise took a deep sniff of the latte. “This is much better than what I’ve been having. Thanks.”

“I got you a muffin, too,” he said in a hopeful tone.

“Great,” she said, sliding her books and notes into a desk drawer. Anthony leaned around to read the spines, but Elise shut it too fast. “What are you up to?”

“I just got off work and was on my way to meet Betty, but I thought I’d visit you first. Are you busy?”

Elise stood. Her back ached. The clock told her she had been hunched over her desk for over eight hours. Her injuries from the night before had stiffened.

She checked her cell phone, which had been on silent. Seven missed calls from James. Great.

“No, I’m not busy.” She put her phone back in her pocket. “Don’t let me get in the way of meeting Betty. I know she goes nuts if you’re late at all.”

“Let me walk you to your car.”

“I’m right outside the door.”

“Well…me too.” Anthony ducked his head, peeking at her through his bangs. “Did you have fun last night?”

It took Elise a moment to realize what he was talking about. She had almost forgotten about their date. “Oh, yeah. The band was really good.”

“I never saw you like that before.”

“Like what?”

He flashed a grin. “You know…having fun.”

“Did I embarrass myself?”

“No, of course not. It’s nice.” Elise arched an eyebrow at him, and he hurried to add, “I mean, you’re always so serious. It’s like some black cloud is following you around.”

“A black cloud,” she echoed—and then, surprisingly, she laughed. “I guess that’s a fair description.”

Elise locked the office door and headed down the hall. Anthony’s hand stuck out at his side, and she got the impression he wanted her to take it. She pretended she didn’t notice.

His Jeep was beside Elise’s car just outside the building doors. “Thanks for walking me,” she said. Elise moved to get into the driver’s seat, but Anthony stopped her, grabbing onto the door.

“Maybe you want to hang out with me tonight?” he said. A pink flush had risen on his cheeks. “I mean, if you’re done for the day, I just have to see Betty for a few minutes. We could go down for a walk by the river or something.”

Elise studied him, head tilted to the side. Was she that intimidating, or was he just a nervous person? “You can just ask me on a date, you know.”

“Oh. Okay. So, do you…?”

“Yes,” Elise said. And then, to save him from the stuttering, she added, “Nine o’clock.”

“Nine. Awesome.”

She tried to get into the car, but he didn’t let go of her door. He stepped in close, shadowing her from the sun, and she had to tilt her head back to look at him.

“Anthony, I don’t—”

He bent down and kissed her. Elise stiffened. He tasted like coffee and chewing gum—totally benign—but she felt cornered, and a voice in the back of her mind screamed for escape.

Anthony straightened. “Are you okay?”

She touched her mouth. “Yeah.” Her fingertips were tingling. Elise hadn’t been kissed in years.

It wasn’t that bad. Not really.

She leaned up to kiss him again.

His hand on her arm was heavy, and his breathing deepened as he leaned into her. She felt something stirring inside of her that she hadn’t felt in a long time, and the foreign sensation made her knees shake.

The sound of the eaves dripping on the pavement and the cars rushing down the street suddenly seemed too loud, like a hundred eyes were watching and waiting for her to drop her guard.

Elise pushed on his chest—not hard, but enough to get his attention. He blinked at her like he was coming out of a sleepy haze. “What?”

She ducked into the driver’s seat and slammed the door, leaving Anthony standing awkwardly next to it.

“I had a great time at the concert,” she said, rolling down her window as her engine grumbled to life. Anthony looked bereft. His cheeks were flushed. “I’ll see you again tonight, okay?”

She left before he could say another word.

Elise entered the studio to the sound of someone playing the piano. She set her folders on the reception desk and peeked around the corner.

James played piano in the blue light of the storm. The windows at the opposite end of the room were cracked, and a soft breeze smelling of wet sage drifted through. His brow was lowered over his eyes, and his mouth had taken on that distinct slant that said he was concentrating.

“‘Marriage d’Amour.’ Toussaint, right?” Elise said when his song trailed off, and he looked up, surprised.

“You haven’t answered my calls.”

“I’ve been busy.” Sitting on the bench beside him, she spread her fingers over the keys. Elise pressed, and the piano responded with a warm ting. She struck another key, and another, in no particular order. “How was the visit with the Ramirezes?”

“It didn’t do any good. Lucinde is getting worse.” James selected a note an octave lower than the last one she hit, and his fingers followed hers up the piano. “You were wrong—she’s definitely possessed. But you knew that, didn’t you?” He struck the deepest note on the piano, and it vibrated through her hand. “Do you have any potential culprits?”

“I narrowed the list down.” She dropped her hands, letting the last note ring through the silent air. “Do you think it’s true?”

“Yes,” James said, “I do think she’s possessed, which is why you should have—”

“Not that. Do you think there are really ethereal ruins beneath the Warrens?”

He considered the question as he tapped out the beginning to “Für Elise.” James loved to play that song for her, even more so because she found it irritatingly cute. “It’s a distinct possibility.” He pulled the cover over the keys. “We should see the Ramirezes as soon as possible. Lucinde must be exorcised.”

“Fine. Call Father Night down from Washington. He can do it.”

“I already tried to call him, and he’s busy for the next week. You’re the only person in the area who has ever performed a successful exorcism.”

“I’ve got plans with Anthony later. I can’t do it.”

James folded his arms. “And that’s more urgent than this family’s problem? What happened to your priorities?”

“We retired,” she reminded him. “We’re in hiding. Doesn’t everyone need help? There’s probably a half dozen possessed people throughout the country who need exorcisms right now, and I’m not knocking on their doors, either. I said I’m done being a hero. I meant it.”

She slid off of the end of the bench and moved to leave.

James spoke before she reached the door. “Does the phrase, ‘I am the cold kiss of Death,’ mean anything to you?”

Elise stopped and turned around slowly. “Where did you hear that?”

“Lucinde. Why? Is it familiar?”

“You remember…the last time we fought?” She didn’t have to say, the time we saved the world.

“It would be impossible to forget.”

“She said that to me while she was…” Elise trailed off. She touched the scar on her breast. James hadn’t been there when the goddess said that, nor had she told him anything about her long hours under the knife. “Are you sure that’s what Lucinde said?”

“Positive.” James frowned. “And then she told me I would be next. She knew my name.”

“Next for what?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

I am the cold kiss of Death…

“But we killed her,” she whispered.

“Since that night, I’ve wondered if that woman was demon-possessed, rather than the deity she claimed to be. Killing a human might not have killed the responsible demon at all. Maybe it has returned.”

They shared a long, silent look.

If the thing that tortured her really was back…now that might be something worth fighting about.

James opened his mouth to speak again, but Elise’s phone interrupted him by ringing.

She answered it. “Hello?” The only response was a buzz and white noise. Elise moved closer to the windows. “Who is this?”

The call crackled. “—Ramirez, we need—help—”

“I can’t understand you,” she said, moving out into the entryway. James hung a few steps behind her. “Is this Marisa?”

“Lucinde—something’s wrong—”

Static hissed, and then the line went dead.

“Hello?” Elise said. “Hello?” She sighed and snapped her phone shut. “Great. This place must have the worst reception in the city limits.”

“Who was that?” James asked.

“It sounded like Marisa Ramirez,” Elise said. “I think something’s up with Lucinde.” She tried to call the number again, but after several rings, nobody picked up.

Elise shut her phone again.

“No answer?” James asked.

“No answer,” she confirmed. “I think we need to get over there sooner rather than later.”

James rang the bell by the Ramirez house’s front door. Rain drizzled off the drain pipe, splattering against the concrete porch behind them. A church tower rose beyond the roof of their house, the cross at its peak stretching toward the navy sky. Elise shifted uncomfortably at his side, cold and wet and extremely unhappy as minutes passed without answer.

He pressed the doorbell again, and the bells of the church tower tolled in response.

James peered at one of the windows by the door, but the curtains drawn to prevent even the faintest sliver of light from making it through. “Are you sure they’re here?”

As if on cue, Augustin Ramirez opened the door. His face was haggard and gray.

“You came back. Thank God. Get in, quick.” He locked the deadbolt as soon as they were inside, pushing the curtains aside to glance furtively at the street before closing it up again.

James’s nose wrinkled. Something stunk of feces, urine, and blood, like a dirty litter box used by a dozen sick animals. But the Ramirezes didn’t have cats. They didn’t have any animals at all. It hadn’t smelled earlier in the afternoon.

“You have to see her,” Augustin said, trying to push Elise toward the kitchen door. “You have to exorcise her. You have to—you have to do that magic stuff again.”

“What’s wrong with Lucinde, Mr. Ramirez?” James asked. “Where is Marisa?”

“She’s downstairs, in the basement,” Augustin said. His hands were moving restlessly, as though he wanted to try to grab Elise again, or throw the door open and leave, or just do something.

“Take us to Lucinde,” Elise said, outwardly unruffled despite Augustin’s panic. But James could tell she was straining at the presence of a strong demon. Not for the first time, James was grateful that he couldn’t feel what Elise could feel.

“The kitchen,” Augustin said. “The door to the basement.”

He pointed to the door and just stood there, the scion of a gateway he wouldn’t enter. Elise pushed the kitchen door open and went inside, James following closely.

“What’s his problem?” she muttered. “He’s regressed to the behavior of a militant five-year-old.”

“I don’t know. I imagine we’ll have to see for ourselves,” he said, letting the door swing shut behind him. “Somehow, I don’t think it will be pretty or pleasant.”

Elise pressed the heel of her hand to her temple. “You’ve got that right.”

The foul scent was more pungent in the kitchen, and it grew stronger as they approached the basement door beside the pantry. The basement door had a large panel of frosted glass, but they couldn’t see beyond it—Augustin and Marisa had hung a black blanket over the back by stuffing the top into the small space between the door and its frame.

A woman screamed in the basement.

Elise flung open the door and ran into the darkness below. James hesitated in the doorway.

With the door open, the pressurizing air between the kitchen and the basement blew the stench of piss and blood into James’s face. He gagged, covering his nose with his sleeve. The screaming had grown much clearer. He could almost make out words.

Even with the door open, the light did little to penetrate the darkness below. He made his way down the steep stairs, keeping a hand on the railing and the other over his face. The sounds of a scuffle echoed up the stairway.

The screams intensified, and then cut off. Something heavy struck the other side of the wall.

“Elise?” James called, quickening his pace. “Marisa?”

His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he could make out a short hallway, a door set in the unfinished wall. The walls were only partially insulated, and James could hear the shrieks inside all too clearly.

Marisa stood on the other side of the door, sobbing over a stuffed rabbit. The stench was the worst down here, and he could instantly see why—feces were smeared on the unpainted wall, although it wasn’t entirely excrement; some of it also appeared to be fresh blood, brownish black in the dim lighting provided by lone bulb.

Elise struggled with a growling blur. Claws lashed at her face, and she ducked, catching its wrist and twisting it behind its body. She put a foot on its bare back and pressed it to the ground, unwinding a rope she had coiled around her arm. It occurred to James that the beast was clothed, and he wondered why something like that would bother to dress itself.

It took James a full second to grasp that the beast with which Elise fought wasn’t a demon—it was Lucinde.

She knelt on the girl’s back, tangling the rope around Lucinde’s body. Elise swiftly tied it off, securing it to a pipe jutting out of the wall. Lucinde kicked and thrashed. She looked more like a wildcat trying to escape than a human child.

Elise grabbed a piece of dirty cloth that had been laying nearby and stuck it in Lucinde’s screaming mouth.

The little girl paused, as though to gather her strength, and then strained against the ropes anew. She shrieked and wailed, chewing at the gag and slipping a black tongue around the cloth. Elise backed off, letting the light fall on Lucinde’s face. A symbol burned on Lucinde’s forehead like her skull had been branded.

“How did this happen?” Elise demanded.

Marisa wept, smothering her face with her hands. “My baby…my little girl…”

As she sobbed louder, Lucinde screamed louder as well, throwing her head back. Her neck strained, and purple veins bulged from her throat. The gag did little to muffle the sound.

Elise grabbed Marisa’s shoulders. “I can’t help your daughter unless you talk to me. Did you see someone come in here? Did somebody, or something, come into your house?”

Marisa shook her head, and she kept shaking it, her entire body trembling. Her cheeks ran with tears and her chokehold tightened on the stuffed animal until it looked like it might burst at the seams.

“For the love of…” James swept out of the room, but Lucinde’s screams followed him up the stairs and echoed against the walls of the basement.

Augustin stood at the door upstairs, leaning heavily on the counter. He had calmed in the minutes since James had gone downstairs, but not without help; he clutched a large glass of alcohol in one hand and a bottle in the other. It was cold inside the house, but Augustin was drenched in sweat. Damp patches stained his shirt at the chest and arm pits.

“When did she get like this?” James asked. “Your wife is incoherent.”

Augustin gazed into the amber fluid in his glass, swirling the ice in circles. He was silent for a time, but his mouth moved as though he chewed the words he considered speaking.

“She had grown quieter. We thought she was improving after your ritual…thing. I even went into work for a couple hours. Marisa stayed home with…with Lucinde.”

He took a long drink and wiped his mouth. His eyes were watery and red.

“She stopped moving. She stopped breathing. We thought she had fallen asleep, and we were glad. I mean, she hadn’t slept in days. All she would do is crouch in her bedroom like some goddamn animal and scratch at the walls and eat flies. She was eating flies, for fuck’s sake. She was catching them and smashing them and eating them and we were so happy when she fell asleep.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “When we thought she fell asleep.”

“What happened?”

“She wasn’t asleep.” Augustin laughed, and it turned into a sob. “She wasn’t asleep. My God, she stopped breathing. Her skin had been hot for weeks and all of a sudden she was cold.” His eyes met James’s, and the pain in them was so harsh, so raw, that he had to fight not to look away.

“Are you saying she…?”

“My daughter died, Mr. Faulkner. I don’t have to be a doctor to know that.” He laughed again. “My daughter died. My little girl…” Augustin spun suddenly and hurled the glass into the sink. It shattered, shards of thunder crashing into stainless steel.

Augustin moved toward the sink, raising his arm as though he was going to smash the bottle too. He stopped short, breathing hard.

“God!” he cried, burying his face in his hand. He smacked the bottle against the counter, and the bottom cracked. Alcohol bled across the marble and dripped onto the floor. “But she didn’t stay dead. She didn’t stay. We were sitting by her, getting ready to call the hospital, resigning ourselves to what we had known was coming for—since—ever since she was born.”

“But she wasn’t dead,” James prompted.

“Oh, she was dead, all right,” Augustin said. “But she woke up, and all of a sudden she was worse than before. She got that shit on her forehead and she was screaming words I don’t understand, and she ripped off her bed post trying to escape when we tied her down. We had to move her to the basement to keep her from getting outside. She’s an animal. She’s not human anymore.”

Elise came up from the basement, a few shades paler than when she had gone down. She shut the door, and the screams became nearly inaudible again.

“James, we have to talk,” she said.

He nodded. “You’re right.” He faced Augustin. “Elise and I need to discuss the…options.”

“You won’t leave,” Augustin said. “You’re not just going to disappear.”

“We’ll be right outside. We just need to talk.”

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

He watched them go with frightened eyes, as though he didn’t quite believe them. For being a powerful lawyer, he suddenly seemed very, very small. And that scared James more than Lucinde’s screams ever could.

They stood under the shelter of the eaves, just beyond the light of the house. The neighborhood was completely silent and every house was dark. It was as though everybody had spontaneously gone out of town. Not a single car passed. The silence felt unnaturally heavy.

Elise glared at James. Her pale face glowed in the light that peeked through the curtains.

“I’m not going to do it.”

“There’s a little girl in there that will die if we don’t help her,” James said.

“I could die, too. Hell, so could you. Do you think the life of some kid is worth more than yours? We’ve seen possessions leap between bodies before.”

“It only happened once. You can control it.”

“Once was more than enough.”

James stared at her. It was like he was speaking to a stranger.

It felt so long ago since they had traveled the world together to fight evil. The two of them against the world—that was how it had always been. They had rightfully earned a reputation for being amongst the best of the kopides and aspides.

A chasm had since opened between them since then—a chasm formed of people like Betty, Stephanie, and Anthony.

For some reason, James suddenly remembered the day he found her in the wilderness surrounded by bodies. Elise claimed she couldn’t remember whether she killed them or not. He had only asked once, afraid she would tell him the truth. James didn’t want to know anymore.

“You wouldn’t have turned the Ramirezes away five years ago,” he said.

“Five years is a long time.” Elise stuffed her hands into her pockets. “I think the demon is after witches. Marisa’s a strong witch, and Lucinde’s showing signs of having a similar gift. Those fiends were also after a witch at Eloquent Blood. If what Lucinde said is right, you’re next, and you’re probably the most powerful witch in the entire country.”

“Is that why you don’t want to be involved? Because you’re concerned I’ll be hurt?”

Her eyes flashed. “Don’t say that like it’s some small thing. Of course I’m worried about you. What the hell do you expect?”

“I can take care of myself, Elise.”

“Are you sure? I don’t think they want the witch alive. Lucinde feels like the body at the hospital did.” She touched her temples. “I think she died. That’s what changed today.”

James’s fists clenched. He stared at the gray sky and the pouring rain.

When he spoke, his voice was low and tense. “You have to do it. You can’t leave them like this.”

“But it’s that death demon again. I know it.”

“I know it, too.” James reached out and took her hand. Elise’s gloves were damp. “Please. If you won’t do it for them, then do it for me.”

She glared at him. “Sometimes you’re a real bastard, James Faulkner. You know that?”

Elise went inside before he could think of a response.

They stood before Augustin and Marisa, dripping rainwater and mud onto the kitchen floor. Marisa had stopped crying. She stared at nothing, but Augustin focused on James and Elise, his eyes ringed with dark bruises.

“I’ll do it,” Elise said. “I’ll exorcise her.”

“And God help us all,” James murmured.

Chapter 9

James half expected Elise to vanish completely when she left. When she returned forty-five minutes later equipped with an MP3 recorder and her golden chain of charms, relief overwhelmed him.

A grimace stretched across her lips when she walked through the door, but by the time Augustin and Marisa turned to greet the woman they viewed as their last potential savior, she blanked her expression.

“I’ve got everything I need,” she said.

“We’re almost done as well,” James said, gesturing to the paperwork he had been going over with Augustin. “We only need your signature.”

“What’s that?”

“A contract assuring that you’re relieved of liability in the event of any ritual-related accidents,” Augustin said. His face was purplish and dripping with sweat. He had discarded the pretenses of drinking from a glass and clutched a half-empty bottle of whiskey now, which Marisa had been sharing for the last fifteen minutes. “James insisted upon it. He seemed concerned the we would—we might press charges if Lucinde was accidentally hurt.”

“We wouldn’t,” Marisa added quickly.

“Where do I sign?”

James scratched an X in the blank signature box and pushed the paper to her. She didn’t read it before scrawling her signature across the bottom line. Elise dropped the pen and Augustin took the paper.

“Good,” he said. “Good. So…what now?”

“We’ll go downstairs and exorcise your daughter,” Elise said. “You might prefer to stay up here.”

Augustin nodded immediately. Just as immediately, Marisa shook her head. “I want to be with my daughter.”

“It won’t be easy,” Elise said.

“I won’t leave her. I won’t.”

“Suit yourself.” She managed to make it sound like a death sentence.

They passed through the blanket-covered doorway. James caught a glimpse of Augustin staring at the contract on the table, the whiskey bottle pressed to his forehead, and then the door closed.

The darkness in the basement was palpable, as though they waded through warm water. James felt along the wall by the landing and found a light switch. He flicked it, but nothing happened, and he swallowed a lump in his throat. “I need to speak to Elise before we do this. Can you wait up here, Marisa?”

“Yes,” she said, and she waited on the top landing as Elise and James went to the bottom.

Light shone from the cracks around the door to the room where Lucinde was held. James could barely make out the carpet underfoot, striped red and purple and stained with water or something worse. He could see that Elise’s brow was pinched in the half-light.

“If you want to emotionally blackmail me again, so help me God, you better wait until—”

“No,” he interrupted. “I was thinking—piggyback?”

She let out a breath, shoulders sagging. “Piggyback. Good idea. I haven’t done an exorcism in a while, and…well, I’m not sure I’m strong enough anymore. I could hurt her.”

“Or yourself.”

“I’m not worried about that,” she said.

“And that worries me.”

Elise almost smiled. “Just do it.”

He reached within himself, searching for the wellspring of power that flowed from the earth beneath his feet. He caught it and wove it within himself, tighter and tighter until it felt like it might burst out his skin.

James brushed his fingers down her cheek as he released his power. It cascaded through both of them, warming him from the inside out. At the same time, he could feel it warm Elise. He felt the churning sickness in her stomach from being so close to the demonic power of the possessed child, and the ache in her muscles from the earlier struggle.

And then the power coalesced around James’s midsection, like a chain tying him to Elise. It was a secure, comforting feeling. Elise’s sickness abated, and James’s nerves settled.

For one instant, he shared in her emotions as clearly as though they were his own. She was angry, but some part of her did want to save the child—very badly, in fact. She regretted snapping at James. But her fear trumped all. She was terrified of fighting that thing again.

James’s stomach dropped out, and it was as though they both free-fell from a great height. Her eyes shocked open, and she staggered backward, breaking the physical connection between them. But the chain didn’t break. They were connected.

Neither of them were willing to look at the other. “I’m sorry,” James said. “I don’t want to fight that demon again, either.”

“I’m sorry, too.” And he knew she meant it, because he could feel it. “You can come down now,” Elise called, her voice resonating with power. Marisa joined them.

“What now?” she asked.

“Now we perform an exorcism.” Elise pushed the door open, and they filed in, one after another.

Lucinde huddled in the corner, her entire body trembling. Scratching echoed through the basement, and there were fingernail fragments lodged in the plaster. Marisa whimpered.

Elise turned on the MP3 recorder.

“My name is Elise Kavanagh. I am exorcising a demon from Lucinde Ramirez at the behest of her parents, Augustin and Marisa Ramirez. It’s the ninth of May, two-thousand nine, at twenty-one hundred hours.” Elise set the recorder by the door.

Lucinde glared at them over her shoulder, revealing a face that had only grown less human with the passing time. Swollen blood vessels rimmed the edges of her red-tinged eyes.

The girl’s upper lip curled, baring even white teeth. Her gaze flicked from Elise to Marisa, resting briefly on James before focusing on the kopis once more.

Her pupils dilated, and her irises were completely devoured. A low, soft breath escaped her mouth, almost like a snake’s hiss. The note carried demonic power and the stink of sulfur, and the mark on her forehead flared with power.

James felt Elise gather their joined strength around herself, and he fed into it. It built until the air trembled and her very skin seemed to be trying to shiver off her body, and still they kept gathering it, clashing against the energy of the demon. James felt their strength press against Lucinde, and she pushed back. Elise shuddered under the pressure.

Lucinde shifted forward, digging her bloody hands into the floor. Too late, he realized that the ropes Elise had used to bind the girl earlier were piled in the corner. She was free.

“Watch out!” he called.

Lucinde launched from the corner of the room. What was left of her fingernails slashed through the air.

Elise jumped to the side, throwing out an arm to block her. She brushed Elise aside and kept going, striking Marisa instead.

The mother screamed, and down they went.

Blood splattered to the floor. Lucinde growled. Her teeth sunk deep into the flesh of Marisa’s arm, and she worried at it as a dog might gnaw on a bone. Marisa collapsed to her knees, trying to wrench her arm free of her daughter’s mouth. “No, bambina!”

Elise clamped her hand around the girl’s jaw and dug her fingernails into her skin, but Lucinde’s bite only tightened. James leapt in, wrapping his arms around Marisa’s waist. He tried to drag her away, but even with the strength of two sets of adult legs, they couldn’t separate mother from daughter. Elise clutched a fistful of Lucinde’s hair and yanked.

“Let go.” Lucinde growled, and Elise jerked harder. “I said, let go!”

Lucinde released the arm. Marisa collapsed into James, cradling her bloody arm to her stomach.

The girl shot between Elise’s legs. Elise turned, but Lucinde was too fast. She clambered up a half-complete shelf toward the narrow window at the ground level. She wiggled through the opening, bare feet kicking behind her.

Elise grabbed for an ankle, but missed.

“Shit!” she swore when the feet disappeared, jumping up to grab the ledge herself.

James was only just behind Marisa in running out the door, up the stairs, and into the kitchen. Augustin blinked wetly at them as they passed. “What…?”

Marisa hit the back door without opening it, stumbling over her own feet. She sagged, favoring her bleeding arm, and the skin began to boil. James caught her, lowering her slowly to the ground. Outside, Elise struggled with the girl in the muddy back yard.

James tried to block out the sensations Elise felt and concentrated on Marisa’s bite, pressing his hand to the wound. “Does it sting?” he asked.

“It feels like acid!”

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a scrap of paper. His connection to Elise made summoning his magic easy, but all too quickly it began to draw off his partner. She wavered, and Lucinde took the opportunity to squirm out from under Elise and bolt for the fence.

James concentrated on healing Marisa’s arm, flicking the healing magic into the air around her. She whimpered. The skin twitched and writhed, but it was no longer bubbling. It settled, red and raw but clean.

“Wait here!”

He joined Elise in the back yard as she tackled Lucinde, smashing both of them into the fence. It shuddered with the force of the impact.

Elise was completely covered in mud, from her knees to her gloves and jacket. Her hands slipped on Lucinde, and the girl darted for a pile of landscaping boulders at the opposite corner.

James moved to cut her off. She froze, then tried to dart in the other direction.

Elise was already there, uncoiling the extra rope in her fists. She was flushed, panting, and exhilarated, her excitement washing through James. Her chain of charms jingled at her belt, and the crosses seemed to glow. Lucinde glanced between Elise, and then to James again, and back. The rain struck her skin and sizzled, evaporating instantly. Her entire body steamed.

“We should get her inside before the neighbors call the police,” he said, and Elise nodded.

Blood-caked fingernails flashed at Elise’s face. She threw herself out of the way, grabbing the girl’s wrist. Lucinde snatched the charms at Elise’s belt. The belt loops popped, and she flung them aside. The charms sank into a puddle of mud.

James dove for Lucinde. She darted aside, but he managed to catch her arm. Her flesh was so hot it nearly burned his hand. He jerked her around, and she kicked him—hard—in the shin.

He growled, hefting Lucinde under his arm. She snapped at his arms with her teeth. He clamped a hand over her mouth.

Elise knelt in the mud, searching for her charms.

“I can’t find them!”

“Forget it. Door,” he grunted. Elise threw it open, and he rushed through.

Marisa and Augustin waited on the other side. The stuffed rabbit had reappeared, and she gave a ragged sob when she saw James and Elise come back inside with her daughter in tow.

“Out of the way!” she ordered. Lucinde kicked hard, nearly squirming out from under James’s arms.

“Get her feet,” he said.

Elise took her by the ankles, bracing them as James dragged her down the stairs.

Marisa squeezed around them and shut the basement window before they dropped Lucinde again. The girl scrabbled over to the corner, curled into a tight ball, and screeched pathetically at James.

Fumbling at the back of her neck, Elise took off her cross necklace and pressed it to Lucinde’s cheek. Her voice hardened, deepening with power as she summoned up the memory of the oft-recited rituals from ancient books to do her first exorcism in years.

“I exorcise you, impious demon,” she recited, and James could envision the same old pages Elise was remembering with perfect clarity. Lucinde’s face screwed up with pain. “In vain do you boast of this deed. I command you to restore her as proof you no longer have any rule over her soul. I abjure—”

Lucinde swung. “Elise!” James yelled.

Her fist connected. Elise’s back smacked into a wall, and Lucinde lunged.

Elise braced herself and took the impact, translating the momentum into a throw. Lucinde slid, but regained her footing immediately.

Elise scooped her rope from the floor, holding it in the joint of her elbow to keep her hands free. She grabbed the girl by her collar and slammed her into the wall. The drywall cracked.

“No—!” Marisa cried, throwing out a hand.

James caught her arm. “Stay out of it. Trust me. She isn’t feeling any of this.”

“I abjure you,” Elise went on, voice rising as she shoved the cross into Lucinde’s face again, “stripping you of the arms with which you fight. I revoke the powers by which—” the girl clawed at Elise’s wrist, trying to pry her off, “—this creature became bound to your service.”

Her back arched, even with Elise’s hands holding her flat to the wall. Lucinde’s nails dug into her sleeve.

Elise pushed the girl to the floor, pinning her arms to the dirty linoleum with her knees. She flung her head from side to side, but even with all the strength the demon provided, Elise had size on her side.

“This creature is restored, rejecting your influence, granted divine mercy for defense against your assaults!”

Lucinde began to scream, high and loud. Something pulsed underneath the surface of her skin where Elise held the cross.

She focused all the energy she possessed on that point, building it up between them. Heat rippled across James’s skin. Elise seized upon the darkness within Lucinde.

“Crux sacra sit mihi lux,” Elise said, and the power poured out through her words. “Non draco sit mihi dux. Vade retro, Satana—”

The power of the demon boiled through the air like hot oil, simultaneously slimy and as dry as a desert wind. Her screaming reached a pitch, and Elise released the cross so she could cover her mouth with her gloved hand.

The girl bit down, but her teeth got nothing but glove. Even muffled against her hand, James could hear screaming. It didn’t come from her throat.

“Nunquam suade mihi vana,” Elise continued. The stench of sulfur was almost choking. “Sunt mala quae libas. Ipse venena bibas!”

A silent clap of thunder roared inside Elise and James. Lucinde wrenched her head to the side, out from underneath Elise’s hand. “Mother!” she shrieked in a hundred voices. “Sorrow!”

She roared once more, wordless and agonized, thrashing beneath Elise.

Lucinde gasped, and then slumped. Her eyes closed, her mouth hung open, and she stopped moving.

Elise released the child, and Lucinde didn’t move. She lay limply between Elise’s legs, unconscious but breathing. The black symbol rapidly faded. Her veins sank into her skin once more.

“Madre de dios,” Marisa whispered.

James followed her gaze. She was watching the same place as Elise—not at the girl, but at the ceiling. A dark shadow manifested above the room. A smell like burnt ozone and charred hair, traced faintly with the iron tang of blood, permeated the entire basement.

Elise dropped her necklace into the pocket of her jacket, staring into the depths of the demon’s form.

“Servant,” she said in a low, strong voice. “Return to the Hell in which you belong and never return. Be gone.”

The demon dissolved. The pressure eased.

Elise pressed her fingers to Lucinde’s throat. James could feel the pulsing of her heartbeat in his own fingertips, steady and strong.

She was alive.

“Lucinde,” Marisa cried, pulling her arm free from James and scrambling over to her daughter. “Is she okay? What did you do to her?”

“She’s fine, Marisa,” Elise said. “You might both want to get checked out by a doctor, though. I’m sure Stephanie would be happy to pay a visit once she gets off her shift.”

Marisa smoothed her hand over Lucinde’s cheek. “Baby…baby, please wake up…”

The girl’s eyes opened. The whites were no longer yellow and veined. Lucinde had to swallow twice before she could speak. “Mama?”

“Oh, bambina.” Marisa choked on a sob and collapsed over her daughter, raining kisses all over her face and arms and tummy. She spoke rapidly in Spanish, too quickly for James to understand, but he got the gist of it. “My baby, querida, mi corazon…”

James rested his hand on Elise’s shoulder and lifted the magical binding between them. Her feelings disappeared from him in a rush. More than the physical sense of being tired, though, he felt drained spiritually—he couldn’t have lit a candle if he wanted to, with or without paper magic.

He didn’t need to read Elise’s mind to see she felt the same. “I almost forgot what that was like,” she said.

“Yes, but perhaps now we should…” he said, gesturing toward the door.

“Wait,” Marisa interrupted, scooping Lucinde into her arms. Blood seeped through the makeshift bandage on her arm. “Gracias, thank you so much. She’s okay again. You really did it. It wasn’t…” Lucinde looked dazed, as though she wasn’t quite sure what was going on. It was a pleasant departure from the screaming. “That was nothing like the movies.”

“Life usually isn’t,” Elise said.

“How can we ever repay you?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

The temperature in the kitchen was much warmer than the basement. Augustin stood when they entered.

“Is she…?”

James pulled Elise aside from the doorway, letting Marisa enter the kitchen. He froze, going completely expressionless.

She blinked several times, squinting against the fluorescent lamps, and buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. Marisa stroked Lucinde’s hair, murmuring to her softly, but her eyes were all for Augustin. For the first time, James glimpsed real love between them.

And Augustin crumbled. He collapsed against the table as though he could no longer stand.

“Thank God.”

Marisa brought Lucinde to him, and they cried, relieved and happy and still sort of drunk off the whiskey. The kitchen felt so much brighter without the weight of the possession heavy over the entire house.

“Call us if you need anything else,” Elise said, but the Ramirezes weren’t listening.

“Let’s go,” James said.

They left the kitchen, and even though all the lights inside were off and the curtains drawn, it felt nowhere near as dark as it had been when they had first arrived. James found his jacket, and Elise took a moment to go to the thermostat, flicking off the air conditioner before cutting around the side of the house to find her charms in the back yard. They met again in the front.

The rain hadn’t let up. They got in the car, and James fished an old towel out of the backseat, drying off his hair. He offered it to her when he was done, but she gazed thoughtfully out the window and didn’t see.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Good,” Elise said. “I feel…good. Are you okay? I saw you healing Marisa, but you didn’t take it from me.”

“I’m fine, but I certainly won’t be doing any more magic for a few days.”

“What do you think about what Lucinde said?”

“‘Sorrows,’” James repeated, and she nodded.

“What did it mean?”

“She said ‘mother’ as well, and I don’t think she was calling Marisa. I believe it’s a name.” He removed a city map from the glove compartment and scanned it briefly. He pointed at a green oval on the north end of the paper. “See here—Our Mother of Sorrows, right by the university.”

“Why would a demon yell the name of a cemetery?”

“A lesser demon, such as the one that possessed Lucinde, is merely an appendage of its master rather than an individual entity,” he said. He started the car. “So as it is exorcised…”

“It goes back to its master and sees or thinks exactly what its master sees or thinks,” Elise said. “I’m going to the cemetery.”

He stopped at the red light. “You’re going?”

“Listen, James…” She paused to collect her thoughts. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “You’re right. I have to take care of this. This bitch—the death goddess—almost skinned me, and she owes me her blood. But I’d feel a lot better if you weren’t around for it.”

“You’re completely unprepared.”

“I don’t have time for preparation. I have to get her now. Who knows where she’ll be tomorrow?”

“You realize this is likely to be a trap,” he said.

She nodded.

He gave a low, thoughtful hum, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. The light turned green and James lurched into the intersection, making a fast illegal left turn. Elise gripped the side of the door, staring at him. “James, Motion and Dance is the other way,” she said.

“We’re not going to the studio,” he said. “We’re going to Our Mother of Sorrows.”

Chapter 10

Elise and James sped toward the cemetery in silence. The windshield wipers whisked a quick rhythm back and forth, clearing sheets of water off the glass with every swipe. The air blowing through the vents was cool, like the air outside, smelling sweetly of petrichor and sage.

The white monolith of the cemetery’s church rose out of the darkness. He parked in the circular driveway before the building, and Elise hit the radio button, silencing the oldies station in the middle of a Led Zeppelin song.

“It’s really close to UNR,” she remarked. A stone angel loomed in the dark distance.

“There are several graveyards around here,” he said. “When old west towns such as this were founded, they always put the cemeteries at the tops of hills to keep the bodies—and their smell—out of the way.”

She studied the faces of the apartment buildings on the ridge overlooking Our Mother of Sorrows. “Guess they didn’t plan on people building homes out here. At least your neighbors would be quiet.”

“Even your living ones, apparently,” he said, taking the keys out of the ignition.

James was right: most of the apartments and houses surrounding the cemetery were dark. Even though it was almost the weekend, and there should have been parties in the college neighborhood, the blocks surrounding Our Mother of Sorrows were strangely silent.

“The dead aren’t getting any deader,” she said. “Let’s go.”

They climbed out of the car into the rainy night. She wandered toward the church, and James retrieved a flashlight from the trunk before joining her.

A small graveyard splayed in front of them. The newer headstones to the front were in neat lines, arranged in narrow rows that left no room for walking without treading upon someone’s final resting place. A single path led to a hill where the older graves stood. A lonely stone angel, illuminated by flood lights around its base, glowed like a star in the drizzly night.

James stepped on the grass. Energy swept over him, and he froze.

Elise caught his expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Someone’s been working magic here. The entire cemetery’s inside a circle of power.”

“That’s not unusual. People cast spells in graveyards all the time.” Elise kept walking. “Come on, hurry up. We don’t want to get caught trespassing. Do cemeteries have security details?”

“Considering the gaping holes in their fence, I’m going to say no.”

Elise and James moved between the graves, feet slurping in and out of the mud with each step. Grass was not native to the desert, so it didn’t take root in the hard soil properly and melted into sludge at the slightest hint of rain.

James shone his flashlight on every marker they passed. “Mario Perez,” Elise remarked. “I had that guy for class when I was a freshman.”

“I remember that,” he said, wiping rainwater off his face. “Stroke, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” She pulled out her cell phone, glanced at the screen, and pulled a face.

“What’s the matter?”

“Forget it,” Elise said, shoving it back in her pocket. “Let’s find this demon bastard and get the job done.”

They gave a quick search of the graves. In such a small cemetery, there wasn’t much looking to do.

“You must have misinterpreted Lucinde,” she said. “There’s nothing here. It would be pretty obvious if a major demon was around.”

He swept the flashlight side to side in fruitless searching. “It doesn’t seem—”

“Wait. Is that an open grave by the statue?”

They weaved through the tombstones to the next row. The flashlight died when they stepped up to the very edge of the plot, and James bashed the flashlight repeatedly against his thigh.

“It’s definitely open,” she said. “Too bad we can’t see it.”

“I know,” James said, looking down into the LEDs and jiggling the batteries. “From what I can tell, though, it almost looks new.” The flashlight blared on, burning his retinas for an instant, and then turned off again. “Damn!”

“How can you tell that it’s new?”

He gestured toward the sky, blinking green shapes out of his vision. “It’s been raining for quite some time. The soil erodes rapidly. This grave, although messy, hasn’t been washed out.”

“Isn’t that Amber Hackman’s grave over there?” Elise said. “I heard something about her on the news recently. Her body went missing.”

Their gazes met.

“You wouldn’t remember when Amber Hackman died, but it was quite the event for the witch community worldwide,” James said. “She’s best known for her work as ambassador for the U.N., but she also fought to obtain asylum for witches in superstitious villages. Her work saved many lives.”

“This grave is…” She squinted. “Grace Finch, beloved grandmother. I would bet anything she was a witch, too.”

“How many bodies does this demon have?”

“At least three, probably more. All witches.”

He let out a slow breath. “This isn’t good.”

“Is there something down there?”

She moved closer to the grave. The only warning James had when she fell was a surprised shriek, and suddenly, Elise wasn’t standing in front of him anymore.

“Elise!” he yelled, stepping forward.

Loose earth crumbled under his feet, and he jumped back, landing on his backside. The light flashed once, and stayed dead.

James scrambled to his knees, moving carefully to the rim of the grave. “Elise?”

He could just make out her pale skin as she tilted her face up toward him. “My fault. Erosion. At least I had a soft landing. Can I get any light?”

“The flashlight won’t work,” he said, opening it to reseat the batteries and fiddle with the connectors.

“I think there’s a pair of security guards down here,” Elise said. A beat, and she added, “They’re dead.”

James closed the battery door and the bulb came back on. He beamed it down into the grave. Elise shielded her eyes, back pressed into the muddy wall.

The bodies looked like mud-covered sacks, half-concealed by a sheet flung over their legs. He could make out the Securitas logo on the breast pocket of the man on the right. His stomach pitched.

“Shine the light over that way,” she said.

James obeyed, watching as Elise knelt in the space beside the bodies. She felt the throat of the closest guard and hovered her hand over his mouth. When she began wiping mud away from their throats to bare bloody gashes, James looked up at the sky.

Gray clouds, highlighted with shades of blue and purple, shifted slowly across the heavens. The moon wasn’t even visible through the cover. Casino lights to the south turned the clouds green and orange and a dozen other unnatural shades of the rainbow.

“Someone slit their throats with a sharp knife. The wounds are pretty clean,” she said from below. James took deep, shallow breaths, grateful that the rain kept the smell of death from reaching him.

“We should get you out of there. We need to…I don’t know, report this or something.”

“Report it? Are you crazy?” She dug her hands into the wall of mud, trying to haul herself up with the side of the grave. The soil slipped under her fingers. She lost her footing, stumbled back on the bodies, and one of the guards squelched deeper into the mud. “Uh, help?”

James offered a hand to her. She took his wrist, and he hauled her out of the hole. Elise crawled a few feet away from the grave before trying to wipe mud off her arms. “Are you all right?”

Elise cast a grimace at the grave. “Better than some people. We can’t report this. Once the police are here, we’ll never get the opportunity to find out what happened.”

“But…”

“Business first. Then we tip off the law.” She scooped the flashlight off the ground. “You never would have had a problem with this five years ago.”

He glanced down into the shadowy depths of the grave and quickly averted his gaze once more. “You said it yourself. Five years is a long time.”

Her head snapped up. “What was that?”

James scanned the cemetery with his eyes as Elise did the same at his back, but he heard it before he saw it—slow, shuffling, squelching. Footsteps.

“Perhaps it’s the next shift,” he muttered.

“Or maybe it’s a zombie,” Elise said.

She pointed, and James followed her finger to the street beyond the fence.

A figure slid into the light. His shoes were visible first, and then his shoulders illuminated. His hanging head shadowed his face and chest. The man was clad in a poorly-fitting gray suit, torn and splattered with mud. There was no shirt under the jacket, baring a sunken chest covered in raised veins and swimming black marks that were darker than shadow.

His head lifted. Light spilled onto his nose and angular jaw, which were gripped with veins. A single sigil was emblazoned between his eyebrows. James didn’t need to look closely to know it was the same mark Lucinde had borne not too long before.

“You again,” Elise murmured.

The possessed corpse shambled forward. His eyes didn’t quite focus on either of them.

Elise and James backed toward the gate.

A twig snapped.

James spun. A woman lurched toward them from the darkness at the other end of the cemetery, her straggly hair caked in dirt. She, too, was clad in clothes that didn’t suit her—a plain frock and a pair of cheap sandals. The dress was several sizes too big, and it hung off her shoulder, exposing a sagging breast.

Black tears streaked her cheeks. The other possessed one was close enough for James to see the swollen blood vessels in his eyes as well, and he realized that the woman’s eyes had burst.

James edged over until he was shoulder to shoulder with his kopis. “This is your area of expertise. What do we do?”

“Kill them.” She held a long, curved knife in one hand. James hadn’t seen her draw it.

The woman sped up, and the man angled to cut off their exit. It took him a moment to realize Elise wasn’t following him toward the fence.

“If they’re here, their master won’t be far,” she said.

“You’re suggesting we fight.”

Elise was never given a chance to respond.

The man pitched toward her. She ducked away from his clumsy hands, delivering a kick squarely in the middle of the back. He tumbled into the mud.

“James—look out!”

He spun, but it was too late. A pair of hands dug into his shoulders, and the earth rushed to meet his face.

There was a smack, a crack, and the female was suddenly on the ground with him. A small sound came from her throat, more instinctive than a protest of pain.

James gasped and tried to squirm away, but the mud sucked him down, making it hard to move. Elise’s foot came down on the woman’s face once. The possessed one caught her ankle. She stumbled out of the grip.

The possessed woman clawed at his ankles when James scrambled to his feet. Elise kicked her in the side of the head, even harder this time. It was accompanied by an even louder crack, and her skull caved in like a rotten egg that had been smashed against the asphalt.

The older man lurched forward, grabbing James’s neck in both hands. He was slow, but too strong to stop.

James struggled to pry the hands away. “Elise,” he groaned. “Help—please—”

The female grabbed Elise, dragging her to the ground. “I’m a little busy right now,” she said.

He heaved with all his strength, peeling the arms away inch by inch. He could feel his pulse throbbing in his temple. The man, however, showed no signs of exertion. The possessed one pushed steadily on, its half-focused eyes fixed squarely on James’s throat.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elise grab a felled branch the size of his arm. She swung her makeshift club like a bat, and it hissed through the air, smashing into the woman’s face.

James leaned back and pushed his knee between himself and the zombie, trying to kick him off.

The cold fingers tightened around his neck, the heels of his palms pressed into his esophagus, and the world grew darker—

Then a familiar blade came down on the servant’s elbow, slicing across the inner joint. Blood gurgled sluggishly from the cut.

Elise cut again, and suddenly, all the pressure was gone from the right side of James’s throat. The servant’s hand fell limply to his side, and James wrenched away from him with a gasp. Fresh oxygen rushed into his lungs, and he coughed as the graveyard swam around him.

The man turned on Elise, groping for her with the arm that still worked. She flung him to the ground. “Hold him,” she ordered, and James approached cautiously.

“Is he…?”

“I slapped him with the pendant of St. Benedict,” Elise said, taking the necklace of charms from her pocket. It jingled in the night. “I stuffed it in his mouth. He won’t be able to get orders from his master until he manages to spit it out.”

James put his foot on the servant’s chest just in case. “You still carry extra medallions?” he asked.

“I just started again. It seemed like a good idea.”

“A very good idea,” he agreed, watching as Elise hauled the dead woman to her feet. The rain made her bloody face run with red tears.

“Where is your master?” she demanded. The body twisted and writhed, fighting to break free with a whining shriek. “I know you can speak. One of your demonic friends spoke through a girl tonight, so talk!”

Motion caught James’s eye. A small, leathery body emerged from behind a tombstone, perching on the top. Its bulbous eyeballs shone dimly in the light, yellow and bulging and focusing directly on him.

Another scaled the fence. He turned, and his gaze fell on another as it crept out from the shadows of the building adjacent to the cemetery.

“I told you to talk!” Elise said. She slapped the corpse across the face as James edged closer. Decomposing brain, like cottage cheese, crumbled out of the crack in her skull.

“Elise…”

Yet another gray demon crept out from behind the tree. This close, he could see the blood encrusting its nails and the droop of its lower lip as it salivated with hunger.

“What, James?” she asked without taking her focus off the struggling woman.

“I think we’re about to have bigger problems.”

Her face darkened in increments as she counted each demon. “Fiends. I hate those guys.”

James swallowed. “We fight?”

“No. We don’t stand a chance against three.” The possessed woman suddenly stopped fighting and went limp in Elise’s arms as though all her strings had been cut.

“What the hell…?” James wondered.

“The master must have realized the servants weren’t doing anything,” she said, dropping the body. “Run!”

She didn’t need to tell him twice.

Elise leapt over the fallen body of the possessed woman, snatching at James’s hand and dragging him along with her.

Their feet made sucking noises with every step, but James could hardly hear it over the pounding of his heart. He felt cold, awash with adrenaline. His gaze narrowed, focusing on the door to the cemetery’s attached office, until all he could see was the door half-lit in the darkness of stormy night.

He hit the doors before Elise did, throwing them open. The lock was punched out—someone else had been there first.

“Get inside!” he bellowed.

They jumped in and slammed the double doors shut. Elise threw herself against it, bracing her back against the place in between the handles. The bodies crashed into the other side.

James dropped the flashlight to help, but she shook her head.

“Find something to hold the doors!”

He searched the room. There were potted plants, but none heavy enough to hold the door. He grabbed the edge of check-in desk and pulled experimentally, but it was bolted to the floor. James flung open the door labeled “janitor.”

Another heavy thud, and Elise grunted.

“Soon would be good,” she growled.

James snatched a steel-handled mop from the closet. “Push,” he said, trying to fit the mop through the handles. “I can’t wedge it in like this.”

Elise lost her footing, and the door opened partway. A hand pushed through the opening.

She grabbed it and twisted. Something snapped. The fingers went slack.

Her weight still wasn’t enough to close the door.

James threw himself into it. It smashed shut on inhuman fingers, and something on the other side gave a cry, jerking them out of the way.

The doors closed. He wedged the mop’s pole through the door handles.

She stepped back. The corpses slammed into the doors, and the hinges groaned, but the mop held.

He sighed and leaned against the wall.

“Don’t stop yet. Keep moving,” she said, grabbing his collar. She burst through the hall to the office, shutting the sliding doors behind them.

James scanned the office. The stormy half-light of night outside filtered through slatted blinds, casting faint barred shadows across a cheap desk and filing cabinet. The brown shag carpet broke off at the head of a tiled hallway, and another door stood closed nearby with a sign that said “lab.” A map of the building hung on the wall, with the fire exit routes marked in red.

The banging grew more distant, and more insistent. They jogged down the tiled hallway. Another set of doors stood at the very end.

“We might be able to get out and make a break for the car before they realize we’ve gone,” Elise said.

“I’m not sure—”

Shuffling.

They turned, falling silent as they faced the source of the noise.

Fiends crouched at the end of the hall. It wasn’t the small handful they had seen in the graveyard beyond the office walls—there were more, many more, perhaps a dozen. They shifted in the darkness, crawling over each other and halfway up the walls.

A pair scuttled forward and up, digging their claws into the stucco to scramble over James’s head. He ducked, but they didn’t stop. Instead, they dropped on the other side—between Elise and James and the exit.

On both sides, the demons waited, staring at them with luminescent eyes.

Elise gripped James’s wrist. She didn’t say what she was thinking, but he suspected it involved several expletives. He felt much the same. James shifted so his hand squeezed hers, and he hoped it was comforting.

The fiends growled softly. His heart raced, and adrenaline turned his blood to antifreeze.

Her body tensed. She was preparing to run.

The office door beside them slammed open.

James saw a flash of yellow claws and leathery skin. Small hands wrapped around his leg, and he jerked free, kicking it in the face. The little demon keened, reeling backward, but in its place came another.

Elise’s knife flashed, glinting through the air like a blade of moonlight. She cut, ducking low and slicing along arms, across faces, pulling away from strikes. She moved smoothly, quickly, a dance of fist and blade. He fought to get free, trying to break from the increasing crowd of fiends as they clambered to grab him.

And then the demons from the end of the hall leapt into the fray, and James was swarmed. He elbowed a face, pushed another away. The tide of small bodies pulled him toward the conference room, and inexorably away from the slashing blade that was Elise.

She reached for James. “Elise!” he shouted, throwing his hand toward hers.

Their fingers brushed. The fiends yanked. James lost his footing, and he fell, caught by clawed hands a heartbeat before hitting the ground.

“James!”

He tried to grab the doorframe, but the fiends released him before he could orient himself. His face hit the stripping at the bottom of the door. Elise’s sneakers moved—rising to strike a leathery body, pushing against the ground, fighting to get closer to James.

Then they jerked, dragging him down the floor. The carpet burned the side of his face.

“No!” Elise cried, struggling against the restraining arms of the fiends, pushing and hitting and scratching and doing no good whatsoever.

The door slammed shut.

The fiends wrenched James to his knees. He had an instant to see tiled floors, a drain, metal tables, and then the fiends pulled again. Nails dug into his arms. James didn’t have to count the fiends to know there were too many to fight.

One of the demons clawed its way up his slacks until it stretched tall, almost up to his chest. Its fingers ran over his cheeks, his jaw, his nose.

The other demons jerked on his legs. James lost balance and his knees struck the carpet. The fiends made slurping, hungry noises deep in their throats, staring at him like a slab of meat.

Claws slid down his neck, catching on the hem of his shirt with a ripping sound. His chest was suddenly cold. His shirt had been torn open in one long line down the center, baring his chest and stomach.

He felt the sharp press of teeth against his hip and gave a shout.

“What are you doing?”

The other door opened. His heart leapt when he saw a feminine figure enter—but it wasn’t Elise. The newcomer was swathed in a long jacket and a formless skirt. The fact he couldn’t make out her face, or even her body type, didn’t disturb James so much as the feeling of sheer power that poured off of her.

It wasn’t the normal power that James got from other witches, like those in his coven. This feeling was unmistakably evil.

The witch drew a knife from behind her back.

“Oh,” James said.

She touched the blade to his skin, and after that, all he could do was scream.

“No!”

Elise threw herself against the door. Locked.

Something scuffled behind her, and she spun, dagger raised for a blow. But the fiends had dispersed—gone from the hall as quickly as they had arrived in the first place. They had what they wanted, and it wasn’t Elise.

The air shifted, and motion from a fiend she had killed caught her eye. Blood dribbled sluggishly out of the slit on its neck. And then…something changed.

In her biology for non-majors college class, Elise had watched a time lapse video of a decaying rabbit. Its skin had rippled and exploded with maggots, the flesh disappearing as tiny fragments were carried off by numerous insects. The decay of the fiend was similar—one moment, it was whole and complete, and the next, its skin crumpled and peeled and flaked off, baring bone that burned away as well.

She watched, stunned, as invisible flame spread from the brands down its back and devoured the entire body, leaving nothing but dust.

Only very strong master demons could destroy its minions after they died.

And it had her aspis.

He screamed on the other side of the wall.

“James!” she yelled. She shook the doorknob again, harder. “James!”

She took a step back and threw all her strength into a single kick. Her blow landed beside the doorknob. Crack.

His screaming grew strangled. She kicked again.

The door was made of heavy oak. It barely shook.

“Shit,” she muttered. The room number, mounted on a gold placard beside the door, said 6B. If there was a 6B, there must have been a 6A.

She left James’s screams and scanned the map on the wall, trying to make sense of it in the dark. Finding the red dot marking her position, she traced the hall around the building.

6A. There was another door in the opposite hall.

Elise ran. Her feet pounded against linoleum, each step a clap of thunder.

James’s screams suddenly silenced.

She skid around the corner and almost lost her balance, catching herself on a door. 6A. Elise tried the doorknob, and it turned smoothly.

She threw the door open, ready for a fight—but she was met by an empty room.

The embalming room was dark and windowless. Every surface was tiled or clean steel, from the table affixed to the wall to the sinks and ceiling. A sign read, “Danger: Formaldehyde Irritant and Potential Cancer Hazard. Authorized Personnel Only.” A row of locked refrigerators for bodies lined the wall, and a pump sat on a desk next to the table with liters and gallons measured on the side of its barrel.

Elise picked her way through the shattered debris of the embalming fluids. The scent made her gag. She covered her mouth to keep from vomiting as she rounded the table.

Her breath caught in her throat. “James…”

He was slumped in the corner, limbs twisted like a ragdoll. James’s shirt was torn open to reveal his torso. Elise didn’t need much light to recognize the black smears staining his chest: blood.

She felt his neck for a pulse. His throat pulsed in a slow, weak rhythm under her fingers.

“Thank God,” she murmured, pushing his shirt aside to examine the wounds.

Someone had begun to skin a patch of James’s stomach over his solar plexus, but it wasn’t a random, messy job. The looping lines were deliberate and strangely neat. The knife must have been incredibly sharp.

Elise recognized that knife work. She still had the scar on her chest. “Oh, James,” she said, brushing his bangs out of his closed eyes.

Something moved.

Her gaze snapped over. A shape snuck out from behind the door Elise had left open.

Launching to her feet, she barreled into the intruder. The person screamed in a woman’s voice. She gripped a short stone staff, dirty with blood and mud, and there was a pentacle charm on her bracelet.

It was a human—not a demon at all.

“Help!” she cried before Elise could smother her mouth.

She slammed the woman’s hand into the wall until she cried out. Her fingers lost their grip, and the stone hit the floor.

Hands buried themselves in Elise’s jacket and ripped her away.

She sprawled to the ground, catching a brief glimpse of a fiend as it pushed at the witch’s legs. The jacket flared behind her as they ran from the room. Elise scrambled to the doorway in time to see the exit swing shut behind them.

Elise hesitated, casting a glance at James. She couldn’t chase them without leaving her partner behind.

“Damn it!” she swore. James made a sound of pain, and Elise dropped to her knees at his side. “We need to get you out of here before someone shows up.” His eyes half-opened at her voice, and she gave him a tight smile. “Come on. I’ll help you up.”

She lifted him carefully under the arms. He gave a weak attempt at getting his feet under him…and then went slack.

He was unconscious.

Chapter 11

The door to James’s bedroom banged open.

Elise rushed through the doorway with James draped over her shoulders. She tried to roll him onto the bed gently, but he slipped and hit the mattress hard. He made a small pain noise in his sleepy delirium.

“Sorry,” she said. James didn’t react to her apology.

She cut his shirt open along the sleeves and tugged it out from underneath him, chucking it in the trash. The bandages she had packed over his wound in the car had already soaked through with blood.

Elise searched through James’s desk drawers for gauze and bandages, returning once she located them amongst a secret stash of Milk Duds. Blood welled up in the cuts as soon as they were bared to the air as though he had been sliced open anew.

She had suffered enough wounds to know that a little cutting shouldn’t have knocked James out, nor should it have bled so much. Poison, or magic? Either was trouble.

Summoning first aid experience from the musty corners of her memory, Elise bandaged him carefully. Her gaze wandered to the phone on the bedside table as she worked. She couldn’t call Stephanie. Even though the doctor would be all too happy to nurse James back to health, she would have questions Elise didn’t want to answer.

But she couldn’t give him the help he needed herself.

Muttering a terse prayer, she called Stephanie on James’s cell phone. “James,” the doctor breathed on the other end. “It’s about time you called me.”

“This is Elise.”

“Oh. Really. What are you doing calling from his number at this time of night?”

“He’s hurt. He might be poisoned.”

“Poisoned?” Stephanie’s voice sharpened. “Why are you wasting your time calling me? Hang up and call the poison control center, he needs—”

“We can’t call anyone, go to the hospital, or attract any attention,” Elise snapped. “He needs you. Are you going to come help him or what?”

“What are you doing, you stupid bitch? Call an ambulance! I’ll meet you at the emergency room.”

She counted slowly to ten, and then said, “Stephanie. I’m not messing around.”

“What happened?”

Elise glanced at her prone partner. His face was ashen gray. “James is unconscious but breathing fine. He’s bleeding from a shallow wound on his chest. I would guess that he’s stable for the moment.”

She cursed. “You did this to him, didn’t you?”

“Now isn’t the time for blame.”

The doctor gave a disgusted sigh. “You’re going to have to call someone else anyway. I was volunteered to take the directors to Sacramento International, so I’m still at least two hours away. If you care about him at all, you’ll get proper medical attention.”

“We have to wait for you.” A grimace, and she added, “Please.” She choked out the last word with no small amount of pain, but it made Stephanie pause. There was silence for a long moment. When the doctor spoke again, the venom had left her tone.

“If he dies…”

“I would care a hell of a lot more than you do. James needs to be looked at, and I can’t do it myself.”

“Make sure the wound is clean and well-wrapped. Two hours. Less if I rush.”

“Then rush.”

Elise hung up and sat back. She hoped she was right in trusting Stephanie. But…who would have known that Elise and James would exorcise Lucinde and get the “Sorrows” message?

The people in the coven might. They were the only ones who knew James was connected with an exorcist. But if Elise couldn’t trust the other witches, she could be in even worse trouble than she suspected.

Elise studied James’s room. What if Ann or Morrighan had left some kind of trap? She scanned the dark walls, watching closely for a telltale glimmer of eyes staring back.

James’s bedroom was too small for anyone to hide in it. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and not an inch of space was wasted. His bed rested atop several archivist boxes, each lovingly packed with texts that were too valuable to see the light of day. His headboard was stacked with shelving, too. The only free space was in front of the window where his altar stood. A statuette of the Goddess leaned against the right side of the window frame, mirrored by the Horned God to the left.

Elise sank into the worn chair at his desk and swiveled around so she could see James. A yawn caught in her throat.

Ignoring her body’s demands for sleep, she withdrew the short stone staff from her jacket pocket. It felt heavier than it should have been at only twelve inches long, as though it was lead instead of rock. Elise rubbed her thumb on the surface, scrubbing away some of the dirt to reveal demonic runes.

The stone was cool under her hand, sucking her body heat deep into its core. The staff felt unmistakably alive.

And evil.

Elise cleared off space on James’s desk, which was covered in notebooks with his precise handwriting and illustrations of sigils. Some of it was for the annual almanac his coven published, but some of it looked like fresh spellwork. Several were weighted down with crystals, collecting their energy for later use. She set the stone staff somewhere it didn’t touch anything else.

James made a small noise again. His skin shone with sweat, and pain twisted his face into a grimace.

“Are you awake?” she whispered, sitting beside him.

He didn’t move.

She let out a long, slow breath, letting her hand fall to his chest above the bandage. Sweat soaked through the material, and dots of blood were seeping through as well.

His eyes fluttered open. “Elise,” he whispered. “Are you all right?”

“You’re the one that got carved up by a big bad witch. Don’t waste your strength worrying about me.” He moved like he was going to sit up, but she held him down. It wasn’t as much of a struggle as it should have been. “I’m here. Nothing will get you.” He mumbled softly. “Nothing will get you,” Elise said again, mostly as an affirmation to herself.

She sunk down lower on the bed beside him, rested her cheek against his upper arm, and laid her hand over his heart. The beat was slow. He sounded so…weak.

Elise could hear her own heart in her chest, beating strong. She wanted his heart to beat like hers. She wished so hard for a moment she almost convinced herself she could keep him alive on willpower alone.

He stroked her hair weakly. “It’s okay,” he said, and it was such a lie that she had to smile.

“You’re right,” she said. “It’s okay.”

His hand slipped over hers when she sat up. “Stay.”

“James…”

“Stay, Elise,” he repeated, more strongly this time.

She didn’t want to argue with him. The weight of her fatigue was too convincing. Whether or not Elise had time to take a nap, she was failing her battle against sleep. And why not? Stephanie was still two hours away.

Elise kicked her shoes off the side of the bed and rested beside James.

The air was heavy and still, but she didn’t dare open a window to let it cool. His heart thumped its steady pace under her hand, and his shallow breaths marked out a rhythm like water rushing up the sand before sucking into the ocean again.

Or like wind blowing in the trees, sweeping through the branches.

Her muscles were leaden. Her eyes couldn’t open.

The walls of the room collapsed slowly inward. Moss spread beneath her cheek as vines of ivy slithered up James’s bookshelves. Leaves spread between the pages of the books.

Thunder rolled. Papers dripped onto the desk one by one and drizzled onto the floor.

Ivory fingers reached out to turn off the lamp, leaving the only light an occasional flash of lightning in the bellies of the red clouds. Rain began to tumble down the walls like a sticky-sweet waterfall.

Elise’s parents stood beside the desk, waiting for her arrival as the second hands on the clock rushed toward twelve. She was running late. Somehow, she had gotten caught in the storm and lost her way.

She twisted and turned in search of a path. They were waiting. She couldn’t keep them waiting.

A cool hand smoothed over her cheek, light as the kiss of the breeze. Forgiving. Her parents smiled down at her, calm but unseeing. Her mother’s left eye socket was empty, and it rained within her skull.

The sky poured down, and Elise sat, her pale skin bared to the elements.

“Crux sacra sit mihi lux, non draco sit mihi dux…”

“Let the holy cross be my light, let the serpent not lead me astray.”

“Vade retro, Satana…”

“Step back, Satan.”

What do you think that means, Elise? A gentle smile. But who smiled? Where were the eyes belonging to those lips?

“Nunquam suade mihi vana…”

“What you offer me is evil…”

But what is evil?

The question wasn’t part of the exorcism ritual. And neither was the second part—what is goodness? She had no answers for either. “Sunt mala quae libas…”

Such a sweet smile.

“Ipse venena bibas…”

“Drink the poison yourself…”

Fluid dripped from the corner of that mouth. There were hands, but they didn’t wipe the poison away. It was dark burgundy, the crimson of wine…or blood.

One more time, Elise. From the top.

“Crux sacra sit mihi lux, non draco sit mihi dux. Vade retro, Satana, nunquam suade mihi vana. Sunt mala quae libas, ipse venena bibas.”

Very good. Again.

The branches scraped her vulnerable body.

“Crux sacra sit mihi lux…”

The ground disappeared. Elise fell, and fell…

The yawning blackness devoured her whole.

And fell…

Drink the poison yourself…

“I am the cold kiss of Death,” the goddess whispered into her ear, “and you can never defeat me.”

Elise’s arms were bound to the stone wall behind her. Her face was bloody but set in a determined glare. Mud packed the open wound on her hip. A red cloak she didn’t remember wearing pooled around her body. The death goddess—had she any other name?—stood high above her, swathed in shadow and holding a staff of sharpened human bone.

“Alive or dead, I will come back for you,” the goddess murmured.

“You can’t think this will do any good,” Elise spat. The sky outside, visible through a small window near the ceiling, was black, blue, purple, and scarlet. Blood and pus bubbled from her wound. “You can’t kill me yet. Not without screwing up your apocalyptic plans.”

She laughed. Deep, throaty, bubbling like Elise’s blood. “Who says I plan to use you?”

In her other hand, she clutched a stone dagger that sang with power. It was covered in symbols, some more familiar than others.

Her blood bulged in her veins. Ipse venena bibas…

The witch had clutched a stone, too.

James.

The sky faded to orange and back to red.

He ran through the jungle searching for Elise. The branches scraped at him, though the trees never moved, but still he searched. She watched him from her prison with the goddess, and she almost wished he wouldn’t find her as much as she longed for him to save her.

The death goddess drew intricate designs in Elise’s skin with vivid crimson ink.

Her breast rose and fell with breath. Her heartbeat fluttered.

The witch. The stone staff. Death.

Who says I plan to use you?

Her eyes flew open, and she saw.

Sleep ripped away from Elise. Consciousness slammed into her body. She gasped, flinching against the blow that never came—and then realized she heard the familiar sound of cars rushing by on the street outside.

Elise sat up. Nothing inside the room made noise but James’s erratic breathing. He had pushed the sheets off to bare his body to the waist even though the room was only sixty degrees. She pressed her hand to his back. His temperature almost scorched her palm.

He made a small noise and moved into her touch, rolling over without waking up. His eyelids were dark, almost bruised.

“James,” she said softly.

She searched for her cell phone in the darkness. Only an hour and a half had passed.

Elise slipped out of bed to search the closet for spare clothes. She located clean jeans and a shirt by touch, identifying it as her Black Death concert top by the hole near the hem.

When she finished changing, she returned to James. She checked his temperature with a hand to his forehead, and he was even hotter than he had been before. Sleep had done neither of them any good. James hadn’t improved, and Elise had lost time.

Someone knocked at the door. She looked out the window to confirm that Stephanie’s car was in the lot before meeting her at the door. The doctor’s normally neat coif was frazzled.

“Thanks for coming,” Elise said as Stephanie pushed past her into the house.

“Is he in bed?”

Elise nodded, and the doctor blew into his bedroom.

She sat beside him on the mattress and opened her bag. Elise waited in the doorway while Stephanie gave James a short and clinical examination. After a few minutes, the doctor took off her gloves.

“Can you take care of him here?” Elise asked.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” Stephanie said. “He doesn’t seem to have lost enough blood to be struggling, and there hasn’t been enough time for infection to set in.” The doctor leveled a stern look at Elise. “He needs to be taken to a hospital.”

“Will he die if he remains untreated for a few hours?”

“I can’t be sure.”

“I need you to stay and monitor him,” Elise said. “I have to find the person that did this. Once they’re out of the picture, you can send him to any hospital you want.”

“Don’t you think you should call the police?” Stephanie asked, following Elise out of the room. “Whoever attacked him is deranged.”

“The police won’t be able to help. You have to stay.”

She folded her arms. “It goes against every good practice I know.”

“Great,” Elise said. “Now listen close. I’m going to lock all the doors and windows before I leave. Don’t open any of them until I come back. James has set up wards around the apartment, so he’ll be safe as long as they’re shut. Don’t let anyone in, don’t call an ambulance, don’t call the police. If you want James to make it to the hospital at all, you have to keep quiet.”

Stephanie nodded reluctantly. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Thanks,” Elise said. “Don’t let him die.”

She disappeared into the night.

The casino was full at three in the morning. Tricks of light and shadow made the room an endless plane of slot machines, where the drunk and down-on-their-luck hunched before digital screens. Listless, addicted gamblers fidgeted nearby as they watched for the next game to make them lucky.

Day, night. Neither mattered. Neither existed.

Money passed from player to casino attendant and became chips, and the chips went from hand to table, then to the dealer, and back to the attendants. The artificial clattering, jingling, singing sounds of slots and video poker paying out or begging to be played filled the air with discordant chorus.

The air was thick, and not with cigarette smoke. What it masked was impossible to ignore—an eternal depression, a feeling of being trapped. The feel of people imprisoning themselves in a place where the odds were low and wishing for a row of lucky sevens to change their ruined lives.

Elise moved quickly across the floor, watching each table as she passed. Cards whispered across the velvet—ten of spades, three of hearts, suicide king—and were taken into hands with nails yellow from tobacco.

She didn’t enjoy the casinos here. She had been to Vegas and little back-alley stands in Eastern Europe where the dice were all hand-carved, and either was better. At least there was fun and good company to be had elsewhere.

It didn’t take long for Elise to spot who she was looking for. David Nicholas never slept, and seldom worked, so he made up for decades of spare time with a platinum gambling card at every casino and a reserved spot at the Texas Hold-’Em table. He was a ghost beside two swarthy tourists with purple rings under their eyes. He cupped a stack of dwindling chips in one hand.

“Check,” he said, tapping his cards on the table. He glanced up as Elise approached, his hand half-raised as though he expected a cocktail waitress. Then he realized who it actually was, and his face fell. “Shit.”

Elise hauled him out of his chair and dragged him to the back door, flinging him into the alley behind the casino. The nightmare splashed into a puddle of rainwater and trash. He stared up at her with an expression like that of a rabbit spotting a hawk.

Jerking him up by the collar, she slammed him into the wall. “Tell me what you know,” she snarled, pushing her dagger against the nightmare’s stomach.

“Hang on, wait, whoa,” David Nicholas said, holding his hands up. “All I know is I was winning a hand of hold-’em and you interrupted my streak. What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’ve been inspired to take a break from accounting. If you cooperate, I can cut my vacation short. Understand?”

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re the one who told me something was coming when I visited Craven’s,” she said. “I’m starting to suspect you might have been onto something. I’m here to chat about it.” Elise jerked on his collar again. He gurgled. “Chat, David Nicholas.”

She dropped him back into the trash. Rats scurried away. “Don’t think I got to chat about anything with you,” he said. “It isn’t profitable to play with humans…unless you want to try to make it that way, if you’re catching my meaning.”

She studied the blade of her knife, testing the edge against her thumb. “Tell you what. You tell me what you were talking about at the club, and I’ll make it profitable by not stabbing you…again. I’m looking for a demon that can resurrect people.”

He slipped a pack of cigarettes out of his sleeve and tapped one into his hand. He lit it, but didn’t take a puff, contemplating the glowing end as he rolled it between his first finger and thumb.

“Demons can’t resurrect people on their own.”

“Yeah, but something is doing it anyway. Does the name le Main de Morte ring a bell?”

“The what de what?”

“The Hand of Death. That’s what I said, the Hand of Death.”

He sneered. “Death’s Hand,” David Nicholas murmured. “Old bastard.”

“You know it, then.”

“Know of it, yeah. It’s hellborn. There was lots of talk about Death’s Hand a few years ago. It was some big fad to talk about it, like, ooh, it’s going to kill us dead, it’s going to destroy Earth.” David Nicholas took a drag. “Didn’t happen, as you see. I wasn’t worried about it. I never worry about that kind of thing.”

“So it can resurrect people,” Elise pressed.

“It can reanimate. Huge difference,” he said, leaning one elbow on an orange crate. “Move corpses. You know, like a puppet.”

“A little girl died,” she said. “This Death’s Hand thing possessed her. I performed an exorcism, and when he was gone, she was alive again.”

“Treaty of Dis says demons can’t perform resurrections. Only humans can do it, and not many of them at that. Just those special witches—you know, necromancers.” He dropped his cigarette on the top of a nearby crate and ground it in with his fingers. His other hand was already moving to bring a second to his lips. “So can I go back to my game now?”

“No. What were you trying to warn me about?”

David Nicholas spread his hands wide. “What am I supposed to say? I got four hundred and sixty-three years of knowledge rattling around inside my skull. I could warn you about things that would give the Night Hag nightmares.” His black eyes grew shadowed. “You got a necromancer on your hands, and you’re in bigger trouble than anyone would be able to help you with.”

“Tell me why.”

“Death’s Hand reanimates, right? Useful trick. You work your slaves to death, then bring ‘em back and do it all over again.” He shrugged, and it looked like his bony shoulders could almost pierce his jacket. “If it got a necromancer, though, it could resurrect, too. All Death’s Hand’s got to do is reanimate a freshly dead necromancer to create a bond with it, and—”

“I thought you said it couldn’t come to Earth,” Elise interrupted. “There are no necromancers in Hell. There aren’t even any necromancers on Earth, come to think of it. Not in years.”

“It can’t actually come up. With a dark object, yeah, it can appear up here. But with the help of a necromancer, Death’s Hand would have a heck of a lot easier time finding a witch to become a vessel.”

Elise slipped her hand into her pocket, wrapping her hand around the stone she had taken from the witch. It vibrated ever so slightly as though it knew they were talking about it. “What do you mean, a vessel?”

“Someone to possess. A strong enough witch with the right power could become the body of Death’s Hand. Like an ascension, you know, but without the centuries of building up its power first. ‘Course, once Death’s Hand has a body, it won’t need a pet necromancer any more. It’ll destroy him and keep the bits it wants, like everything else it reanimates.”

“Destroy him,” she echoed. “Do you mean…”

“Death’s Hand destroys its legions once they’re used up. Clean-up, you know. Real easy and nice. It won’t need the necromancer to keep the power after awhile. Hypothetically, of course. That would violate the Treaty of Dis and bring down all kinds of hellfire, and nobody’s stupid enough to do that.”

“Good. Thanks.” Elise turned to leave.

“Vedae som matis,” he said. He said the words with a strange accent, almost choking on them, as though they were spoken in the throat rather than the mouth.

“What?”

“Vedae som matis. It’s the demon language, and that’s what they call it down there. Thought you might be interested.”

“What does vedae som matis mean?”

“Hand of Death.”

Shocking. Elise stuck her knife back in her belt. “Thanks for the information.”

“This is twice now you’ve made me had a bad day, cabbage,” David Nicholas called after her as she headed down the alley. “First one was free. Second one’s going to cost you.”

“Send a bill to my office,” she snapped. “The check bounced, by the way. I’m going to get that money from you in blood if I have to.”

“Go ahead and try,” he said. His eyes glowed.

Elise mulled over the information he had given her as she navigated the alleys behind the casino. Vedae som matis. Death’s Hand. Reanimation, not resurrection. That would explain why it had possessed Lucinde. She must not have been strong enough to become the vessel of Death’s Hand. James had enough power, but Death’s Hand needed a dead witch.

She wrapped her hand around the stone in her pocket, as though it might give her answers. The sense of demonic energy had grown in intensity, ringing throughout Elise’s senses.

Had the staff begun radiating more energy, or was it something…else?

Elise picked up the pace again and stretched out her senses. Yes, there were definitely demons around, and it wasn’t hard to guess what would be tracking her.

Fiends. And they were close.

She gripped her knife. Elise hurried down the sidewalk toward the parking garage. Dancing casino lights lit her path, casting flickering shadows on the street before her, turning the night into a tired carnival of once-great businesses harping their unwanted wares.

A chill crept up her spine, and the demonic sensations intensified.

Motion blurred at the corner of Elise’s vision.

She spun, cutting the dagger through the night air. A huge fist grabbed her before she could even see the attached face—the corpse from the hospital again—and slammed her hand into the wall. Concrete scraped her exposed fingers. Pain shocked up her arm. Her fingers lost their grip on the dagger, and it clattered to the concrete.

The possessed one twisted her around, jerking her into his body and wrapping a steel-clad arm around her. He threw himself backward into the shadow of a building, taking Elise with him.

She lost her footing, and the servant forced her against a wall. His hot hand clamped over her nose and mouth, cutting off her breath. The rag in his hand smelled faintly sweet, and slightly alcoholic. Elise had never smelled anything like it before, but she’d seen enough movies to recognize chloroform.

She held her breath, but her throat burned with the taste of chemicals, and it was too late.

Chapter 12

Betty took the coffee pot out of the machine, grabbed a cozy, and set both on the table in front of Anthony. “Drink,” she said.

Anthony slumped forward on her table and dropped his chin on his folded arms. He wore a button-down shirt and clean jeans, and there wasn’t a spot of oil anywhere on his body. He was well-dressed for the crack of dawn. “I don’t want it.”

“Cheer up,” she said. “Caffeine’s a mood booster.”

“I hate coffee.”

She dropped into the chair beside him, moved the vase so it wasn’t between them, and poured herself a cup. “Of course you like coffee. Everyone likes coffee. It’s just a matter of how much sugar and creamer you need.” She punctuated her statement by emptying the cream bottle into her half-full mug and sprinkling sugar atop it, stirring with a swizzle stick topped by a hula dancer. “Did you even change out of your clothes after last night?”

“No. I slept like this,” he said. “I just don’t get it. If she didn’t want to go on another date with me, why would she agree to go out in the first place?”

“Isn’t that just another delightful part of the enigma that is Elise?”

“It’s fucked up, that’s what it is.” He glanced at the coffee pot. “What kind is that?”

“Komodo blend,” she said, wafting the cup in the air. “Also known as percolated heaven. Sound good yet?”

“No.”

Betty took a large slurp of the coffee and set it down again. “I’m going to give it to you straight, baby cousin of mine: Elise would not be afraid of refusing dates. If she thought your first date sucked, she would get that look that says in her not-so-sneaky way that if you speak to her again she’ll break your nose. That’s about as subtle as she gets. Agreeing to a date and then ditching you—that isn’t her modus operandi.”

He grunted. “I guess.”

“Do you know how many boyfriends she’s had in the time I’ve known her?”

“I don’t think I want to know.”

“None,” Betty said. “Not one. And do you know how many guys have asked her out?” Anthony shook his head. “None. She scares everyone off. I think she was impressed that you asked her at all.”

“Well, I’m not scared of some girl,” Anthony said.

She smacked him. “Don’t be an ass. Elise is terrifying.”

“Fine, whatever, she’s terrifying. I still really like her.” He scoffed. “I did like her.”

“Cut her some slack.”

“She ditched me without a phone call. Her only text said that she got caught up doing something with James,” Anthony said.

“Then that’s probably true.”

He leaned against the back of the chair, cupping his hands behind his neck. He rolled his thoughts around for a moment before speaking. “Do you think Elise and James…?”

She took a long, slow drink of her coffee, setting it down with a satisfied sigh. “No.”

“But—”

“No. That dance studio is a monastery. I promise.”

“Then she just doesn’t like me,” he concluded stubbornly. Betty ignored him. “I’m not going to wait around for her to notice me and I’m not going to give her another chance.”

“Sure,” she said. “Did I remember to mention that she joined that pole dance class at that rival studio? They’re doing an exhibition next week and she’s going to be dancing in a bikini. Gyrating. Sweaty.”

His eyes lit up. “Really? When?”

“I’m lying, Elise didn’t join the class. She doesn’t even know where her hips are.” Betty laughed. “‘Giving up on her.’ You’re so full of shit.”

He couldn’t help but laugh too. “You’re nuts, Betty. You know—” Anthony suddenly went rigid. His eyes widened. “Wait. Did you hear that?”

The window exploded.

Glass showered into the kitchen. Betty shrieked, throwing herself under the table, and Anthony followed, sliding to the floor for cover.

Something heavy—not large, but insanely dense—crashed through the broken window. It rolled on the glass shards, knocking the appliances from the counters to the floor, and hit the linoleum with the thud of a cannonball hitting concrete.

It stopped moving for an instant. Only an instant. It was gray, hulking, covered in twisted red scars. Eyes like soft balls stuck out on either side of its head.

And it was screaming.

Its eyelids flashed open and then shut again. It clawed at its own face, its screech the mix of a sob and a wail, and Betty slapped her hands over her ears to block out the noise. Blood trailed from the corners of its eyes and the gash of its mouth.

Icy terror smashed into Anthony’s chest, and for an instant, he couldn’t breathe.

His focus narrowed on the monster. Fight.

He knocked the table over, putting it between himself and the monster. It smashed into the tabletop. Wood squealed against the floor, and Betty cried out.

“Move,” Anthony said, “move! Hide!”

It barreled into the table again and then fell back, still tearing at its eyes and screaming. Betty hurried to her feet, and he pushed her toward the hallway. She knocked over one of the chairs in her haste.

The monster rushed her, a blur of shrieking rage and agony.

Anthony threw himself into its side, knocking them both down. Its three-fingered hands clamped onto his arms like a steel vice.

He was airborne. The wall became huge in his vision.

Pain rang through his body, and his face hit the floor.

It went for Betty again. Anthony pushed himself to all fours and shook his head to clear his vision. His cousin threw herself into the closet and tried to pull it shut, but it had gotten a hand in the way and she was screaming and Anthony couldn’t revel in his pain. He had to focus.

“Where’s your dad’s shotgun?” he yelled.

Betty’s panicked eyes met his. “My bedroom closet—it’s not loaded—”

He slid into the kitchen, scooping up the first sharp thing he saw. The monster tore open the closet door and reached for Betty.

“Hey,” Anthony said, “hey! Over here!”

He flung the knife at the monster, missing by at least two feet. It turned its bulging eyes on him. Eyelids cracked, he could just make out a sliver of massive pupil staring at him. Betty jerked her foot into the closet and shut the door.

Its jaw dropped wide and it roared, shrill and berserk. Sputum slapped against its chin.

Anthony made a break for the bedroom. The monster dodged into his path. He leapt over its head, dashing for the bedroom, and slammed the door. The lock clicked.

It crashed into the door with a wail.

Anthony paused for an instant, sucking in a hard breath of air, watching Betty’s door. The monster hit again, but it held.

He went to the closet and began to search.

Tío Jacob didn’t like the idea of his little girl living alone without protection, even with her cousin next door, so he had gifted her with a combat assault shotgun as a housewarming gift. At the time, Betty had teased her dad for being so paranoid, but it didn’t seem nearly so paranoid now.

Anthony found the gun, unzipping the sleeve to withdraw it. The monster smashed into the other side of the door. It began to buckle.

He tore through Betty’s shelves, knocking her collection of records to the floor and shuffling through a pile of stuffed animals to find where she kept the ammo. A stack of boxes were clustered in the back corner of her closet, dusty and unopened since the day Anthony had given them to her. He had bought her two kinds of rounds: one for target shooting, and double ought for making sure a live target would never get up again.

He grabbed the double ought.

Another hit. The door splintered.

Anthony slammed his shoulder into the crack to keep it from breaking entirely. His hands shook as he tried to get a round out of the box. He dropped it. Ammunition spilled across the carpet.

Swearing, he dropped to the floor and held the door shut with a foot, back pressed against the foot of Betty’s bed. He slid open the loading port on the bottom of the shotgun.

Anthony counted out the shells he could reach as he loaded it—no time to panic—and pumped once. The chamber wasn’t full, but if he needed more rounds to kill that thing, he probably wouldn’t live to do it anyway. He kept the number of rounds hovering in his head—five—and let go of the door.

He had only an instant to get on one knee, shotgun braced against his shoulder, before the monster broke through. It rushed at him on all fours, its nails tearing into the carpet.

He angled down and squeezed the trigger.

BLAM.

The recoil knocked the butt of the shotgun into the pad of his shoulder and he rocked backward. The monster’s arm disappeared in a spray of blood and pellets smacked into the floor.

He pumped the action and an empty casing went flying. Four.

It screamed a terrible scream that made his eardrums throb, rearing back on its stubby legs. Anthony braced properly this time and squeezed the trigger again.

BLAM.

Suddenly, the monster didn’t have a face.

Three rounds.

With no flesh, Anthony could see all too well the pellets that had buried into its skull. There was blood everywhere, tassels of skin, the dribbling remnants of its left eyeball. Some of the pellets had implanted in the drywall behind its head and Anthony’s ears were ringing.

It raised onto its remaining forearm and dragged its carcass toward him.

He stood, pointing the muzzle of the shotgun straight down at its head, and pulled the trigger once more.

BLAM.

The monster flattened without the back of its skull.

Two.

Was it dead? Anthony didn’t care to find out. He pumped again.

BLAM. Pump. The casing hit the carpet. BLAM.

Empty.

Anthony lifted the shotgun and tapped the remnants of the monster with the toe of his shoe. Its mangled body didn’t react. It occurred to him, distantly, that his only pair of nice jeans were soaked in blood and that he couldn’t hear anymore.

But the monster was dead. Very dead.

“You can come out, Betty,” he called. He wasn’t sure if he actually yelled or not—he couldn’t hear his own voice.

The closet door at the end of the hall opened and Betty crept out. Her mouth moved, and he knew she was speaking, but all he heard was a sound like a vibrating tuning fork.

She stood in the doorway, gaping at the body, and her mouth kept on moving. Judging by her expression, he was glad he didn’t have to listen to her.

The quality of the air in the room changed, and the remnants of the monster dissolved into the carpet.

Anthony leapt forward and tried to grab what used to be a finger—for what, he wasn’t sure—but it crumbled in his hand. Even the blood and chunks of intestine on his pants evaporated into puffs of smoke, leaving him as clean as he had been before the fight.

The entire thing was gone in seconds, and only the mess of shotgun damage proved there had ever been a fight.

Betty was agape. “Oh…my…god. What just happened?” It sounded as though she was whispering.

“I have no idea,” Anthony said. Biggest understatement of his life.

“Dad is going to be pissed when I tell him what happened to his carpet.” She stared at the floor—the empty shell casings, the chewed-up shag, and the pile of ash that had once been a body. Then she looked up at her cousin, the shotgun balanced between his hands, and a grin broke across her face. “That was so cool!” She punched his arm. “You’re practically G.I.-fucking-Joe!”

He dropped the shotgun and collapsed on the end of her bed. Anthony’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking. “Fuck.”

“Oh man, I think that might have been the most incredible experience of my life!”

Anthony worked his jaw around, trying to clear out his ears. His hearing had almost entirely returned, and the ringing was replaced by…silence.

“Why is it so quiet?”

Betty stopped quivering with delight to look at him. “Huh?”

“Where are the sirens?”

“There aren’t any.”

“That thing was loud. If someone had phoned in a disturbance, we’d have at least one car by now.”

Betty peered through her window to the silent street beyond. “I don’t know. There’s nobody outside, so maybe no one’s home—or the cops could be called away on something else.”

“Or something big is going on,” Anthony said. “I think someone just tried to kill us.”

“Kill us? With a deformed monkey? Why?”

Anthony used Betty’s bed post to haul himself into a standing position. “Something weird was happening with the coven. James said there were—I don’t know, demons or something. He called in an exorcist to help him. Didn’t he say that she was a friend?”

Betty nodded. “Yeah, but that was about Marisa’s kid.” A light clicked on behind her eyes. “Oh. Oh. But that’s impossible, I would know if…”

“Elise is the exorcist,” he finished. “She’s been injured. She’s not talking about why.”

“Aren’t priests the only ones who can do that stuff?” Betty asked, starting to pace. She didn’t let Anthony respond before continuing. “Okay, let’s say something is happening—maybe Elise is an exorcist or maybe she isn’t. It already attacked Marisa’s family. It attacked us. For all we know, it could have attacked Elise and James last night. Maybe that’s why she ditched you.” She gasped. “Maybe it’s after our coven!”

“That’s kind of a leap.” He laughed. “This is ridiculous.”

Betty rested her hands on his shoulders. “Anthony, not to sound patronizing, but you just killed a gargoyle on my carpet.”

“Good point.”

She left the room, searching through the rubble that had been her kitchen. “We need to find out if anyone else has been attacked. Help me find my cell phone?”

Anthony nodded. “Yeah, sure. Who’s left?”

“Those two witches that live up at the lake,” Betty said. “Windsong and her husband, Phoenix. Then there’s Morrighan, but she left to visit her grandparents in Virginia this morning. Stephanie lives in the area, but I don’t have her number. The only person in town is Ann.”

He plucked Betty’s pink phone from the spilled coffee pot. “Found it.” Betty hurried to remove the battery, but it was too late—something inside the phone fizzled. She sighed.

“Okay, we’ll just have to use the neighbor’s house phone to call everyone.”

“Ann lives just up the hill from the university. I’ll go check on her. Want to come?”

She surveyed the damage around her. “No. I should patch the window and clean up all that glass.”

“Call her and tell her I’m on my way. Whatever’s going on…it’s serious. Do you think you could get a hold of Elise too?”

“I’ll make sure she’s okay,” Betty said. She grabbed the shotgun from the bedroom and gave it to him, as well as a new box of shells. “I’ll make sure everyone’s okay. Call me when you find Ann—we should get together and figure out what’s going on. She’s smart. She’ll know.”

“Okay,” he said, dropping the ammo into his pocket. “Watch yourself.”

He ran out to his Jeep and jumped in, stowing the gun behind his seat. Anthony suspected he was scared—probably even terrified—and he just couldn’t feel it yet. He hadn’t stopped shaking. It wasn’t the time to freak out. Later, the shock of what had just happened would probably sink in, and he could really freak out.

At the moment, though, he had a purpose, and that was enough to keep him moving.

Chapter 13

Drip…drip drip…

Elise’s head throbbed in time with a distant beat. Her shoulders and ankles ached. Her eyes felt sticky.

Drip drip…

Where was she?

“James?” she croaked. Her throat was too thick and dry to speak properly. She swallowed and smacked her lips, rolling her tongue around in her mouth. “James?”

Drip…drip…

Something was running down her arm. She tried to lift her head against gravity, which seemed to have tripled while she was unconscious. The plain gray ceiling had a drain in the middle. The floor was covered in exposed beams.

Wait. No. That wasn’t right.

Elise was hanging upside down by her ankles.

She squinted at her arm in the dim light. Blood trickled out of the inner corner of her elbow, trailed down her hand, and dripped off her fingertip. That sound was her blood hitting the floor. Never a good sign.

She relaxed and shut her eyes to collect herself. It wasn’t the first time Elise had been captured by a demon. This was like riding a bicycle. A hell bicycle made of damned skeletons and fire, but a bicycle nevertheless.

Counting silently to ten, she opened her eyes again to study the room around her.

It was empty. No furniture, which meant no obstructions to use as hiding places. She knew she must have been disarmed, but she double checked her waist anyway. Even her holsters had been taken away. She wasn’t surprised to find that the stone staff was missing.

Flexing her abs to sit up, she held onto her ankles and examined the bindings. Silk ropes. What kind of demon used silk ropes? They were pulled tight against the iron hook by her weight, but nothing prevented her from untying them. She lifted herself on the hook with one hand while she picked at the knots with her fingernails.

The loss of blood made her weak. She had to rest twice before she could unravel the knots enough to get her first leg free. The second was short work after that, and she lowered herself carefully to the floor.

Changing orientation after being upside down for so long made her head rush. She braced a hand against the wall for a moment.

Deep breaths.

The only light came from the crack underneath the door. It looked like she was in an unfurnished, windowless basement, and her own blood was oozing toward the drain in the floor.

She finally got a good look at the wall she had been hanging on, and she jerked her hand back. The sigil from Lucinde’s forehead had been painted in blood on the wall. It stretched from floor to ceiling. Elise had been hanging in the middle of it.

All that blood couldn’t have come from her. She searched her body for injuries and only found a nick in the veins of each arm. It was already clotting.

She sniffed it. Definitely blood.

Someone moved on the other side of the door.

Elise crouched behind it, twisting the ropes around her fists and stretching them tight to form a garrote. Her heart wasn’t even beating fast. A strange kind of calm settled over her—the calm before the killing.

It swung open. She prepared to jump.

And Ann stepped in.

Elise brought the ropes down in front of the witch, yanking them against her throat to pull her back against Elise’s body.

She wrenched the ropes back. Ann choked.

“Elise—”

Turning her fists to tighten the ropes, Ann’s words became incoherent gurgles. She slapped against Elise’s hands as they sank to the floor together. The witch’s feet kicked helplessly against the concrete.

Elise nudged the door open with a toe to look in the hall. Empty. Shouldn’t there have been something guarding her?

Doubt crept in as Ann’s struggles grew weaker. What if James had sent her?

Ann gave strained spluttering noise.

Elise released her. She collapsed.

“What are you doing here?” Elise asked, crouching over her body. She gave Ann’s legs and sides a brief pat, searching for weapons, and didn’t find anything.

The witch sucked in several hard breaths. Her ruddy face had broken out in sweat.

“They aren’t kidding when they say you’re like a human weapon, are they?” she gasped. “That really hurt. I thought you were going to kill me.”

“I was,” she said. There was no point dancing around the subject. “I thought you were working for Death’s Hand. Did James send you? Is he okay?”

“James is fine for now.” Ann sat up and smiled.

The situation felt completely wrong for a rescue. Elise wrapped the rope around her fists again. She recalled seeing those bright blue eyes under a ski mask at the cemetery—the same eyes that smiled at her now.

“James told me you’re an herb witch,” Elise said. “But you’re the necromancer, aren’t you?”

Ann shrugged. “Kitchen witchery is easy to fake.” When Elise tensed, she held up a hand like it could stop an attack. “There are more than a dozen fiends in the house above us.”

“Why?”

“I’m not a fighter. It makes sense to have guards.”

“No. Why are you working with Death’s Hand?”

She stood and dusted herself off. Ann’s color was returning to normal. “Vedae som matis doesn’t think I should tell you very much. She’s usually right about things. Look, I like you a lot, Elise. I could have drained you dry to paint that sigil, but I used mostly pig’s blood instead. We don’t have to fight. There’s enough room in the new world for both of us.”

“New world?” Elise tried to make herself sound calm, even though she was watching the doorway and mentally calculating the odds of escaping twenty fiends unarmed.

“Sure. I know you’re in Reno because of the Warrens, and you thought all the power from them would prevent your enemies from locating you remotely…right?” Ann didn’t wait for a response before continuing. “But that protection doesn’t come from the Warrens. There are angelic ruins below them.”

She already knew that, but having her suspicions confirmed made a sick kind of chill settle over her.

“So this is a takeover.”

“Vedae som matis is trapped in Hell, Elise. You know what it’s like down there? It’s…well, it’s Hell. All she needs to break through to this side is a corporeal body, and then we can build a kingdom together.” She took the stone staff out of her pocket and gave it the kind of loving look most girls would reserve for a boyfriend.

Her opinion of Ann immediately shifted from “this girl is misguided” to “this girl is insane.”

Ann stepped forward, holding out a hand. “We can still be friends. When vedae som matis takes over, she’ll need a council, and I can suggest you and Betty if…”

“If what? If I agree to be a blood donor?”

“No,” she said. “I’ve got all I needed from you. My house is done being anointed. Vedae som matis was right about that, too. Your blood is really potent.”

“You can’t use me as a vessel. I’m not a witch.”

Her smile went painfully wide. “Who says I wanted you? I poisoned James for a reason, you know.”

I am the cold kiss of Death…

Elise joined her fists together and swung, bringing both down on Ann’s head.

The witch screamed as she fell, bringing up her arms to protect herself. It wasn’t good enough. Elise kicked her in the face, and her nose snapped. Blood sprayed across the concrete.

A gray blur hurtled into the room, striking Elise in the stomach with all the power of an oncoming train. Her back slammed into the wall.

Over the fiend’s head, Elise saw Ann try to push herself up, then collapse again.

Elise kneed the demon in the stomach, pushing it away from her. She ran for the door, but the fiend grabbed at her shirt with its clawed hands. She stuck her hip out and used its own momentum to throw it over her leg. It lost balance, and Elise jumped over Ann, pausing only to pick up the staff.

It made her hands burn, so she stuffed it in the back pocket of her jeans. She ran up the stairs and burst through the door to the first floor of the house.

The walls were lined with pictures. None of them featured Ann.

Something scuffled in the basement behind her.

Elise darted to the nearest room, throwing the door open. Empty bedroom. There was a bookshelf in front of the window. She opened another door—closet. Its shelves were covered in fragments of bone.

The fiend launched itself out of Ann’s room, and she dodged. It hit the wall instead, and the drywall cracked.

“Get the kopis!” Ann shrieked from the other room. “Get her!”

Elise rushed into the darkened living room. It stank of brimstone and blood, and a trio of possessed corpses sat beside the battered couch. They didn’t register Elise’s appearance, even though she recognized two of them as the ones she had fought in the cemetery the night before.

But the pair of fiends huddled in the corner in the shadow of the television, eating a bloody scrap of meat, didn’t fail to see Elise.

One of the fiends darted at her, and she backhanded it, sending it flying into the wall.

Fire burned a path down Elise’s thigh. She cried out. The second fiend flung shreds of her jeans from its claws and slashed again, but she leapt away just in time. The backs of her legs bumped into something, and she stumbled. Her thigh gave out.

Elise hit the ground. The possessed ones animated and stood, staring at her with empty eyes.

She scrambled to her feet as they lunged, kicking a fiend squarely in the face. It flew backwards with a little squeal, striking the lone window through the curtains and sliding to the floor.

Elise flung open the front door, and light flooded into the living room. The remaining fiend recoiled, covering its bulbous eyeballs with tiny scarred hands.

She hurtled outside into fresh air and freedom. She ran to the end of the street and stopped short—Ann’s house was on a hill overlooking the city, and below the hill stood Our Mother of Sorrows cemetery.

The other houses on the street were silent, seemingly unoccupied, but the sky was gray and growing darker by the minute. Black thunderheads rolled down the mountains toward the late afternoon sun. Once the sun disappeared, there would be nothing keeping the fiends from following her.

The possessed ones didn’t care about sunlight. Something scraped behind her.

They were coming.

Elise’s feet pounded against pavement. Her right twitched. The fiend’s claws hurt like a son of a bitch, and the staff in her pocket hummed with furious energy.

The street behind her grew louder. More scraping, more motion. Elise’s leg wouldn’t go as fast as she needed it to—every time she set down her foot, her leg buckled and the best she could manage was a striding limp.

She glanced over her shoulder. Three possessed ones chased her, and they were picking up speed. Worse yet, Elise could feel the demonic presence of the fiends—they were vulnerable to bright lights, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t run blind. And Ann was furious enough to make them do it.

A Jeep passed the other end of the street and stopped at the corner.

“Elise!” The Jeep backed up, made a hard turn, and pulled up alongside her backward. Anthony stared at her from the driver’s seat. “What’s going on?”

“No time to explain,” she said, grabbing the car’s frame and hauling her body up. She didn’t even wait to be fully inside the car before waving at him. “Go, Anthony!”

He adjusted his side mirror. “What are those?”

She clambered into the passenger’s seat. The sense of the servants was almost overwhelming, and she didn’t need to look to know they were coming up on the Jeep. “Drive, damn it! Drive!”

Anthony slammed his foot on the gas. The tires spun out, and the engine red-lined.

Then he found traction, and the car shot down the street. Elise was thrown back into the seat. She gripped the roll cage, twisting around to watch the street recede behind them.

He threw a hard left turn without slowing down. The Jeep felt like it was going to roll, but it barely kept its tires on the road.

The fiends couldn’t keep up. Even better, there wasn’t much traffic, so they didn’t have to stop. Elise dropped back again and ripped her jeans open even wider to see the damage. Three parallel gashes marked the side of her thigh, hip to knee. Although they burned, the wound was shallow.

“Oh God,” Anthony said, staring at her leg.

“Get to the studio, and take the back roads,” Elise ordered, reaching into the back seat to search through his junk. She found an oil-stained polo with a university logo on the breast. “Are you attached to this shirt?”

He shook his head, and she dabbed at her wounds.

“Elise, what in the heck was—shit!”

Anthony slammed on the breaks. She hit the dashboard hands-first.

She looked up in time to see a hand swipe at her over the windshield, white eyes and a pale face dripping with blood pressed against the glass.

“Don’t stop!” Elise yelled, pushing the hand aside when the servant reached for Anthony. He slouched low in his seat. “Faster!”

The engine roared. She pulled herself up on the windshield, hauled back, and punched the servant with all her strength. He didn’t register any pain, but his one-handed grip on the roll cage weakened.

Anthony swerved, and Elise fell against the side of the Jeep. The possessed one tumbled off the hood.

Elise watched him roll down the asphalt. A truck several car lengths behind them swerved to avoid him as it turned the corner. The servant picked itself up, and then Anthony and Elise turned a corner as well. He disappeared.

“What the fuck was that?” Anthony asked as Elise plopped back down in the seat again. His chest was rising and falling rapidly as though he had been the one running. His face and knuckles were white. “That looked like—I mean—was that a zombie?”

“Not exactly. I have no idea why you were passing that street, Anthony, but thank God you were. I’m not sure I could have out-run them. I think they’re getting stronger.”

“Oh my God, they’re still back there, aren’t they? Ann lives up there! We have to go back, she might be—”

“Fuck Ann,” Elise said. “She’s fine.”

“I’m going to take your word for it. I have seen the weirdest shit today,” Anthony said. “Do you want to tell me what’s the hell is going on?”

She studied the strong line of his nose and jaw in profile. He was focusing on the road, but the veins standing out on his neck belied how much of an effort it was for him not to stare at Elise.

“You know how you were saying you wanted to be a part of my life?” she asked. He nodded, knuckles white. “Wish granted. Now get me back to the studio.”

Part Five: The Twelfth Hour

GUATEMALA – AUGUST 2004

When James woke up in the condo, he was partially healed, and totally alone. Elise’s swords were gone.

He wasn’t sure if it was instinct or Elise’s history of getting into trouble that told him something was wrong, but he didn’t bother waiting for her to return. He stuffed what was left of his Book of Shadows into a bag, slung it over his shoulder, and hobbled out the door with his makeshift crutch. He could barely feel his knee as magic knit the ligaments back together. Every time he took a step, it tried to buckle under him.

Worse yet, it was still raining, and as dark as night even though it was afternoon. The ground was slick and muddy. But slowly, deliberately, he made his way toward town.

He tensed when he saw two figures coming up the road toward him. When they drew close enough for him to realize they were human, he still didn’t relax.

One of the men was built like a cinderblock, and the other was a boy with a shotgun strapped to his back and nervous eyes. “Where’s Elise?” asked the first without prelude.

“Who are you?” James asked, raising his voice to be heard over the blasting wind.

“The name’s Bryce.” The cinderblock jerked his thumb at the other man. “This is Diego. McIntyre said Elise needs our help. Here we are.”

So they were kopides. Both of them. “I thought McIntyre was coming himself.”

“He couldn’t make it,” Diego said with an accent so thick that James barely understood him.

“Well, you’re too late. She’s already gone. She’s gone into the undercity—looking for that clock.”

“So she’s dead,” Bryce said.

James’s fist clenched on his walking stick. “No. She’s alive.” He would know the instant she died. It hadn’t happened. Not yet. “But that could change quickly. We have to find her.”

Bryce looked excited at the prospect of going into the undercity. He grinned, and James saw that he was missing most of his teeth. His skin had the tough, scarred look of an old farmer even though he couldn’t have been thirty yet.

“Fucking fantastic,” he said. “Tell us what to do.”

He opened his mouth to respond.

James!

Pain flared down his flesh. Burning silver spikes flayed his skin, baring his bones as the jungle blurred and darkened around him.

With a roar of pain, James staggered. A pair of hands kept him from falling.

“The hell—?” someone said.

But James was lost in a black pit of agony. Smoke burned his lungs. Hot stone dug into his spine, and metal bit his wrists, chafing until they went slick with blood.

No. Not his wrists.

A fist struck him across the face. His vision cleared in time to see Bryce rearing above him with his hand raised for another blow. “Stop,” James said with a shudder. Elise’s silent cries echoed through him. He hadn’t even know she could scream.

Bryce lifted him and set him on his feet like he was a child. Diego gave James his dropped crutch.

“What’s wrong with you?” Bryce asked warily. His hands flexed as he stared around at the trees, as though waiting to be attacked.

“It’s Elise. Something is happening to her. She’s—”

The pain blazed again.

James…James…

She was chained. Bleeding.

“What should we do? Tell us how to help,” Diego said. His hands were trembling.

Help? They wanted to help?

He took a moment to size them up. Bryce looked as dumb as the mud beneath his feet, but he was pure muscle. Diego wouldn’t be nearly so useful—he was too scared. He wouldn’t last long in the undercity, and James wouldn’t make it far with his ruined knee, either. And he wanted that shotgun.

“Sorry about this,” James said.

He dropped his walking stick, pulled a slip of paper from the Book of Shadows, and seized Diego’s arm.

Electricity leaped between them. Diego’s skin turned ashen gray, and he collapsed, dragging them both to the ground. Bryce shouted and drew his gun, but James held up his hands.

“He’s fine,” James said. “He’ll be okay. He’s unconscious.”

Careful to stay out of arm’s reach, Bryce checked Diego’s pulse. “What did you do to him?”

“I borrowed his strength to heal myself.” And to prove it, he stood up—slowly, no need to tempt the trigger finger—and stripped the bandages from his knee. It didn’t hurt anymore.

James expected him to argue. There were so few living witches that rivaled his power that most people weren’t aware such healing was even possible. But Bryce looked angry, not disbelieving. “Are you nuts?” he asked. “Now there’s only two of us!”

“And I wouldn’t have been able to go anywhere without healing first. Tell me: would you rather descend toward almost certain death with a scared boy, or the aspis who just defeated him with a single touch?”

Bryce couldn’t seem to find a reason to argue.

Elise had no idea that she could hurt so much without passing out. Time made no sense anymore. Had it been minutes? Hours? Years?

Had the clock struck twelve yet?

Brilliant white pain burned through her bones. Blood raced down her skin from a thousand shallow cuts.

She was a roast pig on a spit. She was a rabbit being skinned. Pillars of fire raced along her spine, arced through the sky, scorched the earth.

When she thought it couldn’t hurt worse, the knife dug in somewhere new, and it did.

“Amazing how well kopides heal,” a voice said. “You may not even scar.”

The words jangled in her ears. She screamed and screamed. Blood swirled past her head, filling the cracks in the stone, and flashes of black blurred her vision.

The tip of a stone knife scraped against her breastbone.

You may not even scar.

Her head swam. She had no blood. No skin.

The goddess of death held something over her, and it dripped warmth on her face, and Elise thought she recognized the strip of pink dotted by freckles and—oh God.

The world couldn’t end soon enough.

James ran through the jungle. He didn’t see with his eyes; he saw with Elise’s. He saw a limp hand in front of her on the floor. He saw pooling blood. He saw iron chains and bare, dirty feet.

Pain. So much pain.

He muttered under his breath as he ran on his repaired knee, even though he wasn’t sure she could hear. “I’m coming—hold on—stay awake—”

Bryce crashed gracelessly through the trees behind him, panting and swearing. Like many bulky, muscled men, he didn’t seem to have focused on his cardio health. He couldn’t keep up.

The rain poured around them, salty-sweet like the ocean. Trees swayed in the wind. James’s shirt stuck to his back, and he hugged the shotgun to his chest to keep from catching on the foliage.

Where was she?

James tried to follow the feelings Elise radiated, but it was difficult. Her mind made no sense to him. Maybe if they had been piggybacked—maybe if she wasn’t in so much pain—

A mark on a tree caught his eye. “Wait!” James called.

Bryce stopped and leaned on his knees, gasping for air. “What?”

A signpost was carved into the trunk of the tree. It was a marker from one demon to another, indicating the direction of the undercity.

His eyes tracked the signpost to the next tree, and the next. There were small marks all around him. They led back toward town. How could he have missed them?

“This way,” James said.

He doubled back, climbing toward the road. Bryce followed as well as he could. “Hey!” he shouted. “We got company!”

James turned. It was hard to see through the motion of the trees in the wind, but something was moving higher on the mountain. Dark shapes.

“Demons?” James called back.

“A whole fucking century of ‘em!”

He ran faster, the Book of Shadows bouncing on his back in its bag. He didn’t like his odds against a centuria of demons—over eighty of them—not even with Bryce’s help.

As he followed the marks closer to town, he began to hear yelps and howls. They were getting closer.

“It’s in there,” he shouted, pointing at a shop the markers indicated as the entrance. Bryce was hurrying to catch up, but he was still a hundred meters back. “I’m going down! Can you hold them off?”

The kopis responded by drawing his gun.

James dove into the shop and went into the basement. There was a trap door. It was open, but the stairs had collapsed.

James!

Elise was screaming again. She wasn’t far. He could feel her through the earth, through the collapsed paths, just a couple miles away but completely unreachable.

Gunshots fired outside the shop. Bryce shouted.

Fear dragged on James’s heart. What was he supposed to do? How could he get to Elise when the only entrance to the undercity was blocked?

He shut his eyes, trying to see through their bond again. Where are you? How can I reach you?

Through her pain, he glimpsed a bone scepter and a stone knife. James fought to push back the sounds of fighting above him and focus on her vision, trying to see beyond the bare knees of the goddess.

A wall. Smoke. Window. And beyond that, pyramid. It was tall. The chamber, and the clock inside of it, was huge.

James’s eyes flew open. She wasn’t at the end of a labyrinth of demonic undercity—she was just under the surface, in the jungle not far from him.

He quickly paged through his Book of Shadows, seeing how many battle spells he had left. There weren’t many. The simple ones—casting fire, blasts of air—were almost gone. Everything else that remained were the powerful spells his aunt told him not to mess with. Horrible, deadly spells. He’d been carrying them around for years.

Whispering a short prayer, James ripped a handful of pages out of the Book and flew up the stairs to street level.

Bryce blocked the doorway with his body. Another one of the leathery gray demons had its teeth clamped down on the arm of his leather jacket. Dozens more demons rushed down the street.

James barely had time to register the sheer number of bodies before they crashed upon them. He was lost in a rush of blood and drool and growls. He dropped the shotgun. “Get down!” he shouted to Bryce.

The kopis threw himself to the ground, and James threw a scrap of paper.

Power ripped from him. A dozen hearts stopped beating at once.

They fell like dominoes, but James didn’t stop to watch it. He grabbed Bryce by the arm and hauled him to his feet. “Move,” he said as the surviving demons clambered over their dead brethren. “Now. Hurry!”

The men sprinted across the road and into the jungle again. James could still hear Elise in the back of his mind, but it was faint. After another minute, he couldn’t hear her at all.

“Why aren’t we going down?” Bryce asked.

“We are going down,” James said. “But we’re not taking the stairs.”

After an eternity of pain, Elise awoke. She tried to sit up, but her hands couldn’t find traction. She slipped on something soft and slick. She looked down to see that it was a face with gaping eyes and no jaw.

Gasping, she jerked back. Something dug into her leg—an exposed rib.

There was nowhere safe to move. She slid to one side and rolled on top of a hairy chest with no head. When she slipped to the other side, her hand fell on a scapula.

The realization that she was in a pit of human meat came upon her slowly, and it was followed by emotional silence—a yawning void of feeling. Elise took one shuddering breath and stopped fighting to get away.

She settled back on the corpses and looked up at the steep walls around her. It was dark, but the occasional blast of flame revealed jagged rock. She could climb out. The clock was still rocking the earth with every beat of its human heart, and it sounded close.

She was still in the chamber. She was not dead.

But given all the pain she felt in her torso, she almost wished that were not true. No amount of emotional void could numb her cuts. Elise was slick with blood—both hers and that of the bodies—and she felt like she had gone through a cheese grater.

Her shirt was nothing but scraps, her weapons were missing, and there was a stab wound on her side. She flinched when she remembered the goddess burying the knife in her body. It was the last thing she remembered before waking up.

She must have missed all Elise’s important organs, but the goddess hadn’t known that before leaving her for dead. Thrown her in a pit of bodies. Forgotten her.

Elise decided to consider herself lucky.

She counted to ten and crawled to the wall of the pit. The clock continued to tick.

Digging her fingernails into a jutting rock, Elise climbed to the top with her teeth grit. Stretching her arm to find another handhold hurt her stab wound. Putting her weight on one leg to push made the bites on her hip burn.

She rolled over the edge and scrambled to the shadows on all fours, finding a dark corner to crouch before examining the situation.

Elise could see the back of the clock. It was only a hundred feet away. Her side of the chamber was empty aside from the pit, sheltered by half-rotten columns, and the occasional blast of steam from the floor grates made enough smoke to conceal her.

She couldn’t see many of those ugly gray demons around the clock, but she could feel them. There were hundreds. The goddess of death was talking to them, but Elise didn’t stop to listen.

She made her way to the other side of the chamber, sticking to the shadows, and climbed unseen onto one of the platforms with the dead cultists.

A flash of silver caught her eye. The goddess had dropped her staff of bone and was carrying one of Elise’s falchions as she paced across the dais.

There were four humans huddled beside her. It looked like a family. Their wrists were chained to the clock.

So that was the sacrifice. Elise wondered what it was about those people that made them a better sacrifice than her, the greatest kopis, who barely ranked as demon food. It would have wounded her pride if she had any.

She needed a plan, but she didn’t have any idea of how to cross the room through a hundred demons, prevent the sacrifice of four humans, and stop the clock with numerous injuries and no time. She didn’t even have her weapons.

Of course, that was fixable. If she could get one of her swords, she could bury it in the heart of the clock. It was the only thing she could imagine that might stop it.

Her time to plan ended. The death goddess stopped speaking and whirled with the stone knife. It plunged into the neck of the man at her feet, and blood spurted from his throat.

Elise leaped off the dais, launching herself toward the sacrifices.

But it was too late. With a few swift strokes, all four lay dead in front of the clock. The minute hand groaned into the twelve position, and the first bell chimed.

James found a place in the jungle where the trees swayed and the ground vibrated beneath his feet. The clock was below him, and Elise with it. He was certain.

But he also had a hundred demons following him.

He and Bryce had evaded some of them in the jungle, but not enough. The kopis fired randomly into the horde behind him. Whether any of the bullets hit their targets didn’t matter—there wasn’t enough ammunition to kill them all.

Stopping where the vibrations were strongest, he tucked the shotgun under his arm. “I need a minute!” James yelled as he scrambled up a tree. “Hold them off!”

Bryce didn’t respond. His fighting style completely lacked Elise’s grace, but there was no denying the accuracy of his aim or the power of his swinging fists. He was a force of nature.

“Hurry up!” Bryce shouted.

James wedged himself between two high branches, selected a couple spells from his Book, and took out a pen. He muttered words of power under his breath as he drew new spells.

The rocking earth shifted. The tree shuddered, and the air grew thick.

A bell chimed.

The reverberations above the pyramid were so powerful that the entire ground tipped. Bryce lost his footing. The demons swarmed over him. He didn’t get a chance to scream.

James tried not to watch as they overtook him. One demon leaped onto the trunk of his tree, then another, scaling it with their stubby claws.

He carefully folded three of the spells together. A hand swiped at his foot.

Then he threw the pages into the air.

The earth split with a dull thud, ripping open beneath the trees while the first bell continued to toll. Hot air gusted through the hole. Demons slid into the earth.

Holding his breath, James leaped off his branch.

Twelve bells. Four minutes. Elise was out of time.

One.

A dozen demons plowed into Elise like athletes piling onto a football. The back of her head cracked against the ground.

She jammed her elbow into a biting mouth and jabbed her fingers into an eye. The bell vibrated through the temple. It shook her blood, her bones.

Elise lashed out with a foot and felt it connect with something. It didn’t do any good. There was no light under the pile of demons, no sense of gravity.

That was when the roof collapsed.

Two.

The rubble didn’t crush Elise. But it did crush the demons on top of her.

She shoved her way out of the pile. Dirt and rain showered through the hole in the ceiling. Beyond it, the sky changed. Gray faded to crimson as Hell and Earth began to merge.

Elise gasped and coughed through the dust. Half of the centuria had been crushed at once. Nothing so much as touched the clock.

A hammer swung. The bell struck again.

Three.

The third chime was louder than the first two. Her skull ached, and even when she jammed her hands against her ears, her brain rattled.

Something moved on the dais. The goddess had survived.

More demons began climbing toward Elise over the rubble. She stumbled toward the clock, slipped, and almost fell.

Her hand caught the side of the dais. The vibrations traveled up her arm and down her spine as she dragged herself onto it.

The goddess was laughing.

Four.

“It’s too late,” said the death goddess. “Hell is come upon Earth.”

That face. That laugh. Elise’s wounds ached with the memory of the knife. “Shut up,” she growled, raising her fist for a strike.

“Elise!”

She looked up. James climbed down from the surface, carefully making his way along a tipped column. The first thing that occurred to her was that his leg was fixed. The second was that he had a shotgun. Where had James gotten a shotgun?

The goddess saw him. She stopped laughing.

“Catch!” he yelled, tossing the gun.

Elise caught it, balancing it awkwardly between her hands. She’d only held a shotgun once before. Her father had taught her to shoot, but she hated them.

Still, she was armed. It was better than the alternative.

She whipped the butt of the shotgun across the goddess’s face. Her head snapped back.

Five.

The sky turned virulent red, and the world was falling. Elise’s senses screamed—demons everywhere, all around her, like she had felt in Dis so long ago—and the air tensed like something was about to snap.

Demons were climbing toward James. She was helpless to join him.

The goddess regained her footing and came at Elise, falchion raised. She braced the shotgun against her shoulder, took aim, and fired.

The goddess’s leg became a mess of red below the knee. She screamed in Latin. Elise smiled.

Six.

Elise tried to pump the shotgun so she could fire again, but the mechanism was stuck. Didn’t matter. She preferred the personal touch anyway.

She tossed the gun aside and ripped her falchion out of the goddess’s hand. The twin was next to the sacrifices. Elise grabbed it, too.

Holding both of her swords was like having her arms reattached. She was complete.

Seven.

Elise thought her skull might split in two.

The chime shook James off the pillar, dropping him in the crowd of waiting demons.

“James!” she shouted.

No response.

The dais rocked with the pendulum. She scrambled to keep her footing as the goddess lunged. Her stone knife slashed through the air and sliced into Elise’s arm, deeper than before. She cut into muscle.

The air thickened, darkened, grew sour. Air gusted from the grates. It stunk of sulfur, like the planes of Hell.

A man screamed.

Eight.

The goddess was fast. Too fast for a woman with a ruined leg. She twisted and spun, meeting the blades of Elise’s swords with her stone knife, swift and agile and skilled beyond imagining.

She deflected every swing, every strike. The ritual knife was a blur. Blades met, and Elise shoved her away. She couldn’t take down a goddess.

The clock was her last chance—the only way she could stop the collapse of the wall between Heaven and Earth.

Nine.

The goddess flashed in front of her. The knife bit into Elise’s injured side. She cried out, and her voice was silent under the bell’s roar.

Pain seared through her body when the goddess shoved her against the clock. Elise’s ears rang. Her vertebrae shook and scraped against each other.

The stone knife slashed open her brow. Blood cascaded down the side of her face.

Rain showered upon them. It tasted like acid.

Ten.

Her back was against the clock. She was right there, and she couldn’t do anything to stop it. The goddess’s stinking breath heated Elise’s face as she smiled, baring bloody teeth.

If she couldn’t reach the heart of the clock, there was another heart she could reach.

She kicked the goddess away. Just enough to have room to move.

A wave of demons crashed against the dais, clambering over the edge. Their mouths were bloody. Elise wondered if any of that belonged to James.

Eleven.

She plunged her sword into the goddess’s chest.

The heart in the clock exploded blood, splattering against the inner workings. The hammer shattered.

The dais pitched and everyone fell.

The twelfth bell never rang.

When the eleventh bell died off, Elise was the only one left standing.

She clutched her sword in both hands as though it was her last line to life. Its blade dripped, her knuckles were white, and her gaze was empty. Her mind was a thousand miles away.

The pendulum no longer kept in time with the seconds. Its hand slowed with every swing.

Nearby, gray matter slipped out of a crack in a demon’s skull, oozing across the tile. It trickled into one of the iron grates and dripped onto underground fires a hundred feet below. Brain hit flame. It gave a hiss and smelled like barbecue.

Barbecue. Her stomach lurched.

The sword slipped from Elise’s fingers. Metal clattered against stone. The death goddess was sprawled at her feet, her necklace of skulls shattered, and her face had lost all its malice in death. She almost looked human.

The fires darkened and the heat faded.

Elise’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling. Her fingers twined through the curls at her scalp as her mouth opened in a silent cry. She had screamed too much earlier in the night and no longer had a voice.

Her knees weakened. She collapsed.

The clock’s pendulum continued to slow.

James pushed the bodies of demons off of him. Emptying every page of the Book—even the terrible ones he had sworn never to use—meant they had died in a thousand ugly ways. Ruptured organs. Suffocation. Burning from the inside.

His foot caught the pentagram-marked binder as he climbed free, but he didn’t pick it up. He didn’t want to look at it. He never wanted to cast a spell again.

The clock wasn’t ticking with that terrible pulse anymore, and the sudden silence made his ears ring. Coughing, he slipped to the bottom of the pillar. “Elise?” he called, voice muffled in his ears.

He nudged a demon’s body onto its back. The slash of its mouth gaped open, and the remaining air in its lungs sighed out with a whiff of sulfur. Covering his nose and mouth with his arm, he moved forward. James scrutinized each body he passed, half expecting to see Elise beneath them.

The room depressurized, and the demons began to rot.

Their skin dissolved to reveal bone. Their chests spread and tore. Organs twisted like worms within their guts as they vanished. One by one, they rotted away until the only body left was that of the goddess in the front of the room.

A glint of steel caught his eye. His gaze moved from the sword to the legs beside it, and he realized the goddess wasn’t alone.

“Jesus Christ…” He scrambled onto the dais. Elise’s skin was shredded and her chest was blackened with blood, and his stomach flipped when he realized it was all hers. “Elise—oh, Lord, Elise…”

Her eyes fluttered open. “James?”

“Are you all right?”

She sat up carefully, wincing. “I’m not the one with a sword through my chest.” It wasn’t funny, but he laughed. Even a hint of humor after that fight was enough to drive him toward hysteria. “Let’s not do this again.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He helped her stand, and then picked up the sword she dropped. Elise turned to leave. “Don’t you want the other one?”

She glanced at the falchion buried deep in the goddess’s chest. Her lip curled. “No. Hell can keep it.”

The bladed clock swung once more, and it stopped midway on the down stroke, forever frozen between tick and tock. The earth shook.

“We need to get out of here,” James said.

Slowly, painfully, they climbed to the surface. Night had fallen, and the rain had stopped, leaving the air sticky and hot. They staggered almost a quarter mile before collapsing.

Elise shuddered like a tree in a hurricane. Her wounds looked agonizing.

“Can you heal me?” she asked. Her voice came out in a raw whisper.

“I’m sorry. I have nothing left.”

She nodded without speaking. Her face was very pale.

They stared up at the vast black sky together. The clouds thinned, revealing stars and endless black sky. They waited until the sky faded to the deep navy of false dawn, and the sounds of night were replaced by birdsong.

When the sun broke the horizon, the light shone in Elise’s hollow gaze.

They had won, but James couldn’t help but feel they had lost something much worse than their lives. She sagged against his side. “Never again,” he murmured into her hair. “Never again.”

Part Six: Sacrifice

Chapter 14

“James!”

Elise burst through the apartment door. The air inside was stale having the windows and doors closed all day. Nothing had changed since she left—paper spells were strewn across the kitchen table, and a rug was rolled neatly against the wall. There were even vacuum lines on the carpet from the last time James cleaned.

“I could use you at Motion and Dance, Betty,” Anthony was saying into his cell phone, trailing behind Elise. “There’s something going down. Elise is messed up and I’m confused and I need someone sane. Yes, you’re sane. What? God, shut up. Just get over here, okay?”

Elise jiggled the handle on James’s door, and it didn’t open. She found the key on top of the molding for the bathroom door. The tumblers fell into place with an audible click.

James’s bed was empty. She cut her gaze to the window—open—to the mess of papers and books on the floor. The sheets on his bed were a mess. Stephanie sat at his desk. She gazed blankly at the window.

Anthony came up beside Elise and peered over her shoulder. “Was there a fight?” he asked.

Elise gazed at the exposed mattress. Red drops blotted its surface. She ran her fingertips along one of the spots, and rubbed it between her finger and thumb. She didn’t need a forensic expert to know whose blood it was.

“Stephanie,” she said. The doctor didn’t look at her. “Stephanie. Dr. Whyte.”

Slowly, so slowly, she looked over to Elise. “They took him,” she said. Her voice was the kind of calm that came from having reached a point of such hysteria that she didn’t have any emotion left. “Those…things. They came through the window. I cracked it to get some air.”

Elise hauled Stephanie out of the chair and slammed her into the wall by the door. Anthony gave a startled cry and stepped forward, but she shot him a look that froze him mid-step.

“Are you working with her? Did you let Ann in? What the fuck did you do to him?”

Stephanie’s face crumbled. “I didn’t do anything. James was resting peacefully. I got a phone call and after I hung up, they came in. They knocked me out. I woke up and…” She wouldn’t look at the bed.

“Who called you?” Elise demanded.

“Ann. She said she had a question for James.”

“Did you tell her to come in? Did you tell her to take him?” She pulled back a fist, but Anthony caught it.

“Elise!”

He peeled her off Stephanie. Elise jerked her arm out of his grasp, but she didn’t move to attack again.

The doctor adjusted her shirt, neatened her hair, and broke down into tears.

“I don’t understand,” she cried. “What was that?”

Stephanie sobbed for a good long minute, and Elise waited, drumming her fingers against her thigh. When the doctor showed no sign of letting up, she made a disgusted noise.

“This isn’t helpful. Where did they take James?”

Stephanie sucked in a hard breath, straightening and grabbing a tissue to blow her nose. The tears stopped as suddenly as they began. Long breath in, long breath out. When she spoke, her tone was measured and even. She enunciated each word with great care. “I have no clue. I was unconscious.”

“What were you doing all day?”

“I woke up a few hours ago and waited for you. I didn’t know what to do,” she said. “I think—I might go home.”

“She’s in shock,” Anthony whispered.

“Fine. Get out of here. Have a drink and lay down or something. You’re not doing any good,” Elise said. Stephanie left without saying another word.

Elise stared at the spot of blood on the bed, her gaze narrowing until she saw nothing else.

James was gone. Ann had him, and Elise had been right there the whole time.

“I’m going to fucking kill her,” she said.

Daylight waned. Clouds darkened what little sun remained. One moment, the air had grown still, and the next, rain poured out of the thunderheads. Lighting sparked over the mountains in the distance. Rain filled the streets and the people of the city took shelter inside.

Inside Motion and Dance, a storm also began to break within Elise.

“He’s not here,” she said.

“Who?” Betty asked. Her friend Cassandra had given her a ride as soon as Anthony called, but Elise’s attitude made her wish she had taken a minute to put on full body armor first.

Her roommate paced the dance hall like a caged animal, limping on every other step. Her eyes were darkened pits of fury. She had become the spirit of vengeance itself, barely contained by human flesh.

Anthony cradled his forehead in his hands as he leaned against one of the mirrors in the main dance hall. He had stopped trying to talk when Elise almost punched him for it.

“Who’s not here?” Betty repeated.

“James. She took him.” She struck the palm of her hand with a fist. “I shouldn’t have left so fast. I should have searched the house. I should have…”

“Hey, calm down,” Betty said, touching Elise’s shoulder. Her skin was hot. “Talk to me, girl. What’s happened?”

“Ann has kidnapped my aspis for ritual sacrifice to a demon goddess of death.”

Betty shook her head. “Yesterday, I would have said you were crazy. Today—well, you’re still crazy, but it’s contagious. What’s an aspis? Demons? Is that what that gargoyle thing was?”

“That was a fiend.” She flung herself into the chair, shredding her jeans along the hole to turn them into half-shorts. Betty leaned in to examine the gashes on Elise’s legs. The blood had smeared, and the wounds were raw.

“I hate to state the obvious, but…”

“Yeah, it doesn’t look good,” Elise said. She pressed a towel emblazoned with the “Motion & Dance” logo against her injury. They were intended to be used by sweaty dancers. Elise’s blood soaked through the cloth quickly, obscuring the logo of the ballet man wrapped around the ampersand.

“So what’s this about zombies?” Betty asked.

“They’re not zombies,” Elise replied impatiently. “They’re the dead, possessed by a demon called Death’s Hand, and reanimated to do her evil bidding.”

Betty began laughing again. When she saw that nobody joined her, she stopped. Elise’s eyes were cold. She was serious. Deadly serious. Betty deflated. “Oh, jeeze,” she said. “I can’t believe Ann’s evil. I mean, lazy Ann? ‘Let’s eat ice cream after working out’ Ann?”

Elise dropped the towel in the trash can. “The one and only.” She moved her leg experimentally, watching the gashes.

Betty spun on Anthony. “Why aren’t you as shocked as I am?”

“We were attacked by some kind of mutant this morning, and then a dead body with bleeding eyes attack my windshield,” he said dully. “My ability to get shocked has eloped with my sanity and run away to Africa.”

“I think I need the Reader’s Digest version of what’s going on,” Betty said.

“I don’t have time for this. I need weapons and I need to bring all kinds of pain down on Ann.” She snapped her fingers at Anthony. “You’re taking me in the Jeep. Now.”

“Fine.”

Betty hurried after them as they went for the front doors. Elise spoke as she limped along.

“So here’s what I told Anthony: I’m James’s exorcist friend. When working with Lucinde, I stumbled across a demonic plot to ascend to Earth from Hell. Ann is a powerful necromancer and she’s on his side. Now they’re planning to sacrifice James. Good enough for you?”

“Wow. Uh. Okay. If Ann’s got James, why can’t we just walk in and take him? I mean, we’ve worked out with Ann. She’s not exactly formidable.”

“She has a small army. We can’t ‘just walk in’ unless we deal with them first.”

“Oh,” Betty said.

Anthony opened the front door, letting in a wash of the moist air.

A small figure stood silhouetted against the rain. She wore a slicker too big for her tiny body, and she stepped inside without being invited. The girl pushed back her hood, revealing a face with white eyes and cheeks tracked by blood tears. Her skin was pale, almost papery.

Betty took a step back, covering her mouth with a hand. The little girl had a black symbol on her forehead, and her veins pulsed visibly beneath the skin.

Elise sucked in a hard breath. “Lucinde.”

“It’s like that zombie I saw earlier,” Anthony muttered. “But…it’s a kid.”

The child’s blank eyes focused on Elise. Her mouth dropped open.

“I have James,” she said. Her mouth didn’t move, and the woman’s voice that came out sounded like a recording. “You have the artifact of vedae som matis. Let’s be adults about this. I’ll cure James of the poison, return him to you, and leave the area. You won’t hear from us again. Just give back the staff.”

Betty glanced at Elise. She was watching the girl with her lips set in a hard line.

She went on. “I’ll take everything with me. You can return to living a normal life. I’m sorry we ever had to fight like this, Elise. I wouldn’t have chosen it. I want to meet at Our Mother of Sorrows at ten o’clock tonight. Send your response with my servant.” Her mouth clapped shut, and she stood, immobile, with her hand extended.

Anthony shuddered. “That’s freaky.”

“She looks like a demented doll,” Betty agreed.

“Do you have that notepad in your purse?” Elise asked. She sounded calm, but tense.

Betty gave her a piece of Hello Kitty stationary and a green pen. Elise scrawled out a message and stuffed it into the girl’s hand, which closed on the paper. She hid it inside her rain slicker.

Her mouth dropped open once more. “Thank you.”

Lucinde walked out with a mechanical gait. Elise lingered in the doorway to watch her go. “Ann’s actually willing to trade?” Anthony asked. “The way you were talking earlier, it seemed like James is too important for her to let go.”

“He is too important,” Elise said. “She’s not going to let go of James now that she has him. I’m not going to return the artifact either.”

“But you said…”

“I lied.”

“Oh.”

“I’m going to have to meet Ann, exorcise her servants, kill all the demons, and take James back,” Elise said. She laughed harshly. “No big deal. I don’t even think it’s possible to perform a mass exorcism. It’s never been done before.”

Betty’s eyes lit up. “We could do some exorcisms.”

“You wouldn’t have any idea what to do. There has to be another way.”

“We could clone you,” Anthony said in a “you’re all crazy” tone of voice as he stalked away. “It’s no more insane than everything else that’s happening!”

Elise took something out of her pocket, and Betty recognized it as an MP3 recorder. “That’s not a bad idea, Anthony,” she said. “But first, I have some business with a lawyer and his wife.”

When Elise reached the Ramirez house, Marisa was loading her car, sheltered from the rain by a blue poncho. Her face was red, but her eyes were dry now, and she carried two suitcases under each arm. She flung them into the back of her Hummer.

“Can I help you?” Elise asked.

Marisa jumped. “Oh—Elise. I didn’t see you there.”

She took a step toward the garage, but Elise moved in her way. “What’s the rush?”

“I can’t stay here,” she said. “Augustin’s…angry. Throwing things. I’m going to go live with my mother.” Marisa took a deep breath. “We discussed divorce even before what happened to Lucinde. My bags have been packed in the garage for weeks now. But with what’s happened recently…”

“Your daughter has gone missing,” Elise asked. “Somehow, she got possessed again. I don’t see how that could have happened unless someone surrendered Lucinde to the bad guy.”

A look of panic shot across Marisa’s face. “What?” Her hand fluttered at her breast, and it was only then that Elise noticed the bruise from her collarbone to her shoulder. “Are you—are you saying that Augustin let someone hurt our baby? Madre de dios…it makes sense. He’s so angry!”

Elise frowned. “Has he been beating you?”

She jerked the poncho closed over her chest. “Yes.” Marisa swallowed hard. “Yes, he has. He’s gone crazy.”

“Where is he?”

“Augustin is inside. Don’t make me go back.”

“Okay. Stay with your mom for now. I’ll find Lucinde, and I promise she will be safe,” Elise said.

Marisa gripped her arm. “I never meant for James to find out we were having problems with our daughter. Do you understand? I always meant to keep things private. Your involvement—his involvement—was an accident. I’m so sorry.”

“Go. I’ll take care of Augustin.”

She bit her lip. Nodded again. “Thank you. My mother’s phone number is on the refrigerator. When you have found Lucinde—if you have saved her—call me. Please.” Marisa got into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut.

She pulled out of the driveway as church bells tolled.

Elise went inside without knocking. She held her breath to listen for sound—something like the pattering of feet or an accidental brush of leathery arm against the wall. The living room was empty and silent. She glanced into the kitchen, but there was nothing there, either.

Elise made her way up the stairs, fists raised in the anticipation of an ambush. One of the family photos on the wall was askew, and another was missing entirely, making a gap in the long row of family history leading to the second floor.

There had been a scuffle upstairs. A decorative pot that had once filled a wall cubby was now in shards on the floor. Lucinde’s door was cracked open. Elise pressed her back to the wall beside it, easing her fingers around the frame to push it open another inch and peek inside.

There were no fiends inside, no possessed ones, and no Lucinde. Only Augustin—sitting on his daughter’s tiny bed and staring at the photo missing from the wall. He looked up at Elise and his eyes were full of hope. “Did you find her?” he asked. “Our daughter…”

“No, Augustin,” Elise said. Her knife emerged from beneath her jacket, and she held it at her side. “I know what you did. Did Ann offer you money? Power?”

“What? Who is Ann?”

“You sold your daughter out. Your own blood.”

He set the photo down on the bedside table. “Listen here. You may think you have some sort of—some right to come in and boss me around—but don’t be mistaken. I’m still the man of the house, and—”

“I already got some of the story from your wife. Let me see if I can fill in the blanks.” Elise shut the door behind her and stepped forward to stand over Augustin. “Ann gave you money. It wasn’t a problem for you to betray your family; you don’t like your daughter anyway. You couldn’t even be bothered to be with her when I exorcised her. You get off on beating women, and—”

Augustin stood. He towered over her, and his face was dark. “What did Marisa say?”

“She told me that she’s leaving you. Marisa loves her daughter very much, which is more than you’ve shown.”

“I love my daughter, just as I love Marisa. I could never hurt either of them,” Augustin said. He laughed bitterly. “I’m surrounded by crazy women. I thought Marisa would be different from my first wife, but then she started throwing things at me, just like Louisa did. And now you!”

Elise opened her mouth to yell, but a thought stopped her. “Wait. Marisa’s not your first wife?”

“Now I think I should have let Louisa have custody of Lucinde,” he said. He sat back down again with a moan. “Marisa’s leaving me. I should have known…”

“If you didn’t beat her, then why is she bruised?”

“Our daughter was possessed by a demon! Where the hell do you think it came from?”

“You’re going to have to make something clear for me,” she said. “Is there any reason Marisa would sell your daughter out?”

“She wouldn’t,” he said dismissively.

“Your story doesn’t match hers. She told me that you’ve been angry and beating her and that you gave Lucinde up to the demon. Now you’re telling me neither of you did it?”

“There’s no reason for you to think we’ve hurt Lucinde. Yes, Marisa and I have fought. This isn’t even the first time she’s left. But we do not abuse our daughter.”

“If you’re lying to me…”

Augustin took the picture off the bedside table again, cradling it in his hands. “Leave me alone.” His eyes burned through Elise.

She stomped downstairs to the refrigerator to look for the phone number Marisa left.

A single magnetic clip held a folded up paper that said Give to Elise Kavanagh. She unfolded it. The handwriting was loose and messy, and she jumped to the bottom—signed by Marisa—before going back to read it more carefully.

I never meant for things to get so out of control. I love Lucinde. Ann told me this would cure her heart defect and make her powerful, but instead she died and now I’ve caused too much pain. This isn’t how I meant to get away from Augustin.

Several lines were scribbled out and illegible. The next readable line said, She keeps everything in the attic. Tell him I’m sorry. Her name was scrawled hastily beneath that, and the pen had torn through the paper on the last letter.

Elise’s fist tightened around the note. Her hand shook. “You should have asked for help,” she muttered. Marisa would never make it to her mother’s house—demons didn’t appreciate people who betrayed them.

She dropped the note on the kitchen table and left.

Chapter 15

Elise took James’s car back to the studio feeling like she was in someone else’s nightmare. The only thing that warmed her was the thought of those six words—she keeps everything in the attic. She knew where James was. Now all she needed was a miracle so she could get into Ann’s place again.

Betty and Anthony were still working on her miracle when she got back. She parked in the lot and watched them moving around the studio through the windows. They were almost done with the Jeep. It was parked outside, and there was so much extra metal on it that it looked like Frankenstein’s monster.

She knew she needed to go inside and help them, but Elise felt like she was frozen to the spot. She didn’t want to tell them what Marisa had done, and she didn’t want to have to answer the millions of questions that must have been bursting inside Betty, either.

Shutting her eyes, she pressed her forehead to the steering wheel. Everything was so much simpler when it had been just Elise and James against the world.

She took a deep breath before getting out of the car. It took her a moment to realize she wasn’t alone.

The three other people didn’t make any noise as they slipped from the shadows of the building like oil oozing over water. As soon as Elise saw them, she stopped.

“How’s it going, cabbage? Having a really dreadful evening, I hope.”

David Nicholas.

Elise didn’t respond. She recognized the woman on the left—it was the basandere from Eloquent Blood. Tattered pants revealed plump thighs and dirty knees, and a swooping neckline showed too many ribs between her surgically altered breasts. She had strung her iron chain through the loops of her jeans like a belt.

The basandere was meaner than she looked. Elise was certain of it. She would be as great a threat as the dark-haired man on the right, who looked so high that he wouldn’t have felt it if Elise knocked his skull off his shoulders.

And then there was David Nicholas.

“What do you want?” Elise asked, even though she could tell by the way they moved to circle around her that they weren’t there for a polite chat.

“You think you can push people around and not pay for it? First you walk into my office and stab me—and maybe I put up with it because I owe you money, sure. But then you interrupt my card game? Threaten me for information? Who the fuck do you think you are? Don’t put up with that shit in this town, do we?” He jerked his head the other demons. “Make it fast.”

The basandere reached, and Elise knocked her hands aside, jabbing her elbow into her gut to send her stumbling.

She spun smoothly and snapped a kick at the junkie’s face, but he ducked under it and grabbed her ankle. With a jerk, Elise’s butt hit pavement. The shock of it jolted up her spine.

Before she could stand, a heavy boot smacked into her gut. Her ribs creaked. Her intestines mashed against her spine and her head bounced on the parking lot.

She rolled away from the next kick, gasping for breath, and got to her knees. A hand snatched her ponytail and jerked it back, nearly ripping the hair from her scalp.

David Nicholas drove the bony spike of his knee into her chin. Her teeth snapped shut on her tongue. The iron taste of blood flooded her mouth.

Elise lunged for him, but her hair was held tight. The junkie threw his arms around her. He could barely restrain one arm with his whole body. When he felt her shove against him, his face paled at her strength, but he held firm.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Elise groaned as the basandere pulled her to her knees using her hair as a handle.

“You’re a bully, bitch,” David Nicholas said. “I’m taking out the trash.”

He punched her. The ridges of his knuckles made fire blossom across her face as her head snapped from side to side. He didn’t hit hard—she had been beaten by worse. But it had been years. She almost forgot the sweet pain of it.

Her lip split. He hit her eye, and her vision blurred.

“She’s not even fighting back!” the basandere said, shrieking with laughter.

David Nicholas stepped back, rubbing his knuckles. He looked disappointed at Elise’s lack of reaction. She sucked on the blood in her mouth and spit it out.

“You done?” she asked. “I have shit to do tonight.”

His face twitched. “I’m nowhere near done yet.”

He brandished a knife with a blade like a straight razor. A cold calm settled over Elise, numbing her pain. She hated to lose a customer—but she hated to lose her life even more.

The junkie shifted to grab her other arm. She head butted him hard enough to snap his nose and send blood spraying down his lip. He sprawled out in a parking space.

Metal flashed. She ducked, tearing her ponytail out of the stripper’s hand and leaving a fistful of hair behind.

David Nicholas’s knife blew past her ear.

She twisted and yanked the chain out of the basandere’s belt loops, popping two of them.

Everything slowed.

David Nicholas flashed through the shadows to Elise’s other side, and she could almost track his progress through the darkness. Wisps of smoke followed him as he vanished and rematerialized.

She whirled, shoving the basandere out of the way, and whipped the chain toward David Nicholas as he reappeared.

It wrapped around his neck, catching him before he was completely corporeal.

She jerked.

His head disconnected from his body.

He flashed into black smoke again, knife clattering to the ground.

Elise snapped her arm to wrap the chain around her fist. The basandere screamed and ran at her, flashing blood-red fingernails. Elise backhanded her with the chain. Something cracked—something important—and the stripper went limp.

The junkie reached for the knife. His hand shook.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Elise spat. Blood spattered on her chin.

He was gone before she could unwind the chain.

As soon as her levels of adrenaline dropped, the pain came roaring back. Elise didn’t realize how much her body hurt until she fell to her knees beside the basandere. She thought the stripper was probably dead. She didn’t care too much.

Elise evaluated her physical condition. Between the blood loss from Ann anointing her house and these new wounds, she might not return to full strength for days.

James didn’t have days.

She got back to her feet with a groan. Pain radiated from the top of her head down to her ribs, like every bone was fractured.

“Hell of a time to collect on a debt,” she muttered.

Elise threw the basandere in the trunk of James’s car. She swallowed a handful of the ibuprofen he kept in the glove box and checked her face in the rearview mirror. Her face looked like hamburger.

Great. Just great.

She slammed the car door shut, turning.

David Nicholas stood in front of her.

He moved an instant before she did. His hands closed on her shoulders, shoving her back against the car. Elise’s head thudded against the metal.

“You killed one of my girls,” he said.

“It was self-defense. What are you going to do about it? Call the cops?”

Loathing twisted David Nicholas’s features. “I should sell you into slavery, that’s what I should do. You and that succubus bartender bitch.”

Elise grabbed his wrists. Her fingernails dug into his wrists like they were sponges. Decapitation didn’t do the nightmare any favors.

“Look,” she said, carefully enunciating each consonant, “you and I can fight all night if we want, but it’s a waste of time. You paid your debts with a bad check. You pounded on me, and I won this round. Let’s call it even.”

“Why should I do that?”

“Because I’ll kill Death’s Hand if you leave me alone for the night.”

His expression dissolved into a grin so wide that the corners of his lips nearly touched his ears. “I just kicked the shit out of your skinny ass. You think you can take vedae som matis?” She nodded without returning his smile. He released her shoulders. “I like the idea of letting something else kill you.”

“Only because you can’t do it yourself.”

David Nicholas swung, but she was faster. Before he could get a hand on her throat, she knocked his arms aside and pressed his own knife against his throat.

The nightmare froze.

“Try me,” she whispered.

“Hey! What’s going on?”

Anthony rushed out of the studio. David Nicholas’s black eyes flicked to him, then back to Elise. He stepped away from her, lifting his hands.

“If Death’s Hand doesn’t kill you, we’ll finish this conversation—and we’ll do it under the eye of the Night Hag, you understand?”

Elise tossed his knife to him. “Won’t that be fun?” she said flatly.

He vanished before Anthony could reach them.

So much for that customer.

“Jesus Christ! What happened to you?” he asked, grabbing Elise’s shoulders to steady her.

“Don’t touch me. I’m fine.”

Anthony scanned her injuries, from the rapidly swelling black eye to her bruised cheeks and swollen lip. He ran his fingers through the hair that had come loose from her braid.

“Why didn’t you call for help?” he asked.

She swatted his hand off. “I told you not to touch me. Is the Jeep done yet?”

“No, but—”

“Then you and Betty need to finish it. I’m going upstairs to get my sword. I’ll be back down in ten minutes, and we’re going to leave.”

Her legs buckled under her when she hit the stairs. Anthony wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Whoa,” he said. “Let me help you up.”

Elise turned a cold gaze on him, letting all her pain and frustration show in her eyes. He jerked his hand back. “I told you not to touch me.”

He followed a step behind her as she ascended to James’s apartment. She managed to keep her hands steady when she unlocked the door.

She leaned against James’s wall as she lifted the hem of her shirt to examine her stomach. Red welts had risen on her skin, and she probed the edges gently. Even a light touch made her wince.

“What can I get you?” Anthony asked.

“Bandages. They should be in the bathroom cabinet.”

He disappeared, and Elise took a ritual mirror off the kitchen table to take another look at her face. In the minutes since she had last looked, her eye had nearly swollen shut. Her lip was bleeding.

She moistened a rag in the sink and washed off the blood. By the time Anthony returned with the bandages, her skin was clean, but there was no help for her shirt.

“Thanks,” she said, pressing a fistful of ice to her swollen forehead. “I don’t think I’ll need it after all.”

Anthony folded his arms as he studied her, and Elise studied him back out of her good eye. She didn’t appreciate being scrutinized.

For the first time that day, she noticed he was wearing a nice button-up shirt and clean jeans, although working on the Jeep had gotten his hands dirty. His hair was even combed back. It showed off his full lips and dimpled chin. And he was muscular, too.

Elise wondered how long he had been so handsome. They had been neighbors for over two years, and she had known him as an acquaintance for four, and she had never seen him as anything but Betty’s kid cousin before.

“Elise?”

She realized he had been speaking, and she shook her head to clear it. It made the bruises on her face throb. “Sorry. What?”

“You got pretty beaten. Are you sure you don’t need bandages?”

“Yes.”

She twisted to check her back in the mirror, and the movement sent pain lancing up her spine. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Careful,” he said.

“On second thought, I need you to look at my back and tell me how bad the injury is. Okay?”

He nodded. Elise turned her back on him and lifted her shirt over her head. She could feel him looking at her. Her cheeks got hot, and she was glad he couldn’t see it.

Her heart was beating fast, but it was probably from the adrenaline of the fight. Probably.

She heard him step closer. “Hmm,” Anthony said.

“Well? Do I need bandages?” she asked, keeping her tone level.

“You’re scraped up, but it looks mostly like bruising.”

“How about on this side? It hurts more.” She turned and lifted her arm so he could check her ribs.

His fingers traced over the bruises on her side. Elise closed her eyes as chills prickled down her shoulders. “Same here. That looks painful.” Warm breath blew over the back of her neck, tickling the hair behind her ear.

Elise hadn’t been touched like that in years. Her body’s reaction was almost violent—the way her stomach muscles jerked, the heat that flushed her face, the warmth between her legs. “That’s not helping,” she said, and her voice shook. It actually shook.

She turned to face him, and Anthony’s cheeks had a warm flush. There was a certain intent darkness in his eyes as he focused on her. His gaze couldn’t seem to make it above her lips, which was good, because her handful of ice had melted down her wrist and left her swollen eye exposed. “Huh?”

“You’re not helping,” Elise repeated. One of his fingers hooked under her bra strap.

“Oh,” he said. His hand ran down her bicep as he lowered the bra strap. He dipped his head to trail his lips along the exposed skin. “I thought you said you didn’t want help.”

“Anthony…”

“Yes?” he murmured, pushing against her until her back bumped against the wall. She relaxed against him, letting the pressure of his body hold her suspended.

She half wanted to forget the danger pressing on them—and the danger James was in. But when her eyes opened, she saw the Ansel Adams photo over Anthony’s shoulder, and the memory of the time her aspis bought it shattered the illusion of peace.

Anthony’s hand slid over a bruised rib, and she flinched as pain stabbed through her side.

“Sorry,” he said against her neck.

Elise took a deep breath and planted her hands on Anthony’s shoulders. She could have thrown him across the room, but she made herself shove gently. “This isn’t the time.”

He caught her wrists. “We’ve got a few minutes.”

“Anthony. Not now. I’m serious.”

“But later?”

“The odds are pretty good.” She smiled a little. “At least fifty-fifty.”

He kissed her again, but this time, it was only a brief touch of his lips on hers. “I like my chances.” He took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Can I ask one question?”

“You can ask.”

“What’s with the gloves you’re always wearing? Is this some kind of weird demon hunter thing?”

Elise’s mouth snapped shut. “Go see Betty. I still have to grab something, but I’ll be right down.”

“But you said I could—”

“You can’t ask that,” she said. “Go.”

His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. Elise was a lot more interested in the look of that than she liked to admit, but the heat building inside of her dissipated at the thought of James.

“See you in a minute,” he said, voice husky. He straightened his shirt and moved to go back downstairs.

“Anthony?”

He paused in the door. “Yeah?”

“You look really good.” As an afterthought, she added, “I’m sorry I missed our date last night.”

A brilliant smile illuminated his face. “Thanks, Elise.”

Once Anthony had gone downstairs, Elise had trouble remembering where she dropped her shirt. She didn’t have any other, cleaner clothing left at James’s apartment, so she pulled it back on to cover her injuries.

The painkillers were starting to kick in. Lifting her arms over her head ached, but it was hardly debilitating.

She rolled out her shoulders, touched her toes, and reached for the ceiling. Full mobility. Painful, but workable. David Nicholas picked a bad time to take out his frustration on her.

If only Anthony had come a couple minutes sooner. She could have skipped a beating and saved her time. Elise pushed the thought aside. There was no point in regretting what she couldn’t change.

Taking a set of keys out of James’s desk, she went into the spare bedroom that used to be hers before she moved in with Betty. Now it was an extension of the library in his room, with a cozy chair for reading books…and a gun safe bolted to the wall.

James didn’t own any guns.

She twisted a combination into the lock, whispering the numbers to herself. Two. Twenty-five. Nineteen. Nine. And eight.

Nothing happened when she twisted the key in the lock until she passed her hand over a charm James had welded to the side. The tumblers fell into place with a heavy, muffled thud.

Twisting the lever, Elise opened the safe.

Once upon a time, James and Elise hadn’t had thousands of books. They hadn’t had an apartment or a duplex or furniture. In fact, they hadn’t even had a spare pair of pants between them. They’d had a handful of cash in various currencies, two tattered backpacks…and swords.

Elise’s old chain of charms—which had since been replaced with newer, shimmering chains and tokens—was pooled at the bottom of the safe, and her sword was mounted against the back wall. Three feet long and gently curved like a waning sliver of moon, the falchion had a leather-wrapped hilt worn perfectly to the contours of Elise’s hand. She had rewrapped it a hundred times after a hundred battles in the twenty years since her father gave it and its twin to her.

“A falchion is meant to be wielded with a shield,” Isaac had said as Elise studied her birthday presents with grave seven year old eyes.

“Then why two?” she asked.

“Because you don’t need a shield if you kill everything that approaches you.”

She still wondered if that meant Isaac never intended for her to have an aspis. Elise got the impression he would have disapproved of her partnership with James, and the lengths to which she would now go to recover him. She didn’t care. Her father was a bastard anyway.

The magical engravings on the blade shimmered with more than the light when she took it in her hand. Elise swung the kopis through the air, slashing it at an invisible enemy. It felt strange to wield without its twin.

The back sheath was in a drawer at the bottom of the safe. Elise slung it on like a backpack and had to loosen the straps to make it fit.

Sheathed, the hilt of the sword protruded over her right shoulder. She flipped her hair back to hide it.

When she examined herself in the bathroom mirror, she couldn’t see the sword, and the straps of the sheath looked innocuous enough. But her swollen, bruised face was all too familiar.

Elise didn’t realize she had lashed out at the mirror until her reflection fractured. Glass sprinkled on the countertop.

“Damn it, James,” she whispered as her knuckles bled through her gloves.

This was all his fault.

If she started hunting again, there would be no going back. No second retirement. Maybe she had been naïve to think she could have left it the first time.

She swept out of the apartment and didn’t look back.

Chapter 16

Ann clenched her fist, and the city grew silent.

The matter of calming people was simple. Press magic against the right part of the mind, and a person would grow lethargic. Press again, and they became all but comatose. Another press…well, it would be a long time before someone woke up from that.

Ann had once been too weak with her akashic magic to calm a single person, but it had grown easier with time. Now, with the full force of vedae som matis behind her, she felt she could silence the world itself.

But the world was not her goal. Even the entire city was more than she needed for the time being. She envisioned only the surrounding neighborhoods and lulled them to silence. Normal people would panic if they saw Ann’s demons and reanimated dead on the streets. With a calm laid over them, they felt nothing. She could operate in the day as easily as the night.

She was so powerful now. The universe’s energy flowed through her veins, hot as molten lava.

Rain sluiced down the attic’s lone window. The fading gray light was barely enough for Ann to make out her surroundings, but she knew her workspace well. She could have navigated it in absolute darkness. The only new addition was the pale form on her work table—a man so tall his feet dangled off the end.

Ann found her pen and nibs exactly where she had left them on the desk at the end of the attic. She paused to glance in her small ritual mirror—her nose was twisted, swollen, red, and her eyes were rimmed with dark purple bruises. Elise had mangled it with a few well-placed kicks, and Ann wasn’t the right kind of witch to heal it.

She collected the special ink vedae som matis had instructed her to make and took it to the table. She studied the face of James, her high priest, in half-darkness. The poison worked so deep into his body that organs began to fail, and he looked very old. Deep lines furrowed his skin, accenting the faint hints of gray at his temples. His temperature was so high that Ann could feel it from inches away. The edges of his lips were blue.

The poison made it impossible for him to escape while Ann prepared, but once he housed vedae som matis, the demon would burn the illness from his blood. He would heal in moments, and James would be the perfect vessel. With maintenance, his body would last for centuries to come.

And Ann would be right there to witness it.

“I need my straight razor,” Ann said as she shook the ink bottle, and her smallest helper, the girl once known as Lucinde, went to find it. “And a light, please.”

The lamp on her desk clicked on. The room was filled with a pale pink glow. A huge sigil anointed the floor, drawn in the same mixture of blood that marked the basement.

James didn’t stir when Ann touched the silver nib to his forehead. She drew intricate symbols on his face, repeatedly checking both to make sure she was drawing them correctly.

She cleaned a clumped fleck of red ink off James’s brow and let her fingertips trace on his skin. Ann couldn’t wait until her mistress had a body at long last. She was grateful that they had failed to prepare Lucinde properly. Ann could ignore a man’s body as long as it was vedae som matis inside. She wouldn’t have been able to deal with her mistress appearing as a five-year-old.

Ann moved down his body, writing the specific marks of transference on each critical point of his flesh. In order to preserve James for as long as they could, she had to inscribe over two dozen marks. She drew one carefully on his left shoulder atop a brilliant white scar he bore just over his chest.

Her smallest helper returned with the straight razor.

“Thank you,” she said, brushing her hand across the top of the child-servant’s head. “You can go sit in the corner again.” Ann didn’t watch to make sure she would obey. They always did.

Ann flipped open the straight razor and sliced it through the waist of his pants and down the legs. The cloth fell open as a snake shedding its skin.

A twinge of guilt clenched in Ann’s gut as she cut away his trousers, removing James’s last semblance of dignity. Although she had never been close to her high priest, or even that fond of him, she knew he and Elise were close. It was obvious they adored one another. She would be devastated.

The kopis is the enemy, Death’s Hand reminded Ann, brushing her mind. She will not share in our vision. She will not accept your offer to join us.

Ann didn’t reply. Betty wouldn’t share in her vision, either—or so vedae som matis insisted. Death’s Hand had deployed a fiend to kill Betty without asking Ann, and now one of her creatures was dead. She was still angry, but she sensed the demon’s jealousy—the worry that Ann would find she preferred human company. Ann tried not to feel too pleased with that. Vedae som matis’s jealousy made her feel wanted, and it was hard not to preen a little.

Marisa has betrayed us. I must kill her.

“No,” Ann said. “I don’t want anyone else to die if they don’t have to. You know I’m still mad you sent one of our babies to attack Anthony and Betty.”

Her voice turned soothing. It was necessary. I knew they would get in the way, and if you could see what they are doing now, you would agree. They are coming to kill me.

“They can’t,” she said. “They wouldn’t.”

But the demon had already subsided from her mind, leaving her with a sense of the inevitable. Marisa wasn’t a big deal anyway. She had served her purpose. Vedae som matis wouldn’t kill anyone that didn’t need to die—right?

She resumed preparing James, trimming the thatch of pubic hair over his genitalia so she could properly access the skin beneath. She carefully tried not to look at his naked body. Ann wasn’t interested in the sexual sense, but it was so distracting trying to draw so close to a penis. She suppressed the insane urge to giggle.

He would be ready soon. She would only need the anointing oil, and perhaps a few herbs…

The clock chimed. Ten o’clock. Elise would be in the cemetery soon.

Ann smiled and continued to work.

“How’s it looking?”

Betty leaned on the Jeep’s roll cage to support her elbows, peering through a set of black binoculars. She hummed at Elise’s question, lips pursed.

They were positioned in the driveway of a sports complex across the street from Our Mother of Sorrows. Even though they had been parked at the edge of a busy road for twenty minutes, not a single car had passed.

The view from their side of the five lane road wasn’t good—the statue at the entrance of the cemetery was in the way, along with a few well-placed trees, and Elise could only barely see the illuminated angel statue in the back of the cemetery through the obstructions. “Hmm,” Betty said, fidgeting with the focus. “Interesting.”

“What?”

“It looks very black. Almost like it’s nighttime and I can’t see anything.”

Elise grabbed the strap. “Hand them over. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I’m not using them wrong and I can do reconnaissance all on my own, thank you very much!”

Anthony made an irritated noise and slouched in the driver’s seat, folding his arms. His feet sloshed in the half inch of water that had collected at the bottom of his Jeep.

It was hard to maintain a good mood outdoors in the middle of a rainy night, and Elise felt like she had been here, doing the exact same thing with James, just hours ago.

Elise took the binoculars from Betty’s eyes.

“Hey!” Betty protested.

“It’s almost ten. We don’t have time for this.” She gazed through the eyepieces, searching for the street lights around the cemetery. At first, all she saw were tombstones, and then she began making out moving shadows behind them. The shapes were faint, but she could guess what she was looking at.

She lowered the binoculars. “The possessed ones are already here,” she said, passing them to Anthony.

“What does that mean for us?” he asked.

“It bet it means Ann and James are there.”

“Does that change the plan at all?” Betty asked, dropping into her seat.

“She’s probably ordered her servants to take the artifact as soon as we show up. So no, this doesn’t change anything. We stick to Plan A.”

“I hate to be a party pooper, because you know I’m your girl whenever you want to be destructive, but don’t you think Plan A is a little noisy for an ordinary neighborhood?” Betty asked. “Somebody is bound to wake up and call the cops.”

“Ann lives nearby. I think she’s been casting a calming on her neighbors in the surrounding streets. It’s the only way I can figure she can get away with sending out her servants without drawing attention.”

“A calming?”

“It’s a kind of spell that compels people to go to sleep,” she said. “James can do it to one or two people at a time. With her soul bound to a demon, it wouldn’t be hard to do it on a broad scale.”

“So I get to break things?” Anthony asked.

Elise nodded. “You get to break things.”

“That’s almost cool enough for me to stop being completely petrified,” he said. “I do have to wonder, though—why did we bring that thing with us at all?”

“The demon is in it,” Elise said, patting her pocket. “Part of it, anyway. It’s watching. If we left it at Motion and Dance, we wouldn’t have demons or Ann to fight here at all—they would be at the studio. We’re not that important.”

“They tried to kill me,” Betty said, bracing herself against the additional bars they had welded to the roll cage. “I’m way important.”

Elise sighed. “Do it, Anthony.”

Chapter 17

Just meters away, the possessed ones wandered through the cemetery. They moved aimlessly without acknowledging one another, vacant eye sockets glazed with mucus.

Occasionally, one of the servants would pass by the grave in which his body had lain, and he would pause, the faintest hint of recognition lighting up his face. Then the light would fade, and he would shuffle off once more.

The old grave markers were soaked and dark, and water puddled in the eroded faces of the more recent headstones. A breeze rustled through the trees, and fell again moments later. Our Mother of Sorrows was silent.

And then, distantly… “Woo hoo!”

Crash.

The fence smashed open and Anthony’s Jeep exploded into the graveyard.

Elise’s recorded voice roared out of the speakers bound to the front. The large crucifix forming the hood ornament blazed in the darkness. A length of fence stuck to the crude cowcatcher, and it clipped a shambling old woman, sending her flying.

“Crux sacra sit mihi lux, non draco sit mihi dux!”

Pain roared from the throats of the possessed ones. They twitched and flailed as though taken by a massive seizure, clawing at their own faces. Blood spilled underneath their nails, unable to feel anything but the pain of St. Benedict’s prayer.

Anthony peeled through the paths of the cemetery at twenty miles an hour, skidding around tight corners intended for pedestrians.

“Vade retro, Satana, nunquam suade mihi vana!”

A shaking body—a teenager, only a boy—clawed at the side of the Jeep. His hand caught, and he was dragged alongside them, fighting to climb on board even as his entire body shuddered with pain.

Elise drew her sword from underneath her hair in a single smooth motion. Her chain of charms was entwined between her fingers and the hilt.

The engraved symbols on the blade flashed as she swung. The blade sliced into the boy’s wrist. He fell to the earth missing a hand.

“Oh, man!” Betty exclaimed, leaning back to kick at his still-twitching fingers. “Gross!”

Elise swept to her feet, bracing her legs against one of the seats. “There!” she called, pointing to a cluster of possessed ones near the center of the graveyard. “At your nine o’clock!”

Then her hand faltered, fell, as she realized what she was seeing.

“What?” Betty asked. She got to her feet, barely keeping her balance, and followed Elise’s gaze. Her jaw dropped open. “Holy…”

There were so many possessed ones the ground seemed to seethe. Elise had grossly miscalculated how many servants Ann could have had—she’d clearly had several years to work up a collection. One dozen, three dozen. Maybe more.

The vessel of vedae som matis hung heavy in her pocket, growing so hot that it nearly burned her leg through her jeans. It snapped her out of her shocked reverie. “Be careful, Anthony,” she said, climbing into the front seat. “Ann and James might be in there somewhere. Take out the edges first.”

His response was to slide into line with the crowd and shift the old Jeep into a higher gear. He was grinning. Elise could only hope he would still be so thrilled when he was cleaning the blood off his car later.

Elise’s voice continued to roar from the speakers. “Ipse venena bibas! Crux sacra sit mihi lux, non draco sit mihi dux!” The verse echoed amongst the tombstones and rattled the branches on the trees. They passed the ragged woman in the half-torn sundress, and as soon as the voice hit her ears, her spine went rigid. She fell to the ground, shaking, and Elise watched her pass with a critical eye.

“They’re not getting exorcised,” she said. “Damn.”

“What?” Betty asked, leaning up on Anthony’s seat.

She gestured to the servants. “The exorcism phrase isn’t enough. It’s hurting them, maybe even paralyzing a few, but on its own it can’t actually free them.”

“Hang on!” Anthony cried.

The Jeep shuddered as though it had struck a cement wall. Elise was flung forward onto the roll cage, and a body hit the windshield.

The glass cracked, splintered. Betty screamed.

The body that struck their windshield slid off, but more rose out of the darkness, falling under the wheels and being flung to the sides. They were helpless to run. All they could do was get chewed by the wheels of the Jeep as Anthony fought to keep control and Elise searched for James.

The speakers crackled. “Crux sacra—lux, non draco sit mihi—retro, Satana—”

One of the possessed ones leaped at the car, clawing for Elise’s jacket and the burning weight in her pocket. She threw herself out of its grasp, straddling the seat to keep her balance.

Her blade flashed. Blood sprayed.

The speakers made a static noise once more, and then died. “Ipse venena…”

Silence.

“The cable under the dashboard must have come loose!” Betty said.

A servant slammed into the hood of the Jeep, and it shuddered. This time, the man didn’t slide away. He found grip near the windshield wipers, hauled himself higher, and pulled back his arm.

His fist punched through the glass.

Anthony cried out, falling to the side in his seat to avoid the groping hand. The car swerved, but Elise kept her balance. She brought her sword down, slicing into the possessed one’s already-bleeding arm.

“We need the speakers!”

Betty crawled between the two front seats underneath Elise’s legs. “I can reconnect it. I just need a second to find the break!”

The servant groped blindly and found the steering wheel. He wrenched it to the side as Anthony slammed on the brakes.

Betty squealed again. The three fell into one another, a jumble of legs and arms and confused bodies.

The Jeep lurched to a halt, and a man climbed over the side. His fist struck Elise in the face. Her injured cheekbone exploded in pain. Her vision blurred and darkened. She swung blindly and felt her sword connect.

Something warm splattered on her. It wasn’t the rain.

Her vision cleared, and she saw her sword had sunk into the side of his neck. She pulled free and kicked, sending him over the side.

“Holy crap!” Betty exclaimed, untangling herself from Anthony.

“Fix the speakers,” Elise said. She reached over the windshield and swung at the possessed one reaching through the cracks. Her sword connected with his back, but didn’t cut. She took a deep breath, and began to shout. “Crux sacra sit mihi lux, non draco sit mihi dux. Vade retro, Satana! Nunquam suade mihi vana. Sunt mala quae libas, ipse venena bibas!”

The crucifix engraved in her sword blazed to life. The possessed one shrieked, jerking its arm out of the windshield and falling off the hood of the car.

More servants took his place, swarming the Jeep. Elise would kick one off, only for another to take its place climbing over the side. There were dozens. No matter how fast she swung, she couldn’t keep up with them.

Anthony slammed the car into gear, but the wheels spun out in the mud.

“Betty…” Elise urged.

“I think I found it!” Betty announced from under the dashboard.

The Jeep’s wheels found traction, and the car leapt forward, mowing down a pair of servants who had been coming up on their makeshift cow-catcher.

The speakers crackled, buzzed, and Elise’s voice roared out of them once more.

“—dux. Vade retro, Satana! Nunquam suade mihi vana!”

Screams rose from the graveyard, as inhuman as the sounds that came from a slaughterhouse. “Success!” Betty cried, pumping her fist.

“Take this,” Elise said, shoving the stone vessel into Betty’s hands as she emerged from under the dashboard. “Ann can’t perform the sacrifice without it, so it’s safest with you. I trust you. Don’t go far. I might need help transporting James.”

Her friend nodded, cheeks flushed. “They won’t get it without a fight!” Betty declared.

“Wait,” Anthony said, power-sliding around the stone angel to a stop, “where are you going?”

“Ann’s not here, so James isn’t here,” Elise said. “Ann lives across the street. I’m sure they’re in there.”

“You can’t go alone.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Elise prepared to leap down into the cemetery, but Anthony caught her hand. “Wait,” he said, and he pulled her to him and kissed her. He was forceful, desperate, as though afraid it would be his last chance.

And then she jumped over the door before he could catch her again, disappearing into the night. She caught a glance of his face before she went—an expression of admiration, adoration, and fear.

Now that she no longer had the vessel, the servants ignored Elise. They followed the Jeep, and Anthony gave them a good chase—he weaved in and out of the path, and the bigger spots in between the graves, driving over several of the shorter headstones as he made a line for the exit. The possessed ones couldn’t keep up.

The storm overhead broke with slaps of thunder and lighting. Elise flipped her braid over her shoulder so she could sheathe the sword, and she ran toward Ann’s house…and James.

The night grew darker.

One by one, the street lamps flickered and went out. A line of shadow crept up the street. The few people still struggling to stay awake began turning off their lights and going to their bedrooms, oblivious to the world around them. The heavy rain clouds that had briefly parted to reveal the moon’s crescent covered it once more, and the shadow’s hand gripped the Earth.

A single oil lamp illuminated Ann’s room as the neighborhood’s electricity turned off. Her outline was thrown against the wall in stark relief, a huge monster of a woman with massive shoulders and tiny legs.

The shadows beside her twisted and writhed. Ann’s fiends covered every square foot of her house, silent and hungry. She passed the trap door, carrying the oil lamp to the altar, and peered down the ladder. The demons covered the floor below, and the floor beneath that as well. Elise wouldn’t be able to get in without getting ripped apart.

Ann set the lamp beside James’s leg and faced her altar, standing with her back to the open window.

The fiends touched her legs and stroked her arms and rested their heads on her feet. Some touched James, too, but he didn’t stir. The high priest was unconscious.

She spread her arms wide. “Listen up, guys,” Ann said. “Every beginning is the end of another. Tonight we leave behind the world we have come to know together for the past several years. Tonight we march to the ruins and transform everything. Tonight, you become the children of the new world.”

Their lips quivered. They drooled.

“The city will be ours, and soon, this whole world will too. Why return to Hell under the law of another when we can have this Eden? You all deserve freedom. You deserve flesh. You deserve Earth.”

Something clattered downstairs.

Ann cut off, frowning. She perked her ears, listening to the reports the fiends whispered into her mind when something happened. But there were no comforting voices from her demons—only a complete mental silence.

Elise.

“Take care of her, please,” she said.

The fiends piled down the ladder, leaving the attic empty except for a handful of fiends and the two humans.

Ann rested her hand on his forehead. His pulse throbbed in his temples, rising and falling like the heart of the ocean. He was beautiful with symbols of transference and death painted upon his body. He was so lucky.

She took a step away from the table and began walking a slow circle, speaking quietly as she went. Ann drew runes in her mind and called upon spirits at the north, the west, the south, and the east—spirits few humans called in fear of their power. Her dominant hand pointed to the floor, and she felt rather than saw the energy burn an invisible path on the wood.

Ann clapped, and the circle of power erupted around them. James’s eyes almost fluttering open.

“Did they get her?” Ann asked one of the fiends.

But before she could make out any reply, a dark shape darted out of the corner. She spun to see curtains flapping in the open window.

Nobody was there.

A fiend shrieked.

Elise stabbed again, driving her blade through the skull of the demon to silence it.

The weapon shocked Ann into silence. It wasn’t just steel and leather—it coursed with magic, enchantments, prayers. It glowed in Ann’s vision, both beautiful and terrible. She recognized it. Death’s Hand had its twin.

Elise jerked her blade free, and a spray of blood spattered to the floor. The kopis decapitated the fiend’s body with one smooth blow of her sword, and she kicked the head across the floor to Ann’s feet.

Fresh blood flowed down the sharp edge of the sword. Elise’s skin was flushed, her eyes blazing. Vedae som matis may have been the Goddess of Death, but Elise was the goddess of fury—and even with the power of a mighty demon at her back, Ann felt afraid.

And when Elise spoke, her voice burned. “Give me back my witch.”

Chapter 18

“Elise,” Ann said. “Put the sword down.”

Elise’s eyes flicked between Ann and the nightmare of an altar with James as the centerpiece. His nakedness was a shock, but not nearly as horrifying as the black demon runes looping over his skin like the brands burned into the flesh of the fiends.

“Not until you let him go.”

The necromancer scooped up the head at her feet. “Let him go?” she asked, cradling it in her arms as blood dribbled out the neck. “You killed my fiend.”

“That will be nothing compared to what will happen if you don’t give me James.”

“I offered you a trade,” Ann said.

“We both know you weren’t serious.” Elise took a deep breath. “We don’t have to fight, Ann. This is between me and vedae som matis.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

Ann straightened suddenly. Her head tilted, as though listening to some distant voice Elise couldn’t hear. And then she began to smile.

“We have company.”

The trap door banged open. Fiends jumped inside, dragging two larger shapes with them. For an instant, Elise half-hoped they were injured, struggling servants—but servants didn’t fight and swear like these two.

The fiends threw Betty and Anthony to the floor. One of them ripped the pocket off her jacket, and the stone vessel thudded to the floor. Betty struggled, trying to take it back, but the fiends held her arms.

“Hey, get your hands off me! I’ll punch you! Don’t make me do it!”

Ann cradled the staff against her shoulder like a baby. “This night just got so much better.”

Elise moved. Blood splattered on the walls.

The fiends holding Anthony fell. She sliced again, and the fiends holding Betty also fell. Intestines spilled onto the floor in a wash of red and yellow fluids, stinking of brimstone.

Anthony jumped to his feet. He punched another fiend in the eye. It keened, stumbling backward, and he hauled Betty to her feet before returning his attention to the little demons.

Elise twisted and jabbed, skewering a small demon on her sword. Something hit her wounded side. The breath rushed out of her lungs.

They hit the ground and rolled, and then it seemed like all the fiends were on top of Elise, clawing at her, grabbing and biting. The demons were nothing but shadows in the darkness of the room, blotting out all the light. She felt stubby teeth sink into her arm, and she threw the fiend off, struggling to stand. She was just a little too slow, a little too weak with the injuries David Nicholas inflicted.

Between the legs of an attacking fiend, she saw Betty fly at Ann like a manicured beast, her fingernails flying. Ann shrieked and Betty leapt onto her back, dragging them both to the ground.

Elise pushed away a fiend and swung blindly, feeling blade connect with body and hoping it was going to do damage.

Kicking off another demon, she flew to James’s side at the altar. His closed eyes looked like they were bruised.

He stirred at her touch. “Elise?”

“Let’s get you out of here, huh?” she said, throwing her jacket over his body. She felt around the ropes binding him to the table. “Hang on, it’s going to take me a minute to figure out these knots.”

“Finish the fight,” James rasped.

She took a moment to plunge her sword into a fiend’s stomach when it broke away from the others to attack. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

“Ann will get away, Elise.”

“She’s not going anywhere. Betty’s got her.”

He gripped her wrist. His eyes had darkened, no longer that perfect shade of ice blue. A thunderstorm roiled in his gaze. Elise’s fingers went still on the lock. “Trust me. I’ll be fine. Get Ann.”

“Okay.” Elise pressed her boot knife into his hand. “If she gets close to you—kill her.”

The room was in turmoil. Anthony thrashed in the grip of several fiends, but he wouldn’t relinquish his position over the trap door, which he had locked. He bled from a gash near his hairline. The other fiends had turned their attention to the fight between Betty and Ann, which seemed to involve a lot of slapping and hair-pulling.

Elise smiled faintly. A slap fight. That was new.

And then a blade flashed from nowhere, and Elise’s smile disappeared. Ann’s hand cracked against Betty’s skull with the flat end of the hilt.

“Betty!” Anthony roared.

Elise leapt forward, but the trap door suddenly exploded underneath Anthony. The force threw him forward into the waiting arms of the fiends, and the servants from the cemetery began to climb inside.

One by one, the attic filled with the possessed ones. The man from the hospital, his female partner. A burly, tattooed corpse Elise hadn’t seen before. And then Lucinde.

Ann stomped to the front of the room again, standing beside the altar. “Restrain them!” she ordered, and three of the servants came forward, grabbing Elise’s arms and dragging her to the end of the room.

A fiend ripped the sword from her hands and dropped it out of reach. Another dragged Betty’s lifeless body to her side. It took two of them to restrain Anthony.

The rest had to hold Elise.

A knobby fist sank into her side, making pain explode through her body. She staggered and fell to her knees. Claws raked down her bruised face and smacked into her jaw.

Through blurry eyes, Elise saw James raise a free hand with the knife.

The motion drew Ann’s attention. She slapped it out of his hand.

“This was going to be my night of glory. This is when I was going to show vedae som matis that I’m good enough for her. Don’t you realize what you’re ruining?” She slashed her dagger along the wound she had carved on his belly. Fresh blood began to trickle down his side.

Elise struggled, but the possessed ones held her in place. “You better not—”

Ann pointed the knife at her. “Shut up. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

“He doesn’t deserve to die.!”

“Do you think he’s a good man?” Ann asked as she sprinkled herbs over his head.

Elise swallowed. “The best I know.”

“Then you don’t know him as well as you think you do,” Ann said. She traced her bloody finger down the bridge of his nose. “He’s never told you the truth. You would let me kill him if he had.”

Betty sat up, holding a hand to her head. “Ugh. What did I miss? Did we beat that—” Anthony threw a hand over her mouth.

Ann pulled an owl’s skull from underneath the table. Sharp teeth that birds had never possessed on Earth filled its mouth. She laid it on James’s chest.

“And now I can repay my debts to the Hand of Death,” she said. Her voice was hushed, reverent.

She smashed the skull on James’s chest. Pieces of bone flew everywhere, and blood seeped forth beneath it. She smeared it across James’s solar plexus.

Elise’s muscles were liquid. Every time she moved, little hands dug into her wounds, burying their nails into muscle.

If only David Nicholas hadn’t attacked.

If only Elise hadn’t provoked him.

If only she were a little stronger…a little faster…

Ann turned her back on them. She raised the dagger high, smoothing her hand over James’s brow. Shadows rippled off her body.

Elise felt the press of Betty and Anthony’s eyes on her. They were waiting to see what last-ditch trick she was going to pull out of her hat, like she was some hero from a movie with a plan always in place.

But she didn’t have a plan. She couldn’t think, or breathe, and she couldn’t move with so many demons holding her down. She met Betty’s gaze, and she saw her best friend’s worried countenance dissolve into terror.

The stress of the last days built inside Elise, growing and swelling until she felt her ribs might burst. Exorcising Lucinde. Fighting the possessed ones in the cemetery. Losing James, and finding him again to realize he had been all but gutted like a pig and left poisoned. Her new life destroyed; her old life returning like an unyielding cancer.

I’m not ready for this.

Ann. Lucinde. James.

The witch shifted her grip on the dagger so its blade faced down.

Elise threw herself against the steely arms of her captors, but they were unyielding. “Ann! No!”

Her hand came down. The dagger buried into James’s chest with a crack.

His mouth opened in a silent gasp, eyes blank.

For an instant, there was no reaction. The world was reduced to the space between Elise and James—so close, just inches away, and yet utterly impassable. Elise’s breath caught in her lungs. Her pulse roared in her ears.

Betty let out a sob, deepening the silence rather than breaking it.

James’s chest hitched, and blood spilled over his lip.

“James,” Elise said. She was so cold.

His head lolled to the side, looking beyond the wall of servants to his partner. Their eyes met for a breathless instant, and his mouth formed a single word: Elise. No sound escaped his bloody mouth. His teeth were red.

The light behind his eyes faded, and that was all. His body sank into the table, muscles relaxing one by one until there was no sense of life in his face, his body.

And that was all.

“Berald, Beroald, Balbin, Gab, Gabor, Agaba,” Ann was saying softly, her hands moving over James’s body. A bracelet of bird bones dangled from her wrist, brushing against his bare stomach. “Berald, Beroald, Balbin, Gab, Gabor, Agaba…”

The world receded, slipping away from Elise. Her ears were ringing and her heart was thudding and she knew that James was dead. She could have been a thousand miles away, and she would still know with absolute certainty. It was as though, in his passing, a part of her had died, too.

The scar on her arm from the binding ritual that tied them together as kopis and aspis burned.

Dead.

Anthony was muttering under his breath. It sounded like prayer. The valley of the shadow of the death. She took another step back, and the fiends finally released her. Betty was on her knees. Anthony was beside her, holding his cousin’s hands. They were pale and shocked and Elise barely even registered it.

James’s eyes were empty.

“Balbin, Gab, Gabor, Agaba, Berald…”

She didn’t feel pain anymore. She didn’t feel anything at all. A glint of metal caught the corner of Elise’s eye.

“…Beroald, Balbin, Gab…”

She dropped.

The hands of the possessed ones reached for Elise, but she rolled under their grasp and took her sword. She came up on her knee in one smooth motion, plunging it into a servant’s stomach until the hilt slammed into flesh and the blade burst out its back.

She freed the sword with a jerk of her wrist and kicked the servant to the floor. It fell, lifeless and gaping.

Ann spun. Her jaw hung open. “That was mine,” she said. “You little—”

Elise spun, burying her sword into the belly of a nearby fiend, tearing it out its side with a gush of blood and mucus. It dripped down the blade and onto her gloved hand.

“Plan B,” Elise said. Her voice was dead.

The attic exploded in motion.

Fiends and servants alike dove for Elise. She dropped to her knees and slashed, slicing through hamstrings and driving her blade into torsos regardless of whether it belonged to a demon or had once been human. Her ribs ached and she thought something was broken and she didn’t care.

Blood splattered on the walls. Someone screamed.

James’s empty stare remained fixed on the wall.

Elise kicked, punched, and dodged entirely on instinct. She let her long-unused muscles twist her out of the way of blows just in time, feeling claws whistle past her cheek and slice into errant curls.

Something sharp sliced down her arm. She chopped off its hand.

Anthony fought behind her with less grace but no more regard for what he was fighting. His fists flew, making sledgehammer noises against flesh.

Elise threw herself around him, ducking low to stay out of the way of one of his blows even as she gutted another enemy. A body. It had once been the man from the hospital, but now he was mulch. He hit the floor in several pieces, and Elise’s foot squelched on a piece of steaming intestine as she spun to attack another.

And she came face-to-face with Lucinde.

The little girl didn’t look human anymore. The symbol on her forehead burned, and she reached for Elise with little hands that almost looked like the fiends’ claws.

But her face registered in Elise’s numbed mind. She froze mid-swing.

A fiend struck her in the side, sending them both bowling to the floor beneath the altar. Its slavering mouth flashed at her face, and she blocked it with her forearm. Its teeth buried into her flesh.

She used its own grip on her to slam its head into the underside of the table. She smashed its head twice, and it released her.

Betty had crawled between two bookshelves and covered her head with her arms. Elise couldn’t hear her over the beat of her own heart, but she knew her friend was screaming, crying.

Another clawed hand came at Elise. A flash of her sword. Dismembered.

She rolled out from underneath the table, throwing a high kick into the face of a possessed one. Its head snapped back, and it stumbled into a set of shelves. Glass alembics and vials shattered against the ground, raining tinkling shards of glass across the wood floors.

“You idiot!” Ann stormed around the altar with demonic energies swimming in her wake. She burned with black fire. The tangled hairs on her head stuck straight out in every direction as though repelled by her flesh. “I’ve won! Can’t you give up already?”

Elise’s couldn’t think of a response, so she didn’t speak at all. She swung her fist, clenched around the hilt of the sword. It cracked against Ann’s face and her head snapped back.

Ann slashed at her with the dagger stained by James’s blood. Elise dodged it and kicked her in the head. Ann fell.

She rolled onto her belly, scrambling for the knife as Elise loomed over Ann’s supine body.

“Get up,” Elise said.

Ann’s fingers brushed the hilt of her knife. Elise stomped on her hand, grinding with the heel of her shoe. Ann’s bruised eyes were round and frightened.

Elise lifted her foot long enough to kick her in the ribcage. The witch cried out.

“You said this is your night of glory. Get up!”

Ann almost made it to her feet before Elise’s knee connected with her temple. The bone made a sickening noise like a rotten tomato splattering against concrete. Her eyes were empty before she hit the floor.

This time, the witch didn’t stand.

“Fight me,” Elise said, but there was no response.

She faced the room. The trap door had been shut again, and all that remained in the room were a half a dozen bodies scattered across the floor. A handful of Ann’s remaining servants had teamed up against Anthony, slamming him to the floor.

Elise began to move toward him—but a wall of demonic power struck her full force. Fire ripped through her body. Pain arched her back, and her sword fell from her fingers.

She clutched at her head as wave after wave of energy shattered her thoughts and twisted her brain, making her eyes explode with black lights.

Voices swam through her skull.

Crux sacra sit mihi lux…

I am the cold kiss of Death, and you can never defeat me.

Elise was on the floor, but she didn’t know how she had gotten there. She stared up at the raftered ceiling, the bars of heavy oak casting dancing lines against the ceiling.

The breeze twisted through the window and extinguished the oil lamp with a pinch of its invisible fingers.

But the attic was not dark.

A man towered above her. Every inch of his bare, sweaty skin was bared to the attic, and his eyes welled with tears of blood. Thick veins bulged under his skin, crawling up his arms and neck onto his face. His muscles bulged as though they had been shot full of testosterone. His pulse visibly pounded in his throat, erection full and straining in a bed of trimmed black hair.

A symbol swam to life on his forehead and multiplied, spreading down his body. As it passed the painted marks, they flared with black shadows. The distant fires of Hell reflected on the marks.

The witch usually made a sound like chimes in Elise’s skull when he was around, soft and powerful. Now he thrummed with the power of vedae som matis, and the air around him trembled.

“James,” Elise whispered.

Chapter 19

Death’s hand surveyed Elise with James’s eyes. She tensed, expecting him to attack, but he stared at her without moving. His face twisted with a tangled mix of emotions.

Emotions? Could a powerful demon feel?

The silence of the attic around them was broken by shuffling feet. The possessed ones left Anthony’s body to flank Death’s Hand, heads bent in submission. Lucinde knelt with her small head resting against his knee.

The fiends crawled on their bellies to his feet. They laved their black tongues along his ankles, his calves, pawing his hips and stomach. Death’s Hand didn’t acknowledge any of them. His gaze remained steady on Elise, as though he was in no hurry to do anything but look at her.

Vedae som matis lifted a hand. She flinched.

Ann’s body lifted from the corner of the room behind the altar, where Elise had left her. Her limbs lifted, and her legs twitched, but her head remained slack on her shoulders.

She came forward without taking a single step. Her toes dragged against the ground. Ann’s face was blank and her mouth hung open. Her every motion was unnatural, as though she was a puppet with invisible strings. By the time she stopped moving just beside Death’s Hand, Elise was certain she was dead.

Ann spoke. The language that spilled from her lips made no sense to Elise, foreign and guttural and inhuman. Foamy saliva dripped from her bottom lip as though she were an ancient Pythia controlled by a demonic Apollo.

Death’s Hand gestured once more. Ann shivered, and when she spoke again, it was in English.

“Kopis,” she said. It came from her throat, her vocal cords, but the words belonged to vedae som matis. “I have been eager to see you and your aspis, who thrived as I struggled to rebuild my withered soul from the brink of nothingness.”

Another gesture. A fiend skittered from behind Death’s Hand and opened one of Ann’s drawers, withdrawing a long object wrapped in cloth. It supplicated itself at James’s feet. He took the item from the fiend’s hands, giving it time to scurry back before unwrapping it.

Steel glinted in the dim firelight.

“You recognize this, I’m sure,” said Ann’s body. Death’s Hand turned the sword in his hands, hefting it by the hilt to examine the line of the blade. Someone had cleaned the falchion. It was in perfect condition. “Here we are again. Little has changed in the ensuing years, except you are fleshier. You have fattened upon the spoils of victory and comfort while I have floundered.”

Elise finally found her voice. “You can’t have James.”

Death’s Hand made his lips smile. “No?” Ann’s chin quivered, and blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. “It is difficult to campaign on Earth. Things in Hell are much simpler. There are many complications. You and your aspis are a complication. What a coincidence that he would be a suitable vessel. It is fate.”

“Fate,” Elise echoed.

Blood pulsed in James’s veins. “Or something like that.”

“What about Ann?”

“She will survive in this form.” The gesture vedae som matis made with the sword encompassed James’s body, but not Ann’s. “I have absorbed what I need.”

“She was in love with you.”

He rested the sword behind him on the table, out of Elise’s reach. “She lives in me now. We are closer than ever before. She would prefer it this way.” There was almost a hint of love in that voice.

Elise took a step away, inching closer to her sword where it lay next to a bookshelf. She could feel the bulge of the charm-draped chain in her pocket. “Anyone that’s been possessed can be exorcised.”

Vedae som matis nodded, acknowledging the challenge.

Ann’s corpse fell, no longer necessary. Elise threw a hand toward her engraved sword.

The room exploded into black stars.

Elise was smashed chest-first into a wall. Hands gripped her wrists, pinning her in place.

His face buried in her shoulder, and pain erupted in her collarbone. She screamed and tore free.

Elise put several feet between herself and Death’s Hand before she touched the wound on her shoulder—and realized she had been bitten. Blood gushed from the raw flesh underneath her fingers. The inside of her body felt like the inside of fresh steak.

She turned. Blood dribbled down James’s chin as a small chunk of her shoulder disappeared between his lips. His throat worked as he swallowed.

Elise lunged for her sword. She scooped it into her left hand and stood in the same smooth motion, twirling just in time to see James flying at her. She dodged and raised the sword. Her blade slashed across James’s arm in a spray of blood that splashed across her chest.

Vedae som matis barreled into Elise and knocked them both to the floor.

She took their weight on her uninjured shoulder, trying to bring around the sword to slash at him again. Death’s Hand didn’t give her a chance. He grabbed her wrist and crushed it in his hand until Elise could feel something pop.

Her fingers went slack, and he ripped the sword out of her grasp, shifting his weight so his entire body pinned her to the wood. He stank of blood and decay and brimstone, and very faintly like Ivory soap.

Elise struck him with her right hand, but he grabbed her other wrist and pushed both of her arms to the ground. His body burned like a furnace.

She twisted her head away from his sulfuric breath. Death’s Hand buried James’s face into her shoulder, the same one he had bitten before. Elise fought harder, but it was like struggling against rock.

His teeth found her wound around the shoulder of her shirt. Something pinched, tore. She grit her teeth and refused to scream.

James’s weight shifted just slightly, and something pressed into Elise’s leg. Her charms. She squirmed around enough to see her jeans, and a glimmer of metal told her they were sticking just slightly out of her pocket.

“Crux—crux sacra sit mihi lux,” Elise panted. “Non draco sit mihi dux. Vade retro, Satana, nunquam suade—”

Death’s Hand threw his head back, roaring. It tore through Elise’s ears, and she screamed with him as her eardrums thrummed.

He ripped at her jeans, tearing away the pocket. The charms spilled out onto the floor.

James’s teeth sunk into her shoulder again, and he worried at her flesh like a dog with a bone.

She beat her fist against his head, his shoulders, his hand where it pinned her other arm to the floor. He paid no attention, growling deep in his throat. She reached for the charms, but he shoved them out of reach.

Elise twisted and writhed, and all she could do was worsen the agony where he bit into her.

Vedae som matis pushed her shirt aside to get a better taste of her shoulder. The pain grew from agonizing to indescribable. His teeth scraped against bone.

I will not scream.

Her back arched, and he pulled his head away. A small strip of skin dangled from his teeth. The burning told Elise it was part of her neck.

Death’s Hand began to lower to her shoulder again, and Elise felt faint. She wouldn’t be able to remain conscious through another second of that horrible chewing, and if she passed out, the pain would be the last thing she ever knew.

Elise reached back. Her shoulder screamed.

Her hand flexed around a shelf on Ann’s bookcase, and she pulled.

The shelves came down on Death’s Hand, on Elise, and the books rained around them. The heavy wood of the shelf struck James’s shoulders.

He roared his terrible roar once more, rearing to shove the shelves off of himself. The space between them was slight, but it was enough for Elise to throw all of her weight into him and push him off-balance. Vedae som matis tumbled away.

Elise scrambled to her hands and knees, closing the inches between herself and her sword. Her hand closed on the leather-wrapped hilt.

Relief washed through her. Adrenaline overrode the pain enough for her to lift it.

She turned as Death’s Hand swung, but her head spun as she moved and dizziness swept over Elise. Blood loss slowed her. He knocked her blade aside and she felt the metal bury into his forearm.

Blood fountained from his arm and splattered against the floor. As Elise watched, the wound closed, healing without a trace.

She took a deep breath and pointed the sword at James. “Crux sacra sit mihi lux,” she gasped, pressing her hand harder over the wound on her shoulder. It grew more agonizing as it dried out and sent fire racing down her nerves.

Death’s Hand smiled. It was James’s smile, warm and friendly, as though he was beginning to assume her partner’s habits.

She reached inside herself, searching for that wellspring of energy that James would always touch when they piggy-backed. It wasn’t magic. It was older, primal—the force of a kopis and exorcist. “Non draco sit mihi dux. Vade retro, Satana, nunquam suade mihi vana.”

She took a mental hold of the power inside herself and tore it open.

Elise’s senses exploded. It hit James, still in the clutches of vedae som matis, and kept going, sweeping through the servants and wrapping its invisible fingers around them. It poured through her sword, through her charm necklace, and she felt her energy curl around the demons with metaphysical fingers.

Vedae som matis screamed. The demon’s voice ripped through James’s throat, but Elise’s power had taken a life of its own and it wasn’t done.

Wind blasted through the open window, and papers around the room went flying, swimming in circles around and around Elise and James. Vials tipped and shattered, carpeting the wooden floors in shards of colorful glass and ceramic. James’s hair stood straight up from his head, swaying as though he was submerged in the ocean.

His bleeding gaze cut through the chaos. He didn’t speak—she wasn’t sure he even could—but she could feel the fury of Death’s Hand.

Elise kicked him in the face as hard as she could. He crashed to the floor, but his hand reached out and dragged her down with him.

He rolled on top of her and closed his hands around her throat.

She struggled, beating against his arms, but his muscles had turned into bands of iron. She shoved against him.

He didn’t budge.

Blood thudded in her skull.

His bloody moth still grinned as the room grew dark. Her chest hitched with a desperate need for oxygen.

Elise had imagined dying before. She knew it could come in any number of ways. She never imagined it with James’s hands on her neck.

Her legs might have been kicking, but she couldn’t feel them anymore. Her brain was bulging against her forehead. Everything grew distant and dark, even her fingers, and she thought she might have gone limp.

James…

She wished she could tell him she was sorry.

“No!”

The pressure on her throat vanished.

Air stabbed into her chest, burning a path down her bruised esophagus.

Elise wheezed and coughed as color returned to the room, too vivid with the sudden intake of oxygen. James arched. His lips peeled back against his teeth and veins bulged at his throat. His muscles rippled, almost tearing. It was like his skull was trying to crack in half.

His nails dug into the sides of his head. “Let go!”

The voice belonged to James.

An internal battle wracked his body as he fought Death’s Hand for control. Symbols swirled wildly over his skin. “James,” she said, “James, look at me—”

But he didn’t hear her. He twisted on the floor like he was burning in invisible flame.

Elise gathered both of her swords and stood over him, uncertain. She needed to help him, she needed to save him, but who was in control—James or the demon?

With another cry, he froze. His eyes fell on her.

“James?” she whispered.

His mouth was stained with her blood. “Elise, I—” James’s expression twisted, and then stilled.

He was gone again.

Death’s Hand thrust his fist toward the ceiling.

An explosion rocked the building. A huge roar filled Elise’s ears, followed by a cracking like a glacier snapping off into the ocean. Fragments of plaster showered across the floor.

The entire roof ripped off the house and flung into the night with a blast of wind. There were no stars. Clouds boiled overhead as rain poured into the attic.

“James!”

His body lifted into the air. She leaped, clambering as high on the wall as she could to swipe at his feet. Elise wanted to catch him and drag him back. She couldn’t exorcise him unless she could touch him. But an invisible wall had materialized around him, and her hand slammed into solid nothing inches short of his heel.

He dropped to the street outside, and Elise gazed hopelessly down at him, clinging to an exposed wall stud.

She dropped to the floor. The human servants had already gotten to their feet and disappeared down the trap door to follow Death’s Hand. The fiends stirred again, like they were rousing from a long night of sleep.

Elise didn’t want to give them the chance to move.

She took her swords—both of them—and plunged them into the heart of a fiend at her foot. She slashed and stabbed over and over again until blood coated her hand and spattered on her face and nothing stood in what used to be Ann’s attic. There wasn’t much left to kill. Almost everything had fled with Death’s Hand.

Elise climbed onto what used to be a window, preparing herself to climb down the side of the building. Her shoulder burned, but she didn’t care. She had to reach James. Maybe it wasn’t too late, maybe she could—

“Elise—help—”

Anthony had come to consciousness pinned underneath one of the ceiling beams.

She hung suspended, her urge to follow James warring with Anthony’s pleas for her attention. “Come on,” he said, groaning as he shoved at the beam.

Elise sheathed one sword and dropped down. With their combined strength, it was easy to shift the weight of the rubble enough for him to slide out underneath. He was white with plaster dust.

Betty screamed on the other side of the attic. It was a single, constant shriek like the wail of an alarm.

Elise went to her, but when Betty saw her, she only shrieked louder and hugged her body tight into the corner. “Shut up,” she said, kneeling in front of her. Betty tried to scramble back. Elise seized her wrist. “I told you to shut up!”

“Oh God, oh God, oh God—”

Elise slapped her.

Betty silenced instantly. Her free hand flew to her cheek. “Hey!” Anthony protested, but Elise turned her glare on him.

“You two need to listen to me. This is—”

A silent voice boomed through the air: Sleep.

“Did you hear that?” Anthony asked.

But before Elise could reply, she felt the command sucking her down into darkness, like she had a dose of narcotics injected straight to her heart.

Sleep…

Anthony and Betty’s eyes went blank at the same time. She slipped to the side and went unconscious immediately. He managed to take a step toward Elise before his knees gave out and he, too, collapsed.

Elise shook her head, trying to clear the flies buzzing between her ears. “No,” she said.

But it was like telling the sun not to set at the end of the day. Her eyes rolled up, and the world went dark.

Chapter 20

Time passed, and Elise awoke.

She rolled onto her side, groaning. Every muscle had stiffened. Her bloody shoulder felt like someone sawed into it every time she moved, and when she probed it with the tips of her fingers, she found blood caked over the injury.

With a jolt, she remembered James’s flight from the attic. She sat upright.

Anthony and Betty were still unconscious. Elise over and shook him.

“Get up. We have to get Death’s Hand.”

He rolled onto his back without stirring. She pressed her fingers to his throat and found a pulse. Anthony wasn’t dead, but he was equally useless.

Elise supported herself with what was left of one of Ann’s walls, shutting her eyes against the waves of pain that rocked through her body. Everything felt torn, bruised, and broken, but there was no time for self-pity. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious. Death’s Hand could have been miles away already.

She scooped her charms out of a puddle of fiend blood and lifted the trap door.

The house creaked and shuddered as she made her way down the stairs. A steady drizzle turned the pavement into a shining black lake in the night.

Elise ran down the hill and across the road to the cemetery, feet splashing in the puddles. Anthony and Betty had made it to the road outside before getting dragged from the Jeep.

The gas indicator was almost on empty. Her voice still crackled out of the speakers, quieter than before. “…sit mihi dux. Vade retro, Satana…”

She punched the power button to silence it. Elise had almost backed onto the street again before something strange caught her eye.

All the graves had been torn open.

Elise pulled herself up on the roll cage with her good arm to stare out at Our Mother of Sorrow’s cemetery. Ann had raised several bodies from it over the last few weeks, but most of them had been untouched. Now every grave had sunk in on itself, pitting the grass and leaving piles of mud everywhere.

Her heart sank. Had Death’s Hand resurrected every corpse as he passed? Elise didn’t want to consider what that might mean. There were hospitals downtown, and more cemeteries.

And a lot of innocent lives.

Elise tore down the road, ignoring the speed limit. She approached tail lights and climbed the median to go around them.

The stoplight turned green. None of the cars moved.

She blew past the line and had to stomp on the brakes. A group of cars and trucks had stopped in the middle of the intersection, causing a minor accident. The drivers were all slumped over their steering wheels.

The calming must have spread far enough to stop everyone on this side of town. The streets were completely blocked. Elise pounded her steering wheel, biting back a curse.

She wove the Jeep carefully around the intersection. It looked like there had been parties celebrating finals at the university, because the sidewalks were covered in students sprawled out in skirts and heels. A few had even passed out in the middle of the street.

The Jeep’s engine spluttered. The fuel indicator had dropped to the empty line. Elise made it another two blocks before it died, stopping in front of the school of art. The bar across the street had its lights on, and she could see everyone inside asleep on their tables.

“Shit,” she muttered. “Shit, shit, shit.”

She jumped out of the Jeep. The instant her feet hit the ground, she could feel the presence of Death’s Hand.

Sleep…

Elise muffled a yawn. It weighed heavily on her, but it wasn’t as strong as it was in the attic. Something about being a kopis—or maybe the particular kopis bound to James—seemed to make her resistant to the effects of the calming spell. The bite on her shoulder burned all the way down the scar on her arm. She wondered if James’s scar burned, too.

Something flicked through the darkness up the street, and she reached her good arm up to one of the swords on her back. Giant eyes shone at her in the darkness, spotting her in the street.

Another pair of lights reflected behind it, and then another, as their heads turned to look at her.

She couldn’t fight one fiend, much less three. Not with her muscles stiff and a ragged wound on her shoulder. Not with her aching ribs, which stabbed with pain every time she breathed.

With no other choice, Elise darted down the street and crouched behind a car and held her breath. The occupant inside had his cheek mashed against the damp window. Blood trickled from the corner of his nose, trailing down the glass like rivulets of rain.

The fiends yipped and growled as they scurried from the houses to the street.

Shutting her eyes, she rested her head against the side of the car and tuned out her pain to reach out and feel where the fiends were. She matched the noises—the scraping of claws, the brush of leathery flesh against branches—with the sensations in her gut that said they were behind her, just feet away. Something gave a heavy huff as it searched the air for her scent.

Elise eased around another car, trying to keep her feet from grinding against the grit of the pavement. Rain tapped out a rhythm on the sidewalk.

She peered around the tailgate of a truck, trying to see through the purple haze of night to the shadows she knew had to be there. Four fiends. There were four of them, even though she couldn’t see them.

Creeping out another inch, Elise turned to look on the other side of the truck.

A slathering mouth opened in a wide, hungry grin.

Elise jerked back with a shout. She went for her sword instinctively—wrong arm—and pain flared down her back.

She fell with a splash. The fiend lunged.

Planting a foot in its gut, she snapped a second kick into its chin. It screamed. She kicked again and got an eyeball this time. It exploded like a pustule and splattered all over its cheek.

A dozen other fiends scurried to life at its scream.

Elise clambered to her feet and ran. Every pound of her feet jolted through her wounds. It burned through her body, like little strikes of lightning on her nerves.

Behind her, fiends dug their claws into the earth in pursuit.

Too many cars. Elise had to weave in and out, and the demons were climbing over them. They were gaining.

She cut across into the parking garage, which was mostly empty now that the semester had ended, and emerged on campus on the other side.

For a half second, she thought that people were still awake. Human figures moved down the paths toward the university buildings, slow on their feet and unperturbed by the rain.

But then Elise saw that many of them had only rotten scraps of clothing, and that some of them were rapidly healing—muscles wrapping around exposed, dusty bone before fat and skin rippled down their limbs.

She had to stop and stare at the power of Death’s Hand. There were dozens of bodies—maybe hundreds—just where she could see. It was like they were being sculpted from flesh and blood as she watched.

And then the closest heard her running, heard the growls of the fiends echoing in the parking garage, and they turned to look at her.

Several hands reached for her at once.

Elise shoved them off. She elbowed a woman with no bottom jaw, kicked off a teenage girl with a gaping hole on the side of her head, and stumbled out into the open.

The healing corpses were sluggish, but their bodies made a great barrier between Elise and the fiends. She turned a corner around the building, leaving the demons struggling to get around the bodies.

There were more corpses further south. They were headed downtown. When Elise ran past them, they made half-hearted grabs for her, but she ducked out of their reach and was soon forgotten. They were too busy answering the same call she was—the call of Death’s Hand.

She left campus and went for the casinos. The lights were still on, marching in lines down the sides of buildings and flashing titles taller than she was. They cast colorful, dancing shadows on the immobile cars and slumped pedestrians.

The closer she got to him, the louder his voice became: Sleep.

It was James’s voice, but it was not James speaking. Anger knotted in her heart.

Elise didn’t stop to look at the mangled cars down on the freeway as she ran over the bridge, shoving past the body of an old man. He pitched over the railing.

She had almost run past a casino with corpses clustered by the front door when she felt the presence of Death’s Hand shift.

He was inside.

The servants of Death’s Hand had all stopped on the street to stare at the casino as though they could see through the walls to their master. They were spread out several blocks south as though they expected Elvis to burst through the front doors for an impromptu concert. None of them noticed her now. They were all absorbed by the silent call.

Elise tilted her head back to look at the glimmering sign over the door. Craven’s. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised. Beneath her feet, deep under the streets, Eloquent Blood would be blasting music. And miles below that twisted the Warrens. Death’s Hand was marching for the ruins.

Elise stepped over the body of a security guard to get inside. There was a huge bite wound on his arm, much like the one on her shoulder. Blood shone on his shirt.

Inside, the air was thick with smoke and the molasses-thick sense of evil radiating from Death’s Hand. Slot machines jangled and clanged and sang enticing songs. The keno boards on the wall were frozen halfway through a game. Cocktail waitresses were sprawled out with drinks spilled in their hair and on their skirts.

Elise saw motion in one of the mirrored walls, and she jumped behind the bar for cover. She stepped on a bartender and he groaned softly.

“Sorry,” she muttered, crouch-walking to the end of the bar as quietly as she could manage.

When she made it to the end of the bar, she could see around the next row of slot machines, and the source of the motion became clear.

A broad, bare back was crouched over the body of an unconscious waitress. His shoulders twisted and jerked. The distortion of the mirror almost kept Elise from seeing what he was doing—almost.

Death’s Hand dipped James’s head again to rip into the waitress’s side, digging in and pulling back to swallow. Blood coated his face and hands.

His power grew with every swallow. He was stronger now than he had been in the attic.

Much stronger.

He straightened with a fistful of ragged flesh in his hands, studying it with calm, black eyes as though evaluating a cut from a butcher. The symbols on his flesh were so thick now that she could see almost none of James’s skin.

Death’s Hand reached out his other arm. She hadn’t noticed him take the stone staff when he fled from the attic. Maybe he hadn’t—maybe it had followed him—but he clutched it now, and it had grown. It extended from his right arm, as tall as he was and twisted with demonic runes. They grew from it like branches. The stone oozed over his knuckles and wrist like lava, melding with his arm so they were one.

He aimed the stone staff at the floor, and the building rumbled. The bottles on the bar rattled. The earth shook beneath Elise’s feet.

A mighty crack thudded through the air, and a giant slot machine with a colorful wheel shattered across the brightly-patterned carpet. The floor split. Death’s Hand gestured, and a chunk of floor the size of a sedan lifted.

Elise slowly drew one of her swords with trembling fingers. The blade whispered in its sheath, so softly that she barely heard it beneath the tearing of the earth.

Death’s Hand froze.

She tightened her hand on the hilt.

She saw him drop the chunk of flesh in the mirror. She watched him face the bar. She watched him move toward her one step at a time, his feet inches above the carpet. Her shoulder burned.

Elise couldn’t struggle with him. She would lose.

She only had one chance to end it.

“Crux sacra sit mihi lux,” she whispered, and her charms began to glow at her hip.

Death’s Hand stood on the other side of the bar.

Elise jumped to her feet, swinging her sword—and he caught the blade.

The force of his power slammed into her.

A cacophonous buzzing resonated through her skull. The sour tang of blood exploded in her mouth. Her teeth strained against her gums, trying to rip free of her jaw.

The muscles in her arms shook as she pressed against him. Her blade cut into his hands, sending blood dripping down his arm and onto the floor. It sizzled and evaporated.

Hatred filled James’s eyes. She felt the floor crack beneath her feet.

The bar fragmented and tore away from them. She couldn’t release her sword. Her muscles had locked up in the grip of the demon’s power.

Her vision darkened at the edges. Slot machines began falling behind him, but all she could see was his furious gaze and his bloody mouth and feel his hand gripping her shoulder. His fingers dug into the wound. Elise tried to cry out and found she could barely move her mouth.

He challenged her silently. Try to exorcise me. Just try.

The energy between them swelled. Her intestines writhed within her like maggots. He pulled the blade forward, drawing her against his body, and his skin burned like fire. His sweat steamed.

“Non—non draco—” Her tongue was thick. She couldn’t speak. It felt like hot oil dripped off his flesh, spattering against her.

The stone of the staff began creeping over his hand to her skin, locking down over her shoulder.

Death’s Hand was going to take her. She could feel needles of stone piercing her skin. Ichor spread through her muscles.

The casino was suddenly gone behind him.

The edge of her blade bit into his stomach, and Death’s Hand smiled.

“Non draco sit mihi dux—vade retro, Satana—”

Her power slid off of him. He was impenetrable.

Plaster showered around them, and rain began to drip through the holes. The stone locked into her bones.

The symbols on her kopis glowed, and then flickered.

You’re out of time, Elise, Death’s Hand said, and now he spoke directly into her mind. She could feel the weight of him oppressing her. He was going to kill her and fill her body and—

“—nunquam—suade mihi—vana—”

His fingernails scraped her wound beneath the stone.

“Sunt mala quae libas—”

Elise couldn’t kill James, she couldn’t do it, and Death’s Hand knew it. Her blade cut him, but it hurt her far worse than it could ever hurt him.

But it’s not James, not anymore, it’s a demon—I can’t do it—

His face spasmed.

For an instant—no more—Elise saw James in there. His eyes softened. His smile faded.

The power of Death’s Hand lifted for an instant.

It was long enough.

“—ipse venena bibas!”

Bile rose in her throat. The power shut her throat and plugged her nose, roaring like drumbeats in her ears, snapping over her skin.

She tore the second sword from its hilt and plunged it into James’s heart.

And everything became silent.

Death’s Hand’s eyes widened until she could see white at the very edges.

Elise,” he said in James’s voice, sounding stunned.

And then he threw his head back, and a soundless explosion rocked the ruins of the casino.

Waves of raw energy slammed into her, one after the other. Elise was flung against the wall as if swatted aside by a giant hand. Bottles of alcohol rained down on her, knocking into her elbows, her hips, and she threw her hands over her head to protect her head.

The mirrored walls fell. Glass exploded on the ground. The shelves slammed into her shoulder blades and pinned her to the floor.

A wind rose, knocking over the last of the slot machines. Dark energy blurred around James. A seizure shook his body. He clawed at his arms with fingernails as the black symbols cascaded off his flesh and vanished into the air.

James screamed wordlessly as the power of the exorcism rushed Death’s Hand toward the passages between Earth and Hell.

His fists slammed into the ground and an invisible string drew him up by the solar plexus, arching his spine. His heels kicked helplessly against the ground. Her sword jutted toward the sky, lodged in his breastbone.

With a sick popping sound, Death’s Hand was wrenched completely from James.

He stopped screaming.

Elise could feel the bodies animated by Death’s Hand throughout the city. She could feel the demon in them, the little bits of vedae som matis left behind. She fought to push herself onto her elbows, gripping her first sword, but she couldn’t support her own weight.

“Servants,” she gasped, and the words were whipped into the tide of power. “Return to the Hell in which you belong. Be gone!”

The cord binding Elise to James snapped, whipping away from her body and lashing into the ether. Death’s Hand faded away with a piercing scream. Every servant standing in the streets outside collapsed.

The wind died, leaving the casino in silence.

Elise fell to the floor.

And just like that, it was over.

Slowly, the city began to awake. Car engines came to life again. Pedestrians got to their feet and looked around in confusion.

Nobody moved in Craven’s. Not the sleeping gamblers, who died when Death’s Hand ripped the building apart. Not Elise, who was in too much pain.

What was left of the ground was cool beneath her cheek. Adrenaline drained slowly out of her in the space of many long minutes, leaving her muscles liquefied. The wall crushing her was heavy, and the shards of glass beneath her were little stars of pain in her stomach and thigh and arms.

She wasn’t inside herself at all anymore. That pain belonged to someone else.

Elise never wanted to move again.

She half-dozed, somewhere between asleep and awake. Elise thought there was something she still needed to do, but she wasn’t sure what. The casino was still.

Something dripped into her eyes. With a groan, Elise wiped it off, and then she planted that hand on the wall and pushed it off her body. One of her swords was near her leg. She picked it up as she stood. The blade was stained with blood—James’s blood.

She worked her jaw around, trying to clear the ringing from her ears. She evaluated her injuries as she leaned on what was left of the bar for support. Blissfully, she seemed to have gone into shock. She couldn’t feel her shoulder at all anymore. In fact, she couldn’t feel anything else, either.

Lights on the surrounding casinos flickered. All the jangling slot machines were dead now. There were too many bodies to count. Elise couldn’t seem to find it in herself to care.

She surveyed the bodies on the street, which she could see through what was left of the walls. One had been thrown to Elise’s feet during the exorcism, and she could see that what Death’s Hand had started earlier began to reverse.

The skin on the body’s scalp shrank as it dried out. His lips drew back from their teeth in a shriveled grimace. Muscle melted away underneath his skin, and then that too dried, flaking and crumbling to white ash. His skull appeared in white patches, and then a burning odor filled the air, and his bones began to crack.

A fine webbing spread from his eye sockets and took over his entire skull like a window shattering in slow motion. Elise watched in distant bemusement as he became nothing but puffs of dust.

One by one, each body decayed and blew away, leaving the street empty.

Except for one body, laying in the middle of the sidewalk and surrounded by cratered concrete.

James.

She climbed over the rubble, almost slipping on a rebar as she made her way to his side. He looked like he had been thrown, too, but he had gone through a window. Her sword was still in his chest. She wrenched it free with a sick slurping sound.

Pressing her fingers into his throat, she held her breath. It was stupid, it was useless to hope, but she had to be sure.

There was no pulse, of course. Nobody could survive getting stabbed in the heart—not even the vessel of Death’s Hand.

Elise bowed her head over his, pressing her mouth to the top of his head. His hair smelled like brimstone, plaster, and his shampoo. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, eyes burning. “I’m so sorry.”

Now she knew why she felt so hollow inside.

Was it supposed to hurt this bad? Was she supposed to feel like a fist had wrenched her heart from its chest, leaving a gaping void under her ribs? She had never felt such a thing. Not when her dog died as a child, nor when her parents left her with James’s aunt because they moved faster without her. Not even when Pamela Faulkner died.

Her shoulders shook. She couldn’t breathe. Elise tilted her head back, squeezing her eyes shut and gritting her teeth against the ache swelling inside of her gut.

A ragged wail tore from her, shattering the silence of the night.

Her fingers dug into James’s chest, slippery with his blood. Becoming bound as kopis and aspis was an oath: to stand shoulder-to-shoulder in their battles, to protect one another, and when the time came—die together. She was supposed to guard him. She wasn’t meant to kill him.

He gave up everything for her. Everything.

His skin cooled to the temperature of the air. Elise wanted to cover him in a blanket to give him the modesty in death Ann hadn’t given him for the last few hours of his life. He shouldn’t have to be naked and vulnerable when everything else had been stripped from them.

Elise’s chest hitched. “James,” she whispered.

And a voice whispered back.

Elise…

Her eyes fell on the stone staff. It was a few feet away in the crater, no longer alive even though it steamed slightly in the damp air.

All the mighty power of Death’s Hand was gone, boiled down to a tiny flicker of demonic energy inside the cylinder. It gave a fraction of a roll onto its side, barely more than an inch.

Elise…

It was what was left of vedae som matis, but it sounded very much like James.

That tiny flicker of energy tugged at her.

Elise stepped away from James without thinking about it, sliding down one of the craters to reach for the stone cylinder. Her fingers hesitated just over its surface. She could feel the heat radiating from it.

It wasn’t just demonic power. It was necromantic power, too—a little bit of the demon, a little bit of Ann, a little bit of James.

She glanced up at his body again, and the grief sliced through her anew.

He would never cast another spell. They would never have Sunday breakfast together again. She would never see him smile again, that special soft smile that she never saw him aim at Stephanie.

Unless…

She closed her hand on the stone cylinder even as every bit of her common sense screamed no! Elise had been tortured by the death goddess using the stone as a knife. She had felt it wrapping around her flesh as Death’s Hand tried to possess her. It was the reason James was dead in the first place.

The flicker of light was fading fast.

She knelt over James, gripping the stone in both hands as she studied him. His skin was gray. There had to be some way to use what was left of its power, but she didn’t know what to do with it.

How did James do magic? A circle of power. Incantations. Elise wasn’t a witch. She couldn’t do any of that.

She leaned over him. The stone vibrated, and she touched it very gently to the wound on his chest.

Light erupted from the stone.

Shocked, Elise tried to let go, but her fingers stayed welded to its surface. Heat rushed through her fingers, up her arms, and into her body.

The symbols tracing the stone doubled and split from its surface, one set rising from the vessel in burning white lines. They swirled over her body and ruffling the little hairs at the back of her neck. The golden light filled her vision until she couldn’t see anything around herself.

It wasn’t vedae som matis she felt in that moment. It was something more, so much more, like staring into eternity, and the only anchor keeping her from spilling out into nothingness was her grip on the vessel. Some great beast pulsed in the beyond, rubbing past Elise through the marks. It wasn’t demonic, or even angelic. It was something greater still.

The golden fire shifted from Elise’s arms to her palms, glowing through her gloves. The power beat in time with her heart.

God, the power.

She felt as though she had never lived before. Wouldn’t anyone kill to feel this energy for any length of time—to gaze into forever and clutch it in her grasp?

Through the light, she could see James sprawled on the ground, but she could see the dead for miles and beyond. It wasn’t the corpses themselves—those had all dissolved with the exorcism—but a vast, endless ocean of souls, animal and demon and otherwise. They formed the Earth beneath her, and Life roared above her as the sky.

She could resurrect anybody. Elise could put her hands upon someone laid to rest a millennia ago and bring them back at a whim. She could touch any number demons she had sent to Hell and reanimate them as her own. She might even be able to improve upon what Ann had done—she could make them as alive as she was. Their hearts would beat for Elise.

James brought Elise down from her high. The instant she thought of him, the souls around her came into focus, and she could feel him clearly. His soul glowed brighter than any other in the vast ocean.

The power began to slip from her grasp.

She gazed down at his face, and even through the light, she could see the triangle of his jaw, the day-old stubble, the well-defined cheekbones.

Elise didn’t really want power. She just wanted James.

Her hands overflowed with the symbols needed to call a soul into a body, to make the heart beat and the brain function. The magic wanted to be used, so Elise didn’t try to resist. She laid her hands upon James’s temples. She opened to him like a flower’s petals parting to the sun, and the symbols from the cylinder flowed from the sword into her shield.

James’s soul, torn apart so violently by vedae som matis, began to mend as Elise watched.

His heart beat once. Twice.

The rhythm sped until its steady beat matched her own. Elise’s lungs expanded, and his inflated as well, drawing air through his lips and into his chest. It was strained, difficult at first, and she labored to breathe for them both, but it became easier with every breath.

The blood began flowing. Color faded into his skin, and warmth spread into his muscles and tendons. Electrical impulses sparked in the air between them, and something seemed to click on in his brain.

Her heart beat with his, one muscle in two chests. Slowly, so slowly, Elise’s heart became her own again, but even as she left, his continued to beat. It wasn’t as clean a cut as she would have expected. Some of Elise remained in James, and some of him remained in her, but when he kept breathing it wasn’t her life that made his lungs work.

Only when his body functioned did his soul return. It drifted into him, as softly as a feather fluttering into the ground. It settled into his body with a soft sigh that curled through the room, and she suddenly felt as though a hole inside of her had filled. She was complete again.

James…

Eternity shut down, withdrawing from Elise. The burning glow of her hands flickered, then disappeared. The power blew out of her again. The gold light emanating from the stone died, leaving nothing but rock in its place.

The world went dark.

Elise sagged, suddenly weak. Her eyes cleared and she could see the casino once more. Everything was still.

And James coughed.

He rolled onto his side. His legs drew up into his chest, curling around the sword wound. Every cough brought a fresh groan of pain, punctuated with another cough when he sucked in the dusty air. “James,” Elise said, reaching out to roll him onto his back again. Her hands were shaking.

He frowned up at her, brow furrowed with pain, confusion. His eyes were clear now the poison was flushed out of his system, but the stab wound in his chest trickled blood. “Elise?” James’s jaw chattered as he spoke, his skin clammy underneath her bare fingertips. “What happened? What’s going on?”

“Oh, James,” Elise said, her voice cracking. She rubbed at the blood on his cheeks, wiping it away with her gloves, and then gave up, throwing her arms around his neck.

Her relief was so strong that she couldn’t hold it inside. A laugh bubbled from her throat. James stared at her as though she had gone crazy, his hands clenched over his wound.

He would have questions later, and so would others. His resurrection would be a beacon that called to demons and angels for thousands of miles around them through a thousand dimensions. There would be repercussions.

But for the moment, Elise didn’t care—not one bit.

He was alive, and nothing else mattered.

Chapter 21

The hospital released James the next morning. They were too busy to keep anyone longer than a couple of hours—the citywide coma had inflected tens of thousands of injuries, from car accidents to cigarette fires and people falling down stairs, and the hospital was swamped.

There was no accounting for the missing hours, but the news claimed that all the damage and dead were caused by an earthquake. It was a stupid excuse. Elise couldn’t imagine anyone falling for it, even though the story was discussed worldwide as fact. She flicked through the channels on the hospital TV and saw it on every major news network.

“Can you believe this?” Elise asked, shutting off the television and dropping the remote onto James’s bed. He was dressing behind a curtain while the nurses prepared his bed for the next patient. “Who comes up with this stuff?”

“Lord only knows,” he muttered.

Stephanie stopped by to drop off a few forms and brush a kiss over his lips. “I’ll visit you as soon as I can,” she whispered, lingering in the door. “Maybe I should take you home.”

“He already has a ride,” Elise said.

“You’re both on enough hydrocodone that I think—”

“It’s fine, Stephanie,” he said. “Thank you.”

But it was true that Elise and James were both unsteady on their feet as they carefully made their way to the parking garage. Normally, Elise wouldn’t have taken any of the painkillers they prescribed to her, but the injury on her shoulder was bad enough that she caved in. She was still better than James. He could barely walk.

He sighed as she settled him into the front seat of the car, shutting his eyes.

“Do you need help with the seat belt?”

“I was stabbed, not paralyzed,” he said, but he couldn’t work up the energy to sound annoyed.

He fell asleep again before Elise reached the street. Being possessed by a major demon, exorcised, killed, and brought back to life seemed to be pretty exhausting. James hadn’t been awake longer than fifteen minutes since his resurrection.

Elise was hardly any better. She situated James in bed and passed out on his couch, waking up ten hours later to find he was still asleep, too. She staggered back to her car and slipped into the duplex without waking Betty.

Before the sun rose, she was awake and gone.

She stayed at the office over the next week while her injuries quickly knit themselves, avoiding Betty and Anthony and the long conversations they would need to have. Brushing her teeth in the sink and sleeping stretched out on her floor, Elise took her solitary time to mend—and seek out new clients online to replace David Nicholas and Craven’s.

But Elise couldn’t stay in her office forever. James called her phone at least three times a day, and although he never left a message, she was sure he must have been getting irate. Betty was—and she texted about a hundred times to make sure Elise knew it.

By the time the next weekend rolled around, her face and body completely healed other than her shoulder, and she finally gave in to the calls.

Elise found the Motion and Dance parking lot full. The main dance hall was occupied by a dance fitness class, so she found James in the back room supervising a “creative ballet” class for preschoolers, which wasn’t a dance class as much as a play group filled with girls in tutus. He looked healthy but pale, slumped in a chair in the corner to watch the kids bounce around in pink leotards with a long-suffering expression.

She took a few minutes to observe him silently. She had missed him over the week, even as she hid out in solitude. There was a little color in his cheeks and a hint of beard growth at his jaw. He looked like he had on any other day. Normal.

Something tense inside of her eased. She hadn’t really thought she would come to find him a revenant—or something worse—but he didn’t look like he had been hurt by her little act of necromancy at all. Elise stood behind his chair and cleared her throat.

“Isn’t this Candace’s class?” Elise asked, standing over his shoulder.

James looked up, and his eyes widened. “Elise!” He tried to stand too quickly and winced, gripping his chest. She grabbed his arm.

“Hey,” she said. “Relax. Sit down.”

“Where have you been? I haven’t seen you all week.”

“I’ve been healing.” She pointed at the last of the yellow bruises around her eye. Showing him her shoulder would have been a lot more impressive, but he didn’t need to know he had eaten her flesh.

James eased back into the chair, studying her face. “It must have been terrible if you’re not healed yet.”

She ignored the implied question. “Where’s Candace?”

“Her husband dropped a pot of boiling water on himself during the, uh, earthquake,” he said. “First degree burns. She’s taking care of him. Excuse me, just a moment.” James clapped his hands and raised his voice. “You! Penny! I told you no running!”

Elise had to hide a smile behind her hand. James liked children about as much as he liked food poisoning.

“I can finish out the class,” she suggested.

He sagged with relief. “Thank you. I’ll be in the lobby.”

Elise supervised the last twenty minutes of creative ballet. She didn’t like kids any more than James did, but she had “taught” the class herself while she was still in college, so she didn’t mind doing it one more time. Trying to convince a dozen four year olds to plié was a great exercise in patience.

When the class ended, James and Elise sat together in the lobby as the parents took their kids away. His friendly smile looked authentic until the door swung shut, and then he grimaced.

“Those people would do better with a daycare than a dance class,” he muttered.

“They pay the bills. Your children’s ballet classes are about half your income.”

“I suppose. Would you like to explain why I’ve seen Betty more this last week than I’ve seen you? As you can tell, I really could have used your help around the studio. And not just with classes.”

“I thought you would have Stephanie nursing you back to health.”

“She’s visited when she has time,” he admitted, “but there’s very little of that. Betty said you haven’t been coming home while she’s awake.”

Elise shrugged, and then winced. Her bra strap rubbed against the bandages on her shoulder. “I have a lot of work to catch up on. I’m busy.”

“Your work ethic couldn’t have anything to do you’re your roommate’s incessant questions, could it?”

“That might have been a factor.”

“She’s been here every day. In fact, you missed her by a half hour,” James said. “I’ve never realized anyone could be so damn inquisitive about demons. If you wanted to tell her the truth, you could have also had the decency to make yourself available for questioning.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for my next earth-shattering revelation,” she said.

Something in her voice made him give her a sad smile. “What happened that night?”

“Didn’t Betty tell you?”

“She didn’t have all the details. I don’t remember anything after our investigation at the cemetery myself, except bits and pieces of trying to sleep that evening.”

That was a lot of empty ground to cover. Elise sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. “It was Ann. She was working for Death’s Hand. She tried to fight me, and they both lost. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Betty told me as much, but that doesn’t explain why I’m healing from several major injuries. Or what happened to almost two hours of everybody’s life.”

“Your wounds aren’t that major. The doctors said they missed your major organs.” Of course, Elise was confident that she had actually punctured one very significant organ, but resurrecting him had healed almost everything. “I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“Ann said that you hadn’t told me the truth yet. That there was something about you that would…” She trailed off, gazing at the smooth line of his nose and the curve of his chin. Ann said I would want you to die. “She said you hadn’t told me something.”

“Demons are liars,” James said.

“She wasn’t a demon. I’m not sure she was evil at all. I think she was…confused.”

“Then she must have been confused on this point as well. I have no idea what she’s talking about.” He spoke forcefully, and his hand tightened on hers. “You know you can trust me, Elise. I would never lie to you.”

“I know,” she said. “I know.”

They sat together in silence, watching the cars empty out of the parking lot. It would be at least an hour until the belly dance class, which was taught by an instructor named Kendall. They didn’t need to wait. But Elise didn’t feel like moving, and she doubted James did, either.

“I’m glad you came back, but you didn’t need to avoid me. You can tell me everything when you’re ready.”

“I wouldn’t stay away for long.” She took a deep breath. “What do you think?”

“About what?”

“Do we…” Elise picked at her thumbnail, avoiding James’s gaze. She swallowed. “Are we going to have to run again? Should we go into hiding?”

She could feel him watching her. He gave a heavy sigh. “Do you want to run?”

It was a question that had been prying at her all week, no matter how hard she fought to distract herself.

Running would be the smart thing to do. Performing a huge exorcism—and having a city filled with the walking dead—ruined any chances they might have had of hiding.

But Elise had her job, and so did James. More importantly, it surprised her to find that avoiding Betty and Anthony all week made her a little lonely. Elise didn’t want to leave them. For the first time in her life, she had friends. Real friends. People willing to go to battle with her. People she would die for, if she needed to.

“No,” she said. “I don’t want to go.”

The corner of James’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Good, because neither do I.”

She thought that response would make her feel better. Instead, Elise felt they had just agreed to do something very unpleasant—something potentially deadly.

“Then we’ll stay,” she said with a tone of finality.

They sat together in silence, hands clasped, until the next class came in and life resumed its normal routine.

Somewhere very far away—somewhere very dark—someone else listened to that conversation.

It had been a long time since He had seen Elise, or heard her speak. He had dwelled in darkness for some years, and although he could not tell if it had been ten or ten thousand, he longed for the succor of light—however momentary.

And then it came in a single burning, brilliant moment. He felt her power and saw her eyes blazing with fury. He saw her fist clutching the sword as she plunged it into the heart of a demon. From another time, another place, He saw her anguish.

He had found her.

He saw it was very good, and He smiled.

The Darkest Gate, Book 2 in the Descent Series, is available at your favorite online retailer.

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